Category: Inspiration

Family & F.I.T.  |  Debbie Hatch

Have you ever experienced foreboding joy?  You know, that sense when everything is going great, you had better watch out.  You can’t let yourself feel too happy.  You need to be prepared and on guard.  Things are too good.  Something bad is about to happen at any moment.

I first heard the term in my on-going Brene Brown, Strong Rising, mindset course.  Twenty years prior to this class, I remember experiencing foreboding joy.  I didn’t know what it was called at the time.  We had left Maine for the first time and were living in Texas.  Brent was going to school, the kids were enrolled in day camp, and I had nothing to do for the first time in my life.  It was unsettling.  We had family game nights each evening.  We laughed, played, and simply enjoyed each other’s company.  We shared stories of cacti and scorpions.  We wore trash bags to a rodeo in the a thundershower.  We ate ice cream, frequently; watched small planes fly, and learned that running to the oil well you could see might mean you’d be running for ten miles.  Life was fantastic!!!

I worried, constantly.  

I knew something bad was going to happen.  I didn’t know what or when but things were too good.  Something bad always happened.  I pushed the thoughts away until they started manifesting themselves as nightmares while I slept.

Over the years, I’ve really worked on eliminating this.  It does nothing for me – worry or not, what is going to  happen is going to happen.  By worrying when nothing was happening, I was not allowing myself to feel joy in the moment.  Little by little, I’ve gotten better but, sometimes I still have to consciously think about it.

This was the case as we headed to vacation.  This trip had been planned for a decade.  We were super excited!  We’ve both dove around 300 dives.  But….on the flight from Fiji to Guadalcanal, I thought, “I’m excited but also quite anxious.  I feel worried and nervous – not about anything in particular.  Just overall.”  I talked to Brent about it and he reassured me everything would be fine but said he felt the foreboding joy too.  Neither of us could quite put our finger on it.  It got worse for Brent through the first day of diving.  Once I got in the water, it got much better for me.  By day two, it was gone.

The trip was positively amazing and I’m so glad we didn’t spend any more time allowing worry to steal our happiness in the moment.

Travel Log:  Day  4  Guadalcanal

The van picked us up from the airport and our guide, Leonard, his teeth stained red from betel juice, gushed about his homeland.  The Solomon Islands is an island nation located in the southwest Pacific, 1,500 miles west of Fiji and 1,200 miles northeast of Australia.

Leonard shared bits and pieces of information as we drove from Honiara to the dive boat, and beamed as he told us how proud “everyone” was of their tiny rugby team making the World cup.  I noticed trash, the price of gas ($6.57 / liter) ramshackle buildings, and people, every where.  The city of Honiara did not seem like a place I would care to spend much time and it must have showed on my face because, again, Brent reassured me.  “I’m sure you’re wondering what I got you into.  Don’t worry.”

I wasn’t worried but I WAS trying to take everything in!  This is a 3rd world country where people are merely trying to survive.  I wondered how many tribes lived here, what it was like during WWII, and what the people’s life expectancy is currently (the answer is 67).  It is important to note that as time went on, we were told by multiple people not to judge the SIs by Honiara.  It is not indicative of the small island villages.  After having visited several of the villages, myself, I whole-heartedly agree!

We arrived at the dock and were shuttled to the dive boat (mv Bilikiki – a 125 ft long ship with 24 ft beam and 10 ensuite cabins) where we met Chaba (originally from Hungary) and his wife Daniella (originally from Venezuela); dive masters and managers of the Bilikiki for the past four years.  There was just enough time to settle in and unpack before we left the harbor at 1830.

We consider ourselves incredibly fortunate to have been joined by:

• The original owner, Rick – who bought this sunken boat from the government years ago, and restored it, with no business plan and no aspirations to “get rich”.  He had never even heard of The Solomon Islands and was merely following his passion and dream “to scuba dive”.
• The current owner, Sam – who, although he doesn’t have Rick’s incredible story, is carrying on his legacy for both a passion in diving and in helping the people of these islands.
• Two couples from Denver – one of whom sold their house, put everything they own into a 10 x 10 storage unit and have been “homeless” living everywhere from Japan to England, Africa, to the US for the past five years – and loving it!
• A 65 year old apple farmer and his wife – who started their business with a small vegetable stand beside the road and now employ close to 100 people in one of the biggest orchards in upstate NY.  Both jump out of helicopters to go skiing!  Dennis had only completed his open water certification before coming on this trip.  He was OVER-THE-MOON excited every single dive!!!  It made me very happy.
• A 72 year old gentleman from Long Beach who takes two to three of these trips each year, and had amazing stories to share.
• A mysterious guy from Phoenix, who never would answer the question “what do you do?”
• A lady from the Australia prosecutor’s office who has been stationed on Guadalcanal since the Solomon’s civil war in the early 2000s.  She told us the most prevalent crimes are domestic violence and given the small population, per capita, murder.
• A couple from Los Angeles and a young couple from Mexico.

Meeting people like this was icing on the cake.  I loved their passion; the stories of success for “just” following a personal dream; and the shared experiences.  I felt it ignite my own passion….for life.

Tomorrow, we dive.

Debbie Hatch  |  Family & F.I.T.

Morning cup of coffee, with a side of mindset.

The original Starbucks icon mug from the original Starbucks. The crown jewel in my collection. I have two 🙂

STOP.

STOP.

STOP.

Stop trying to find something to worry about, or be unhappy about! I’m not preaching the, “Be happy, be positive, never think bad thoughts” mantra. I’m preaching the, “You’re specifically seeking out something you can be unhappy about, and you need to stop it” mantra.

Here’s an example. I had a gentleman in one of my classes not too long ago. He said, “You know, back in 1990, I made a choice to opt out of this program, and instead, go over to that one.” He asked, “Do you think that was a mistake? Did I mess up?”

My response was, “To be completely honest, it doesn’t matter. It was an irrevocable decision. You cannot go back to 1990 and change your mind, and you can’t do anything about the choice you made back then, today.”

He pressed, “But did I make a mistake?”

I continued to say, “It doesn’t matter. The decision was made. The die was cast. What if you did make a mistake? Can you go back and change it? Can you do anything today to change it? ”

“No, ……”

I’m not kidding, it went all like this for most of the day. Not continually, but every time he talked to me, he started by asking this question. At one point he even said, “Since you’re not giving me an answer, that tells me I DID make a bad choice.”

I never said any such thing. He was creating a problem.

Now, I ask YOU, just like I did him.
Why are you obsessing about “this”?
Why do you want to know if you “messed up” at some point in the past?
You are here.
Today.
Now.
At this moment.
Make your decisions from here and look forward.

Your past brought you here, yes. Some bad decisions may have been made, yes. What of it?

He, and I would argue, you, want to know if you made a mistake solely so that you can beat yourself up over it. So you can feel “bad”. So you can be miserable because you “messed up”.

STOP it.

That is all <3

Enjoy your coffee. Enjoy your day – this day, this moment, this decision.

Debbie Hatch  |  Family & F.I.T.

Saturday was the annual Wreaths Across America event.  The crowd may have been larger than normal, here in DC, (I saw 70,000 reported as the “official number”) as it was warmer than years past, with just a little fog hanging in the air.

The organization lists its mission as, “Remember, Honor, Teach.”  It is solely responsible for coordinating wreath laying ceremonies at Veterans’ cemeteries, not only in all 50 States but internationally as well.  Sadly, not every grave (not even every stone at Arlington – although you may see that reported, and I used to think that was the case too) gets a wreathe, and not every cemetery has volunteers.

Photo by Fox 26, Houston

But, what a huge undertaking!  And one that couldn’t be accomplished without thousands of volunteers!  Individual wreath sponsors, corporate donors, professional truck drivers, police escorts, people to lay the wreaths, and people to help pick them up once the holidays have passed.

This is my 4th year volunteering with the organization.  To see the pictures, videos, and news stories is one thing.  To be there and participate:  at any cemetery, big or small, is something different altogether.  I do this because it’s something I believe in.  That we should honor and remember the men and women who died for our country:  who served, and continue to serve, to keep us safe.  What a small price that I should pay for such a huge sacrifice.

It’s personal for me.

When your child has to write their blood type on their pack, it tends to change your perspective.

My husband has served in the US military (USMC/USAF) for more than 20 years.  My son has more than a decade in the Army National Guard.  My daughter in law was in the Army.  My daughter was in the Air Force, and the Air Force Reserve.  Countless friends and other family members have also served.

The wreaths are from Maine – as am I.  Smelling the balsam and handling the wreaths bring back fond memories.  The escort, at Arlington, includes Maine State Police – where I worked as a dispatcher for almost 10 years.  Many of the truckers are from Maine – my husband and I know people involved in the process from the start:  we like to be at the finish to help complete the task.

Two years of volunteering specifically stick out in my memory.

Veterans’ Cemetary
Boulder City, Nevada

My first year was in Boulder City, Nevada.  I laid wreaths with a friend whose brother, a Marine, was killed in Iraq; and a friend whose husband, a Soldier, was deployed at the time.  To be with those women, in that place, at that time was incredibly emotional.

To be honest, too, the smaller cemetery was nice.  It had a little less pomp and circumstance:  more work merely for the sake of remembering and less for the accolades or newspaper photos as we sometimes see in DC.  A few friends texted us asking that we specifically seek out their family member’s stones.  We stayed until the last wreath was laid.

Veterans’ Cemetery
Arlington, VA

My first year at Arlington was also memorable.  Wow!  There were so many people!  I checked in, on Facebook, and almost immediately received a text from my young nephew.  He had graduated from one of our military academies a few years prior, and was serving in the Army.  He wrote, “What section are you in?  I know a guy who’s there.”

I didn’t think too much about it.  My son deployed to Iraq when he was 18/19 – for the first time.  My husband has deployed to both Iraq and Afghanistan.  My daughter was in Afghanistan.  One way I kept my sanity while they were gone, is by denying the danger.  Not consciously blocking it out but, subconsciously, refusing to remember that people were fighting and dying.  That probably sounds ridiculous – and maybe it is – but that’s how my brain decided to get me through….

So, when I received my nephew’s text, I just thought he meant he knew someone who was also laying wreaths.

That’s not what he meant.

One of the men he went to college with was IN this cemetery.  Permanently.  My children know people who will never leave here; as does my husband.  It was overwhelming.  That truth.  That honest realization.  I immediately broke down in tears.  It’s making me cry now.

I laid a wreath on Lt Williamson’s grave – both that year and the next.  I didn’t get to the Lt’s stone this year.  Not yet.  I will go there when we pick up wreaths.  My nephew shared it with his family who could not be in Virginia.  It meant a great deal to them.

THAT is my biggest reason for providing this service.  That is why I lay wreaths even though the cemetery is packed with people, and it can become quite a “commercial event”.  That is why I will come back and help pick wreaths up:  an event that is attended by far, far fewer people, and not covered in the news.  Regardless of how cold it may be; regardless of whether the sun is shining, it’s snowing, or rain is falling.  I do it, because it makes a difference – to them, but also to me.