journaling
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Day 136
It’s been a minute.
To me, the last time I blogged feels a lifetime ago. As though so much has changed that those days are nearly unrecognizable. But that’s life … that’s sort of how everything seems to be. Hard to remember, as though so much living has occurred between then and now.
A few days ago the mask mandate was lifted by way of the CDC releasing a statement about the efficacy (or lack thereof) for vaccinated people. It didn’t take much more than that for businesses to change policies, for gyms and studios and restaurants to re-open their doors, their tables.
Whatever my politics may be, it *does* feel like a relief. I don’t want the world to necessarily “return to normal” because what does that even mean in the wake of Covid-19, George Floyd and the civil reckoning that has become part of American culture? It shouldn’t be dismissed or forgotten. We’ve learned things- whether we like it or not. We’ve had to face things, whether it’s comfortable or not. And it isn’t over — it can’t be over. Even if there is a strong contingency of this country who would prefer to turn a blind eye. So no, I don’t want to “return to normal.”
But I would like to move through life without a mask, without the fear that every touch, every breath, could kill me. There is a relief in that, albeit small.
My second vaccine shot wiped me out – took the breath right out of my lungs. But it’s been over two weeks since then, so I am now vaccinated and able to move around again in the company of strangers.
I know that not all people with autoimmune diseases feel the way I feel. They are angry at the change, worried for their health. I understand that. But I can’t live my life by anyone else’s rules but my own. I have to feel comfortable in my own skin. I don’t like being in-authentic. So I feel how I feel. And I am glad to be able to practice yoga in a studio without a mask.
And that’s where I am today. On the eve of a beach trip and fully vaccinated. Looking forward to Black Widow and F9; The Fast Saga. Falling asleep with candles lit for my mother and my brother-in-law, husband doing research and Thor: Ragnarok playing in the background. Lucy snurfling in her bed, dreaming of squirrels and rabbits and sniffs in the long grass of spring.
Xox, g
Day 76
I think being an adult is recognizing the need to “do the things.”
A woman in class today confessed that it took effort to leave her comfortable chair, snuggling with her dog, to get herself to yoga today. A chorus around the room of other women, myself included, confessed they never regretted coming to class — that class itself was amazing — but getting there, especially on cold, grey days was the real challenge.
I know that even if I am tired and angry and frustrated and depressed the best thing for me to do is get dressed and get out of the house. I think that’s why Covid affected me in a such an insidious way. I am a loner, I am an introvert … but to stay balanced, I need to get out of the house. I need social interaction and routine. All that disappeared a year ago. And while it’s come back in fits and starts, it isn’t the same. There’s an underlying fear, there’s a wary gaze — politics and pandemics and civil rights have divided all of us and we don’t know who is “safe” anymore.
Even on my mat— socially distanced and wearing a mask— it doesn’t feel the same as class used to feel. It feels close, don’t get me wrong. But not the same.
I also know that to save myself, to keep myself from spiraling, it’s imperative that I get on my mat, that I sweat and wobble and struggle through class, breathing heavily through a sweat-soaked mask.
And that is adulting. It’s knowing that I could choose sadness and depression and sweatpants and junk food … and choosing something else instead. Something better for me.
Adulting is really effing hard sometimes.
Xox, g
Day 75
We are all on journeys.
Sometimes we don’t know where we are going or why … but we are traveling. Aimlessly, with laser focus … everything in between. Traveling along the road of time.
I think about time a lot.
Time is funny and tricky – like an optical illusion. Fast and slow simultaneously. I remember when my mother turned forty — she knew everything, she was glamorous and smart and had it all together. She had the answers to all the questions. She was everything.
I didn’t feel that way when I turned forty. I felt like I was still fifteen — unsure and unknowing. A little lost, a little reckless, a little afraid. Still trying to figure it out, this adulting thing. Still looking for answers to unanswerable questions.
Did she feel that way, too? Probably. But she never let on.
I feel young and old every day. Lost and found every day. I feel like my journey is a lazy drift down a winding river and also, a jump out of a plane.
And I am always, always tired.
Xoxo, g
Day 74
Ever have a moment when you pause – or full out stop — and look around your house and marvel at the fact that it’s all yours?
I had a moment like that today. As I surveyed the first floor of our house and thought – somewhat in wonderment — that this grown-up house with dishes and a dining room table and a phonograph and clean dish towels and furniture is John + mine. We curated it (an obnoxious phrase but unfortunately, fitting). Not only that, but we use our pots and pans and dishes and dining room table. We even listen to records on the weekend while drinking coffee and talking about … well, everything and nothing and all the stuff in between.
It looks like a grown-ups house and I forget that’s what we are. I got my first vaccine shot today (because I know good people not because I was necessarily responsible in any way). I wished for my mother, or even just my husband — someone to be with me in case it was intimidating or scary or confusing. I couldn’t find the office when I arrived and walked around the entire complex in the cold wind, my poor feet dragging on the ground as I tried to walk faster than I am able. I wished for someone, anyone, to be there and be more responsible than me, to hold my hand and guide me. But I have passed that part of life and know, deep in my soul, that I have to own my self.
The shot wasn’t intimidating. It felt bizarrely fast and the clinic was disorganized but efficient. My arm aches and I hope that’s my only side effect.
Lucy is staring at me, wanting her dinner. Daylight savings sucks sometimes.
Xoxo, g
Day 72
As days go, today was a good one.
You can feel spring in the air, even though the wind whipped. We rode around with the roof open, wrapped in coats and hats. We drank coffees and talked about life and philosophy and Marvel and school teachers and life.
We spent time with friends and remembered what having dinner with people outside our Covid bubble felt like — conversation and laughter and strange coincidences. Promises to spend time together again soon. Hugs and handshakes and peaches and zucchini.
Derek Jeter and A-Rod.
It was a good day.
Xox, g
Day 70
Sometimes I have moments when I think of younger me, and I don’t feel as though I know her anymore. I don’t understand her choices, I think she must have been a completely different person than I am today. She feels unrecognizable.
And then, by luck or circumstance, I find something I wrote years ago. And in those words, in those sentences and paragraphs I hear myself and remember that even if years have passed and I have changed, it hasn’t been so much as to render my younger self obsolete.
Today, in my pursuit of a more organized office, I happened upon something random — not in a journal and not properly dated. But as I read it I knew exactly when I’d written it and I felt it as though it were yesterday. I saw my more naive self, I read her feelings and my heart beat for her. I thought of a time when the amount of tragedy that I had endured was much less than it is today. When smaller things felt more seismic. When I didn’t fully understand loss.
Time is such a trickster. I feel young and simultaneously, old. I remember days when I felt like I ruled the world — in such contrast with the feeling of knowing nothing – the feeling of being constantly out of my depth. I lost my mother yesterday and years ago … memories faded with time. Pain faded with time. Pain so acute that I feel it in my heartbeat, pulsing in my ears.
In ten years time will I recognize this version of me? Will I re-read my words and marvel at my innocence; will my heart break for the naive joy that still exists within me? I don’t know.
But I hope so.
Xox, g
Day 69
When I first lost feeling in my feet, it was December 23rd and I woke up in the spare bedroom of my in-laws. I thought maybe I slept badly, pinched a nerve. My feet felt floppy, as though they couldn’t hold shoes. As though I had pins & needles … that never ended.
Even when I finally got on a therapy that helped with my walking and my balance and my energy … my feet stayed stubbornly numb. I look at them and am thankful they are pretty feet. In my dark moments, I wish fervently to feel them again and hot tears sting my eyes. I smile at the tattoos that adorn my right foot — tattoos that I barely felt being inked. A tear slips down my cheek and catches in the upward crease of my mouth.
I try not to be angry at the things I’ve lost. I’ve gained as well, and mourning my losses won’t change their absence. I reminded myself of this as I struggled and wobbled and dragged my feet through a yoga practice today. Comparing today to five months ago is useless and honestly, both sad and pointless. Time marches on, my disease marches on and I can only be in my body of today.
It doesn’t change the deep despondence that exists in the dark corners of my soul. That is my truth, parts of the truth I carry behind my smile.
Xox, g
Day 68
There are moments in my life when I feel as though I am on bloodied knees, begging for mercy. And other moments when I feel blessed beyond measure in all that my life entails. It’s certainly a spectrum. (Sometimes daily!)
Living with an autoimmune disease has been one of the greatest teachers I could ever have asked for. It teaches lessons in patience and humility, in self-advocacy, in moderation, in values and what’s truly important. It distills life down and gives it clarity in a way that did not exist prior to the disease. It is as much a gift as it is a curse.
I remind myself of these things when I’m tired, when I can’t find the strength or the internal fortitude to keep doing all the things, day in and day out. There’s an awareness that is honed over years of being diligent about … well, life … that while beneficial, is also exhausting.
Practicing gratitude in the hard times is as important as remembering the truth in the good times. It is a balancing act, an on-going exercise in equilibrium.
It is always.
Xox, g
Day 67
I had a lot of thoughts about The Interview before I watched it.
I knew I wouldn’t see it live — John and I have a rhythm to our life and an interview – no matter how explosive/informative/interesting – doesn’t fit into our Sunday night.
But today, after yoga and the roofer and a myriad of other things, i finally sat down before dinner and watched it.
All it did was confirm what I already believed to be true about the institution of the Royal Family of the United Kingdom. And reaffirm my respect for Meghan Markle and my affection for Prince Harry.
And tomorrow, after I’ve thought about it (& hopefully when I’m feeling a little bit better) I’ll write more. Maybe.
I don’t know.
Xoxo, g
Day 66
John always says that he needs all four seasons.
And while I might not love the heavy, oppressive heat of the summer — it might cripple me and cause staggering physical ailments for me — I can say, I am mostly in complete agreement with him.
How can you appreciate the gifts of your life if you have never suffered? How can you see the sunshine in all her glory if you have never weathered a storm?
My homework — to re-write my story — has taken on a life of its own. It has challenged me to re-frame so many parts of my life. I think about why I believe the things I believe, what the roots are. It can be raw and uncomfortable to realize that sometimes, I don’t know.
I heard once that so much of what each of us believe can be attributed to “some guy said it somewhere?”. When I first heard that, I balked. I thought – I have beliefs that are rooted in my choices. But when I thought about it on a macro level, I realized that so many of us believe things and can’t actually trace it to the root, myself included. It’s just something we’ve always believed. It’s seemingly universally accepted.
It’s hard to break those ties. It’s hard to say, “Well, maybe what I believed isn’t actually an accurate reflection of me … perhaps it puts faith in institutions that I inherently don’t agree with ….”. It’s hard to shake off society and opinions and peer pressure. It’s hard to say — No.
Anyway. I love winter. I love spring and I especially love autumn. But could I love the exquisiteness of all those seasons if I also didn’t know summer?
Probably not.
Xox, g
D5 Creation