Lately, I’ve been seeing new friends walk into my life and some of the ones that I thought were solid life-long connections are surprisingly and sadly beginning to fall away.
I’ve been thinking a lot about those friends. What makes that special bond stick with some and feel like sandpaper with others?
I am now a “seasoned” widow. What I mean by this is I am accustomed to living on my own and making decisions by myself that I would have made coupled in partnership with my husband. With this solo path has come some lessons I’m not sure I would have learned otherwise.
If you watch children, you’ll see them experience a range of emotions, seemingly bouncing like a ball—within mere moments they experience sadness, frustration, confusion, and even rage, then return to a mental state of peace and contentment before starting the cycle again.
Ten years ago, a few days before he left this Earth, Richard stood in our kitchen talking about how he couldn’t believe it had already been ten years since he had written Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff. He said, “Kris, the beauty of this book series is that every ten years there’s a new generation of readers--people who need these books.”
I was recently out to dinner with one of my favorite friends, Christina Rasmussen, and we were talking about our businesses. She was asking me what I love to do in my business and then she asked a really fun question: If you had $30 million in the bank—how would you live?
Richard’s father, Don W. Carlson, exemplified how to live a celebratory life, one that was well-lived and loved. For his memorial, his daughter's desire was an intimate gathering because there would have been 1,000 people in attendance, otherwise.
For many reasons, I’ll admit that January, despite my best efforts to launch into the new year with enthusiasm, has felt slow to me—a place where I am in a bit of limbo. I’ve got a book proposal out and am eagerly awaiting news from publishers.
I got in my Lyft ride on Saturday to go back to my car, and my driver said, “Are you part of the protest?” I immediately replied, “No! Not at all. I was here to stand with others for our civil rights; I was part of a march to move forward.”
As you know, this month of December carries so many poignant memories for me--and for my girls, too.
Honestly, I generally don’t like to remember December 13th. It’s a day laden with heavy memory, a marker of grief. This year, though, that day marked the tenth anniversary of Richard’s transition--of “our” transition--and I wanted to commemorate him.
I was shopping with a girlfriend the other day, and I had a funny moment at one of my favorite stores.
As I was browsing around, suddenly one of those helpful female clerks caught me by surprise as she said, "Oh, did you know you are in the petite section, ladies?"