Love Life

I can’t breathe. My wheel is wavering between the bike lane and the street and my eyes can no longer tell which side I should be on. Another hill is up ahead and I’m not sure if it’d even be sane to attempt it. It’s been twenty miles in the blistering heat and I have many more until I reach the top of this mountain. I petal faster to gain enough momentum to climb the hill but my breaths become shorter and more shallow with each push. I want to stop and throw my bike down but I can’t. I’m doing this for her, for Eva. Every breath I take is for her, because it’s a breath she can no longer take.

Eva’s last post – the one she wrote before her untimely death left out the poetics and called for help, for help breathing. She had been suffering from Cystic Fibrosis for twenty-five years - the disease would claim her life just 48 hours later. 

Eva blogged every day she could for four years. Her posts were honest and heartfelt, and I imagine left many readers with a puddle of tears on their keyboards. At this age, girls talk about boys, fashion, and dancing. Eva wrote about oxygen tanks and what it’s like to live her life between four hospital walls. 

Before she died, she wrote:

“A mark on the world
A difference
Some proof that I had been here
Something to say that I mattered
That when my body left this world my soul had made its imprint.”

I can’t breathe but I won’t stop until I reach the top. My legs ache and I push faster. The sun burns but I’ll worry about that after. For the first time I notice the leaves changing colors around me and I smile remembering how much Eva loved the fall.

Love Facing Fears

          This seemed like a good idea a month ago. I mean it was so easy. I called, gave my name, credit card number, and smiled patiently as the nice lady on the other end of the line went through the obligatory list of warnings. Now, however, as I sit in this small office, initialing each line next to words like “parachute malfunction” and “Risk of pain, suffering and death,” I begin to wonder if this is really the best way to face my fear of heights.

            Each scribble becomes more illegible as my quivering hand fights to sign the last few pages. I stop reading the words because with each warning, the lump in my throat balloons into the size of grapefruit and my stomach may just cartwheel right out of my body. I gaze hopeful toward the clouded sky. With any luck, rain will begin to pour and they’ll hand me my refund and I’ll be on my way home like nothing happened.  No one has to know. Who am I kidding?!  I told everyone back home I’m going to do this. No one believes me. They’re all waiting for the video to be posted on YouTube and even then, you know there will be skeptics like Uncle Tony who will say the whole thing was doctored. “Ana,” my name is called and my eyes shoot to a smiling man holding a helmet. The sight of the helmet’s dangling clasps makes me laugh, a very nervous laugh, of course.

            The roaring engine does little to distract me from the altimeter strapped around my wrist…11,000, 12,000, 13,000 feet. I promised I wouldn’t look out the window but my body is being pushed toward a glass door. “Hold on to the bar above you,” the instructor shouts. With one swoosh, he opens the door and my feet are dangling over the clouds. I breathe in the cold air and without another thought, I jump.

Give Love

Last week, several people at the office dedicated their lunch breaks to creating fleece blankets to be distributed to underprivileged, single-parent families with babies in eastern Massachusetts.

As we're complaining about the office temperature being two degrees too cold, there are families in our backyard worrying about how they'll pay for heat this winter. Building Impact and its partnered agencies, including the Lowell Wish Project and Room to Grow, have helped many such families throughout the years.

Polartec generously donated the fleece for blanket-making events throughout the state to ensure every family has a cozy winter. The blankets are a piece of cake to make. They don't require any sewing - just clever cuts and ties.

Here is our dedicated team below:

Do What You Love

In 2005, Steve Jobs addressed the Stanford graduating class with a memorable speech. He spoke about his humble beginnings and the inevitable destination we all face: death. He said our time is limited and so we mustn't waste it living someone else's life. But what stuck to me most was the part about how in order to do great work, you have to love what you do.

I've had my share of jobs that didn't make me feel that way. I tried my hardest to like the task at hand and produce great results but I guess he is right, you can only turn lemons into lemonade for so long before you run out of sugar. 

But like in love, each job has a way of  leading you to the next, until it leads you to the right one. In a job world where it's easy to stay put purely out of comfort, Steve's quote reminds us not to settle until we feel inspired and absolutely in love with what we're doing. I am grateful that after a few interesting beginnings of my own - well there was grab n' go sandwich shop (need I say more?), washing cars in a suit and my mama's heels at a car rental company, and of course one certain job where the boss man would forget to pay us every other month or so - I have found one that makes me happy and so the good work comes naturally.

Thank you Steve for the legacy you leave behind and for simply reminding us that life is too short to spend it doing something we don't love.

A Couple That Color Coordinates Together, Stays Together

They walk hand in hand, strolling around my neighborhood in the mornings. While the city streets are bustling with people rushing to work, late for meetings, and hailing cabs, they take their time enjoying a different pace of life. But it's not their slow strides that catch my eye. It's not even the way their fingers tangle like two teenagers in love that can't get close enough. It's their outfits. She wears a navy sweater, khaki shorts, bright white sneakers and a baseball cap of her favorite team. He mirrors her with his more masculine navy pullover, khaki shorts, and white sneakers. And look at that - they like the same team.

This is nothing out of the ordinary for them. This level of coordination takes years to perfect.  Sometimes it's jeans and red shirts, other times it's black pants and yellow polos; but each time, it's white sneakers and a mirror image of each other's better half.

As I enviously stare, I try to envision their morning conversations. She is making his coffee, wearing a plush robe and casually asks "What will it be today, honey? The greens?"
"Nah," he shouts from the other room, "The orange button-ups and cords."

As they walk out of their house, hands connecting like magnets, she straightens his collar and they make their way to their bench in the park.

I smile thinking of them as I choose a green tie for my husband to wear to church. He smiles back and compliments my green dress and off we go.