When I first started volunteering, I would often ask, “What happened to (fill in name of rabbit here)?” I became obsessed with knowing the next chapter for the rabbits that I helped care for after they were adopted out. While records were kept from the beginning of the group’s existence, there wasn’t much follow-up that happened, unless initiated by the adopter themselves. It was not a matter of disinterest or indifference; it was simply impossible for the number of consistent volunteers to keep in touch with over a decade’s worth of adopters.
I took the database that was kept at the time and pieced together what I could, reaching out to past adopters to check in, see how rabbit-family life was going and make sure all were current on veterinary check-ups. I heard back from many and said prayers for the rest. Not long after, an adopter suggested we create a Facebook group where adopters, foster families and volunteers could connect. I believe she was looking for a bunny-sitter at the time of her idea. After some careful imploring, I got the go-ahead from the directors to create such a group.
In some ways, I think of the group selfishly. I was once obsessed with finding a way to follow up with the lives of our former foster rabbits. The group fills that need. Just about every family who adopts joins. I can get updates on just about any-bunny and smile so big when I see how great they are doing. But even better than that, the group has become a beautiful place for encouragement and support. It’s like 24/7 customer service swirled with the loving care of people who choose to spend their free time saving and caring for these abandoned buns who need us.
I’m glad this crossed my mind today because I’m sitting here smiling with pride—I belong to a group filled with outstanding support, like-minded people who’ve hopped together for the greater good of our hoppy little friends. And while we’re on the subject, are your babies up-to-date on their check-ups? Just following up! Much love.
When I was an undergraduate student, I watched “Sex & The City” on a perpetual loop. No matter what I was reading or writing, no matter who was visiting my dorm room or apartment, those DVDs were on repeat. I, of course, had my favorite seasons (2 and 3) and my favorite episodes (“Are We Sluts?” to name but one). When the seasons premiered, we had parties. Friends would bring NYC-themed foods, like hot pretzels, and we’d hang on every scene. When the series ended, we gathered at M.’s apartment (she was the only one with HBO that year!) and gasped as Carrie’s pink-crystaled phone lit up “John.” We were early 20-something girls watching these 30-something women tear through the city that lay just 45 minutes away from my childhood home and from my college home, just from different directions. We all identified with different characters, with at least a little bit of Carrie in each of us. No one wanted to be Miranda. Radical honesty: we grew up to be Mirandas. And I’m totally good with that. While we’re on the subject, do not be surprised that I was never a Charlotte.
Mid-December this past year, I started re-watching the episodes that were the backdrop to my college years. At bedtime (because I have to have the television on to fall asleep), I flick on Amazon Prime and, starting at season one (the awkward season in my opinion), I’ve been falling asleep to my past. Through an entirely different lens, nearly 2 decades later (yes, that kind of time has passed), I marvel at my different take on the relationships. Where I once thought Mr. Big was cold, I now see Carrie as narrow-sighted. Where I once thought Steve was kinda icky, I now see his charm. Fear not, I still think Charlotte is… I’ll just say lost, to keep it nice and keep it moving.
As I cooked this morning, I streamed the season 2 premiere of “Divorce.” As it loaded on my I-pad, I couldn’t help but wonder (see what I did there?) when I rolled from “SATC” to “Divorce.” Talk about SJP speaking to me. Fear not, all is well in the Land of the Bunnies. I just mean, this is the stage at which we’ve arrived. I am the “Divorce” audience. Frances is a 40-something to my 30-something, like Carrie was a 30-something to my 20-something. What an interesting benchmark as we grow, evolve, stretch and learn. Much love.
I write these stories to you best when I don’t think about you. When I think about you, I think about what you want to read about. Then, I get all judgy with myself that you won’t want to read about the things I’m inclined to write about. Are you here for the Reiki and spiritual tales, so you click away from the Rescue stories? Are you a bunny person, but the spiritual stuff turns you off? It’s a quick mind-spin and I almost don’t get my fingers on the keys when that “stuff” is the stuff swirling through my brain.
That’s judgment. And projection. That’s self-sabotage. Consciously, those aren’t choices I would make. When I stop, breathe and think, I want to write what I’m thinking or feeling in the moment. Maybe if it’s not for you, it could be for you or you or even you. But it’s always for me. Writing this is part of my personal development, walking the walk of what I teach, putting in the work on me.
Our brains click into this judgment mode as a form of protection. If you believe in science, our brains have evolved to keep us safe. We judge the stimulus around us based on past experiences, past hurts. Go to the old “hand on the hot stove” adage—we learn not to touch it again because we remember getting burned. Some of us love to keep our hands pressed firmly on the hot stove, even after multiple burns… but that’s a topic for another day.
I sat down today and I didn’t know what to say to you. What if you don’t like it? I have to figure out where that all comes from… and I have just the tool to help me get started… Much Love.