A few moments ago, the man and I sat on our couch, gently speaking to Lucy and petting her, as the lights flickered and finally went out and the storm outside raged.  The lightning flashed and the thunder cracked and the sound of the rain against the windows pattered rhythmically.  Our little girl was shaking like a leaf, eyes wide and head darting to and fro as the lightning intermittently filled the room.

Our power is back now, and the sky is a sherbet shade of orange through the trees.  Lucy has settled herself in, no longer shaking in complete terror.

Something my yoga teacher said today during mediation really struck a chord, and the storm this evening sort of – in an unrelated, yet somewhat related way – reinforced it.  Marissa read a quote from her teacher’s teacher (and I won’t insult anyone by attempting to remember his name because I would inevitably get it wrong) which distilled the idea of struggle.  People want life to be happy and full of sunshine and light.  But what actually defines us, defines our character, are the struggles we all face and how we choose to deal with them and work through them.

I’d heard this before.  But it never had as much relevance to me as it did today.

Each of us faces challenges throughout life.  And none of us can definitely say that my battle is more difficult, or more debilitating or more defining that someone else’s challenge.  Social media can tell me in one day that a friend from college has a premie baby, a friend from high school as a teething child and hasn’t slept in weeks, another friend’s one-year-old son is staying in the hospital overnight with a staph infection.  An old co-worker’s husband left.   None of those things are comparable.  We all wake up to our own burdens every day.  Like the old saying goes, if everyone threw their problems onto a huge pile, more than inevitably, you’d choose to pick up your own compared to someone else’s.

The first thought I had when Marissa was speaking was that the perseverance that one has through a struggle is sort of like the perseverance of the water that -over millennia- formed the Grand Canyon.  And that perseverance made one of the most beautiful natural wonders of the world.

I guess it’s all about perspective, y’know?

Time changes everything.

There are a lot of clichés but I’ll refrain from listing them all.  At the heart of most clichés is a nugget of truth; possibly even wisdom.

In the end, we all get to choose how to handle our life’s journey and how we choose to tackle each obstacle in our path.  Those choices speak to who we are more than so many other things.  So each day, when faced with something unexpected or difficult, I hope that the choices I make reinforce the type of person I hope to be.

It’s been a tough year.

Well, possibly more than a year at this point.

It’s been a struggle.  For a million and one reasons, but a challenge.  Everything I tried to do took triple the effort that I remembered it taking in the past.  And it all wiped me out ~ like, lights out at 8pm on a Saturday wiped out.  My head felt foggy most of the time ~ like all the sharpness that I’d once possessed looked like the nub of a well-used pencil.  Things I’d always taken care of seemed unimportant ~ as though laundry, or vacuuming no  longer mattered.

There didn’t seem to be solutions, answers ~ any sort of path.

And then ~ we tried the fourth medicine.  And I no longer felt like I was having mini-strokes, I didn’t have huge welts and bruises all over my arms and legs, and depression didn’t seem to be overwhelming my life anymore (all previous, debilitating side effects).

And then, after weeks of yoga ‘therapy’ I was suddenly able to do dancer’s pose again ~ my teacher had found a way to modify practice so i felt like I actually was practicing.  And I can stay up until 10pm on a weeknight and still get up at 6am for work.  And even though my legs are still numb and sometimes I can’t hold my right hand steady (among other things) I can take Lucy out at night without fear of falling down, and get out of bed without falling into the wall, and work a full day and remember  everything the way I used to.

It’s as though the fog is lifting, and I’m capable of doing things again, and capable of maintaining my life while still doing my job.  I might not ever run a half marathon, or be able to climb a rock wall (possibly something that used to be on my bucket list after Camp Henry in sixth grade) … but I know I can function.  And I can still practice yoga.  And I can still cook, and write and read and swim (again, among other things!).

I feel as though I’m surfacing again after a long time drowning.  There were a lot of band aids over the course of this journey, but nothing felt like the light at the end of the tunnel until now.

It’s nice to feel a little like myself again.  It’s like the ultimate sigh of relief.

Whew.  It’s been awhile since I’ve been here.  In the time I’ve been away I have been to the doctor, done a whole course of antibiotics, gotten an official raise (with a start date!), cleaned out all my kitchen drawers (the man did the cupboards) and made a delicious gluten-free macaroni and cheese (based on my mum’s recipe which can be found “In the Kitchen”) using quinoa pasta, gluten-free flour and oatmeal for the breadcrumb crust.  Delish.

I was re-visiting some of my recent posts, and thought it might be fun to do a little progress report.

In regards to being unplugged, I’ve found a nice little balance, and while I have moments when I really miss having easy access on my phone, I’m mostly glad that I’m restricted to my iPad and having a wireless network.  Makes me focus more on being in my life, rather than sharing a perspective of my life.  The thing is, some people have a real grasp of social media, and share so intelligently … and some people just aren’t as artistic.  I fall into the gray middle area (in my own opinion … I don’t think I’m always completely lame … But I’m certainly pedantic some of the time).  Having such easy access meant that sometimes, instead of enjoying something, I was more worried about ‘sharing’ it.  And that was the ultimate lame feeling for me, personally.

So that’s that.

Interestingly enough (on the subject of a recent blog about my twenties), an old co-worker was brought in for an interview with my company on Friday.  It was actually a little disheartening in terms of how it all played out.  I realized, in how this person reacted to me and treated me, that they had little to no respect for me as a person in the work force or even a human being.  I felt as though the bad choices I’d made were staring me in the face and while it brought me relief to know I’d climbed out of that part of my life, at the same time it didn’t make me feel very proud.  But as I chewed on it over the weekend, I came to some good conclusions ~ how I’d learned and grown and how this person didn’t seem to have progressed very much from the person I knew nearly eight years ago.  And while there was and remains no need to make a judgement in regard to anyone else’s life or accomplishments, it did  help me feel proud of the journey I’ve taken, and the things I’ve achieved.  I could have stayed that person eight years ago ~ lost, insecure, unsure.  But I didn’t.  Despite having some big challenges.  I became better than that.  In re-reading my post from earlier this month, this little occurrence has only reinforced how far I’ve come.

Next up: work. Work will always be a roller-coaster.  But my company celebrated the four-year anniversary of opening our doors on January 16th.  It seems crazy to me that I’ve been on the ride since the beginning ~ not only on the ride, but a  crucial element.  As downright frustrating as it can be at times, I’m also enormously proud of what we’ve accomplished and become.  And to be right on the cusp of opening our second location ~ very fulfilling (and completely exhausting!).  As absolutely devastating as some days can be (and trust me, they are) ~ in the end it’s so incredible to be able to take such ownership of something that began as a small space on a corner and grew into a staple of the city’s casual dining scene.  It’s just cool.

I had such a fun conversation with my Mama tonight, and it reinforced that she is the most wise person I know.  I was hemming and hawing about yet another conundrum (I believe I make myself a magnet for them) and she laughed and said (and I’m paraphrasing) ~ Life is hard.  For most people.  And we just have to take the cards we are dealt and get on with it.  It doesn’t help us any to over-share or wallow in our issues.  It’s better to have just a little bit of the old British stiff upper lip.  Of course if you find yourself in a place when you need to unburden, then you have those people in whom you can confide.  But there’s no need to share every trauma.  It doesn’t help anyone.  

She’s right.  I mean, I think it’s important to be in touch with and aware of your own personal struggles ~ but her words echoed a doctor who gave me some advice about my MS.  He said his sister beat breast cancer five years earlier. And she had all the tee-shirts and water bottles and bags and did the events and fundraising.  And he finally said to her ~ you’ve been cancer-free for five years.  You are defining yourself by a disease you beat.  And I support wearing the gear for an Awareness Walk, but not to define who you are.  You had breast cancer, it didn’t have you.   He smiled at me.  “Sort of like you have MS, but it shouldn’t have you.”  

Anyway, rambles.

Today wasn’t a bad day.  It was a pretty okay day.  Busy, and tiring.  But not so bad.  And I’m grateful for that.  Til tomorrow.

So, obviously, there has to come a moment when the tides change … when all that felt it was falling into a pit begins to float back up.

I feel as though John and I have spent this year being tested ~ emotionally, physically, as individuals and as a couple.  There have been amazing ups, but there have also been devastating downs.

I’d like to turn the corner … I’d like to feel content and motivated and at peace with life again.  I think, just for a moment before things changed, I felt as though I’d taken control of my life.  I felt invested in my work, inspired by my goals and as though I was living a life I could be proud of.  I haven’t felt that way in what feels like a long time.

It’s easy to feel sad, and to sooth that sadness with excuses and actions you may otherwise eschew.  I wanted to be living a healthy life, a full life, a purpose-driven life.  But being healthy is harder, requires more effort than just being ordinary.  Eating fast food, and drinking a lot of wine.  Those things are temporary (and easy) band aids for the damage and pain beneath the surface.

The man printed an article a few days ago.  It’s still sitting on our countertop, and it has been constantly in my thoughts.  The author proposed a theory ~ that while we all want to be ‘happier’ and make choices to live a ‘happier’ life, what we should really consider is what we are willing to suffer to achieve it.

I don’t think I stated that very clearly, so I’ll try another way.  What kind of suffering are we willing to endure to create and maintain the ‘happiness’ we all strive for.  I want to be thinner and in shape ~ but I hit snooze on my alarm every morning, and every evening the couch seems vastly preferable to the gym after a long work day and an even longer commute home.  So that ‘suffering’ ~ the early arisal or the push at the end of the day ~ I have shown definitively that I’m not willing to endure that to achieve my ‘happiness.’

But I do endure the relentless commute to and from the city each day for a job I feel frustrated by and unhappy in ~ so really, I am the master of my own fate.

I know that making myself and my health a priority has to rank above my job.  I know that intellectually, but emotionally, it’s frightening.  In an economic climate such as todays, with the job market the way it is, I am afraid to lose my job (more than I am afraid to put on weight, apparently).

I do feel that these thoughts, this jigsaw puzzle I am trying to solve, is a step in the right direction.  I want to be proactive, I want to put the effort forth for the things I care about.  I just need to figure out how to do it ~ how to organize my life to meet my own needs, and thus create my own ‘happiness.’  I need to figure out how to effectively prioritize.

I’ll keep you updated as to how it goes.

I looked in the mirror the other day -close on the heels of my last blog post, and my public declaration of love for musical theatre – and I wondered, with sadness, where I’d gone.

Huge, dark circles accentuated my tired, opaque eyes. Ashen skin, dull colorless hair.  Just a walking declaration of fatigue, and life kicking my butt.   Not only life knocking me around, but succumbing to it.  I looked and felt completely beaten down, defeated and … forlorn?  I’m struggling to find precisely the right word and failing -so I will settle for ‘forlorn.’

I will obviously not deny that this has been quite a challenging year thus far.  And it doesn’t seem to be letting up very much.  I thought last year was bad … but I think this one triumphs in that department.   In the beginning I tried valiantly to be positive and upbeat – focusing on healthy eating, and living normally with MS.  Plus, I got married this year, and that was a beautiful, incredibly special day.

And then I broke my foot.

And MS started to take my life away.

And work became unbearable on so many different levels.

And suddenly, I had lost any drive or desire to find the positive, do anything or go anywhere.  Walking was challenging, seeing was challenging … everything felt like an insurmountable obstacle.  I was ready to give up.

I don’t mean this to be ‘oh woe is me’ or ‘please pity me.’  It sounds that way, and there is a part of my soul that yearns for comfort, for soft words and sympathy to make this easier – less unbearably difficult.  But another part of me – the one I got from my mother, and Jennie J, and all the tough ladies whose DNA I share – says I will not be beaten.  I will not lie down and give up.  And becoming a broken human constantly in need of fixing isn’t okay.

Many years ago I made a mistake.  I’ve been paying for it ever since, in icy cold words begrudgingly directed in my general direction, in subtle jabs at who I am, where I am from and the choices I have made.  Fifteen years hasn’t eased the apparent injustice I caused, or the color of my character in certain people’s eyes.  (Black, in case you were wondering.  Although it should have been sort of obvious).

That moment, so many years ago, when I made what felt like a fairly innocent, naive mistake, changed my life.  Not just the course of it, but the damage the aftermath did to my character, my confidence and my very being.  I started living my life trying to make up for the terrible, horrible “crimes” I committed against others.

The manner in which I reacted to the criticism of my very being has morphed over time.  I am not sure I should still be apologizing — and I certainly should NEVER have apologized for certain aspects of my actions (or more specifically, myself).  But the consequences of how it affected me continue to be far-reaching.

So how does this all tie together?

I don’t know.  I think it all came to a head about a week ago.  I got some news from my brother (now far away in Texas starting a new life), I wrote that blog post marking an important moment for me, I received another lovely email from a family member, and work nearly broke me.

When I looked in the mirror and saw that sad reflection staring back at me with emotionless eyes, I felt overwhelming sad … I didn’t know who that woman was – I didn’t recognize myself.  I was tired of feeling so terrible, so broken, so angry, so slighted, so unheard.  I was tired of the pain in my body from stress, disuse and anxiety.  I was tired of seeing myself in the mirror and not knowing myself anymore.

I’m also a little tired of apologizing.  So pardon me while I have a small, much-needed moment.

I’m an American, and I’m proud of being an American.  I’m proud of my country and the noble men and women who strived to make it a better place to live than where they were born.  It is a great, magnificent country full of people with big personalities, pride in their heritage and pride in their country.  Anyone who has only spent a day or two here, or a week long vacation, doesn’t have any idea of the greatness that still exists in this nation.  We are not Hollywood, we are not a stereotype, and we are certainly not less than any other country in the world.

I have made mistakes.  And I have let them define me for far too long.  Here’s the truth – we all make mistakes.  We all make wrong choices, say the wrong thing, pick the wrong person to marry.  Shit happens.  It happens every day, and it happens to most people, and a lot of times, it happens more than once.  Holding any person accountable for a mistake, or a misunderstanding without any real knowledge of who that person is – is absolutely ridiculous.  Especially for fifteen years.  And you can tell me I need to let it go, or tell me that it’s ‘just how it is’.  But here’s the thing – I have tried to let it go.  I’m not the one still taking shots at me – all I’ve ever done is apologize and try to be polite and the picture of contrition.  And I’m done now.  It’s eating away at my soul.

Life is effing hard.  And the people that we all choose to surround ourselves with should lift us up.  They should be the kind of people you can break down in front of, who hear you and who love you without judgement.  They should encourage you to chase your dreams, and make you laugh until your face hurts.  Those are the people worth fighting for.

Today, after overcoming my paralyzing fear of going new places (which has compounded with walking & eyesight problems) i went to the gym and I swam.  I swam for forty minutes and my arms ached and I could barely breath ~ but memories came flooding back of swim practices and high school and pushing myself even when I felt like I couldn’t go anymore.  It felt like a relief.  And in the water, my legs don’t fail me the way they do on the ground ~ and my vision (despite working out) is crystal clear.

I stood in the bathroom today, and my skin had  a little more color, and my hair was shiny at the roots, and I didn’t feel so weighed down.  Exercise is a miraculous thing.  I believe in it with as much conviction as I believe in vegetables, green juice and smoothies. I believe these things are the rungs on the wall that will help me climb out of the despair I’ve found myself in.  I am clinging to that, and the phenomenal way I felt (and out of shape, if we’re being totally honest) in the pool today.  And to the idea that I’m done apologizing for who I am.  I’m really not that bad.