ruminations
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pause
I’m not a very nice person. I mean, I try. But I don’t succeed.
I get grumpy when I’m tired. I get down right vicious when I’m hungry. I snap. I say mean things. For no reason, really.
It’s an interesting thing to contemplate. This evening I snipped at my husband because he asked me a few times if I was okay with the movie he picked for us to fall asleep to (I almost need a movie and background talking to fall asleep. It’s probably not healthy). Maybe he asked me more than once because he didn’t hear my response the first time. Maybe he wanted to make sure I wasn’t just humoring him. I don’t know. He wasn’t being malicious. But I spewed venom for no reason.
And here’s the thing. Words are very powerful. Words can heal. But they can also hurt. They cripple. Do untold damage. They stay with you for years, a haunting echo in the back of your brain. I can name multiple things that have been said to me over time that I still carry with me — that have affected the way I live my life and the person I am. And who knows if I truly need to be carrying those weights? Who knows if I even understood the message at the time … if I’m even remembering things correctly. I know how they made me feel. And when something hurts you, wounds you to the marrow of your bones … it isn’t easily forgotten.
I want to pause for a moment and remind myself that it is important to always think before I speak. To consider the consequences of my words. Is hurting someone instantly worth it in the long run? What do I get out of that? What does it say about me?
I find that oftentimes my words are most harsh in moments of my own insecurity. When I feel vulnerable. My ability to cut someone down is a defense mechanism. Trying to be conscious of that is a forever job. I don’t think it ever gets easier. Perhaps, with time, I just get a little more thoughtful and I pause.
begin again
I don’t know if anyone reads this blog. And I’m totally okay with that. I like having a space to talk (even if it’s just to myself!). I like having a space to think things out. Oftentimes, after I’ve written I feel lighter, as though heavy thoughts that have burdened me are no longer weighing on my shoulders.
I began this blog in June 2011 as a way to learn to cook. And in January 2013 when I was positively diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, it became a place I came to to work through things. To share the chaos in my mind. This past year, it has been an outlet for the grief that has pulsed through my veins since losing my mother.
And now, I need it to be something else. I need it to be where I write every day and share my world view. Because I’ll turn 40 in just over a month, and I need to feel like my life has purpose. As though it has shape. We all spend an amazing amount of time running the rat race — pushing through minutes and hours and days to get to a nebulous destination. I have had the great priviledge of not having to work for the last few years. And it has given me such perspective on the question “Why?”.
I thought about beginning this month as daily postings about gratitude. I love the exercise and I think it’s so worthwhile to focus on what we are grateful for, and give thanks to those people who positively impact our lives. But … I can do that on Instagram. I can do that anywhere. What can I do here that will mean something?
Honestly. I don’t know.
Life feels fraught at the moment. We are all doing the things we need to do to survive, to be part of society. We hand out candy on Halloween, our front stoop a riot of mums and pumpkins and scarecrows. We do the laundry and call the contractor about the leaky roof. We make sure to order our dog’s medicine and pick up the dry cleaning. We do the things.
To what end? What are our goals? Why do we do the things we do? Have we prioritized our time? Are we acting in the best interest of our loved ones — and more importantly — ourselves?
I have deeply struggled for many months … perhaps years … with the question of “What’s Next?” What should I be doing, what am I obligated to do … what will garner the least judgement from my peers (this is a real concern, and I’m not proud of it, but I do worry about judgement).
It hasn’t been an easy road. And I have had many other things to consume me, as well. I have wavered, I have tried things, I have made decisions only to renege. I have wondered and soul searched and felt completely and utterly lost.
I don’t know if I’ve found my way. But I do think I have an idea. And for right now, I’m beginning here. I’m starting small. And I will grow, one day and one moment at a time. And if you are reading this (if anyone is reading this! haha!) — Thank You. And I hope you enjoy this new journey.
xox, g
jack of all trades, master of none
It’s September.
I keep getting older, but I swear, time also goes by much faster! That’s a thing, right? Time speeds up as we age? I think it is.
We spent the last week of August in Hilton Head. We were scheduled to spend the first week of September, but Dorian interfered and HHI was mandatorily evacuated. So, that was a fun, unscheduled 13 hour drive (haha!).
On Wednesday August 28, with my Dad and my brother and my husband and my aunt and uncle (my mother’s siblings) and Jojo, we scattered some of my mother’s ashes. It was a beautiful evening, a perfect South Carolina sunset. We all felt the weight of the situation as we walked slowly toward the water. We didn’t speak. And my father, his voice broken and soft, scattered her ashes into the sand and sea.
Sometimes, it doesn’t feel as though she is gone. I feel like I haven’t talked to her in awhile, but that she’s just at the other end of the phone. And then I remember, or I go to the house and it feels hollow, as though something truly vital is missing. Because, it is. She is missing. She is gone and she will never come back.
I hear her voice in my head sometimes. Her laughter, though faint and faraway. I feel her expectations for my life, and I feel as though I am failing her.
I think about all the things I wish I had done, all the things I haven’t accomplished … and often, it just makes me feel tired. What is worth all that work? What exactly, is worth the time and money most things require? Anything?
I think about applying to law school, studying for the LSATs. I think about not going. All the debt, all the time … it didn’t, in the end, feel worth it at that time in my life.
I think about the restaurants, and the company I helped to build. I think about balancing checkbooks, and studying spreadsheets about food costs and labor percentages. I think … yeah, I did that for awhile. It was interesting. But I don’t want to do that any more. It isn’t fulfilling.
I think about grad school, and taking classes and getting a masters or a PhD. And then I wonder … why? Just to prove to myself that I can? What do I plan to do with all that knowledge? … Nothing. I have no plans for it.
In our ever-changing society, it beomes hard to know what the best choice is — becoming an expert in something (anything?) or knowing a little bit about a lot of things and leveraging that toward success. Also, do I need a masters in creative writing to write? Elizabeth Gilbert says that I do not. So why spend the money?
It’s really about discipline. It’s about drive. What do I want to succeed in … and how can I go about doing it? If there was something, I’m sure I could find a way. I mean, I leveraged fifteen years of waiting tables to do what I did for seven years in restaurants (not important, but director stuff). I made that a success when i could have kept taking people’s dinner orders. I just don’t know what I want to do. I have no idea.
Anyway. That’s what’s on my mind today.
xox, g
here we go again
I actually start multiple blog posts a day … in my head. It’s just finding the discipline to sit down and type. But … that seems to be the theme of life in a lot of ways. The mind is a very powerful thing, but transitioning thoughts into action takes discipline and dedication and … well, frankly, not being lazy.
Which I am. Well, I can be. Its a moveble target, y’know?
In support of my recent themed idea (because who will support me if I don’t support myself, right?):
What I’m Watching: I just finished the second season of Big Little Lies and have started the first season of Killing Eve. Some thoughts: Big Little Lies was much more enjoyable than I anticipated. I saw a lot of middle of the road reviews, people’s disappointment, but I thought it was a pretty interesting study of the human condition — why people do the things they do, that life exists in the gray area and black and white are pie-in-the-sky day dreams because very few things are all good or all evil. How people get caught in situations, or life progressions and then look back and wonder what led them there — and what family and friends will do for each other, for the people they love and their different perspectives on what is best for others. It was pretty fascinating, and the cherry on top are the actors: Nicole Kidman, Reese Witherspoon, Zoe Kravitz (who I loved this season), Shailene Woodley, Laura Dern and the incomparable Meryl Streep. It made me want to go back and start from the beginning. (Also, who doesn’t love Adam Scott?).
Killing Eve is like a hairpin turn after Big Little Lies and while I adore Sandra Oh and think she’s fabulous, Jodie Comer is what I love so far. I’m only a couple episodes in, but I’m enjoying it.
What I’m Reading: I am currently reading my aunt’s manuscript about the life of Robert Horton. I know a lot of the broad strokes of the ‘story’ (because she has been sharing things over the years as her fascination with him has grown) but some of the subtle details are pretty fascinating. She’s definitely done an amazing amount of research and should be applauded! Next up I think I’m going to tackle The Wright Brothers. I have always been fascinated by them (and Amelia Earhart) so I am looking forward to getting into that.
What I am Listening to: Honestly? Nothing specific right now. It’s as though I can’t find the sound that is in my head, the music that will speak to me. We recently got an Amazon Echo Dot and it’s been fun to speak to it and ask it to play certain music. Hubs & I really love Gerry Mulligan jazz (which we played a few nights in a row ’round the fire pit). But that’s about as specific as I can get!
***
Every month I pick a quote and write it on a chalk board in our foyer. I’ve been doing it for about a year and a half, and some months the quotes are better than others. For this August, I picked a Teddy Roosevelt quote that I come back to a lot, because life is hard and we are all so hard on ourselves and social media does not make it any better.
“Comparison is the thief of Joy.”
When you’ve been ‘retired’ for two and half years, and doing yoga and laundry and Peloton classes (amongst other things) comparison to others can be deadly. Feeling envy of working women, successful women, women whose voices are heard and respected … it can eat you alive from the inside out. So I try to remind myself that it’s a bad, bad habit to compare my life with anyone elses.
I’m moderately to mildly successful on most days. So, that’s a plus.
But it’s hard. I see other people’s homes or cars or accomplishments and I wonder what I do with my time. (Seriously. I can’t even seem to find time to blog … what am I doing?!?). But when I take a deep breath I remind myself that my health is a top priority (because MS doesn’t let you enjoy short cuts … of any kind). And exercise and laundry are important. As is sleep and self-care and my relationship and walking the dog …. and then the rabbit hole begins again, because I don’t know what the point is or if I’m just on a hamster wheel.
Anyway. Some of my thoughts. Written down. Because I’m trying, I really am!
xox, g
reset
It’s been a minute since my last post.
I was feeling a little lost. A little … unclear about what was going on with life. Because my mother died, of course. But with that came so many other things. Life irrevocably changed. My dad is different, our family is different. Everything feels seismically shifted since we lost her. I am alone, floating, directionless. Confused.
So, after awhile, I thought maybe I should come back to the blog. Write. Scream into the void. Maybe it would help. Maybe writing the things I don’t say would be therapeutic.
But I don’t know where to start. I began this blog as a cooking blog but that changed with my MS diagnosis. Also … because, I mean, I like food. And I like eating. But cooking and creating recipes? Not really my thing. I guess that’s something that comes with age. Knowing yourself so much better. Knowing when to call it, when to say, “Yeah, that’s not my bag, thank you very much.” I worked in the hospitality/restaurant industry for 22 years and I can say with all confidence, it wasn’t really my bag. Did I love things about it? Yes. Was innovative food exciting and the beauty and art of wine sort of intoxicating? Absolutely. And being in the industry while it became the hottest industry in the country … yeah, that was pretty cool. But that saying about doing something you love and never working a day in your life? It didn’t apply to my time in restaurants.
Since stopping working I’ve been sort of in love with a couple things … exercise and wellness, skincare and my all-time deepest love, entertainment. So I figured I’d just come back to this space, write about what’s on my mind and what I’m reading/watching/listening to. And maybe I’ll find a direction as I go.
What I’m Watching: So, Husby and I just finished watching Deadwood (both the three seasons of the HBO show and the movie they recently made to give fans closure after 13 years). Once we go through the first couple episodes and settled in, we really enjoyed it. It wasn’t perfect. There were entire episodes when we weren’t really sure what was going on. But Ian McShane made it all worth it. He is utterly brilliant. And the character studies were sort of beautiful. Flawed people, the grayness between right and wrong and the things people do in the name of survival. The portrayal of a prospecting town and the beginnings of ‘civilization’ coming to the wild (north) west. The beauty and subtlety of certain stories outweighed some of the flaws or stereotypes and strangely written dialogue. I felt the movie was an apropos closure written for fans and gave satisfactory payoffs to stories left dangling when the show was abruptly cancelled in 2006.
We also watched a couple good movies yesterday. I say ‘good’ not because they are Oscar worthy films (or that we are the type of people who only watch those kinds of movies) but because they hit different sweet spots. We watched Murder Mystery with Adam Sandler and Jennifer Aniston on Netflix and that was just fun. I read one review that said the writer wondered what dropping a blue collar American couple in an Agatha Christie novel would be like and I have to say, that’s a pretty excellent description, intended or not. If you aren’t looking for anything too heavy and are up for a good time (without too many questions or deep character studies) it’s an enjoyable romp.
After watching that, we switched it up and watched Juliet, Naked which I enjoyed as a film but also because there were so many English things — the sound of the seagulls, the town, the beach. It made me nostalgic for Berwick-upon-Tweed, visiting my grandparents, and waking up in their attic bedroom, the seagulls singing good morning. I loved the gentleness of the movie, and the observations about human nature and human relations. About how we view others, and the assumptions we make about other people’s lives, based on very little information. About the choices we make as people, our mistakes, our intentions. About the gray-ness of life. And the unexpected bright spots. I won’t lie, I’m watching it again as I type this, and I’m enjoying it all over again. Human communication through written word (not Instagram, or emojis or text messages but letters, complete sentences, thoughts on paper). A beautiful thing.
What I’m Reading: Husby and I created a shelf for all our unread books after Christmas this past year. It sits right under our television. I haven’t read nearly enough of the books that sit there but I am trying. I am working hard to put my phone down and explore other alternatives. It’s a challenge. Currently, I am reading a book from Reese Witherspoon’s book club called The Alice Network. What I have loved about it is the readability, but also the historic facts that inspired it (sort of like the real people who informed Deadwood … I guess that’s my thing right now). There was a woman at the beginning of the First World War who served as a spy for the British and her story is fascinating. The book weaves that truth in with its fiction and it is an easy, imminently readable book.
What I’m Listening to: Husby & I watched the Tonys a few weeks ago and I fell head over feet in love with the music of Hadestown. The jazz and folk-influenced music used to tell a story of ancient Greek myths. Near perfection. Plus, the performance and the light design stole my whole heart. We downloaded two different recordings ~ the new Original Broadway Cast (which won’t be completely available until the end of July due to a character-based rollout of the music) and a recording from 2017 entitled Hadestown: The Myth. The Musical. which features Chris Sullivan (aka Toby from This Is Us) as Hermes. Husby and I love his interpretation of the music, his Puckish stylings and his overall narration through the music. As a sidenote, I also love Andre de Shields interpretation and love having both recordings. I also adored de Shields’ Tony acceptance speech and his three points of life advice (1. Surround yourself with people whose eyes light up when you enter a room, 2. Slow is the fastest way to get to the places you want to go and 3. The top of the mountain is just the bottom of another mountain.)
Okay. So that’s me for now. Recovering from surgery, stuck on the couch. Trying to enjoy my down time (and missing exercise something fierce!).
xox, g
breathless
Life has a funny way of constantly catching you off guard. Sometimes everything feels good, and conversely, sometimes everything feels awful. Sometimes it takes every ounce of energy and concentration just to get from one day to the next, one hour, one minute to the next. It feels like walking underwater – slow, and muffled and everything just slightly out of focus.
Last night John cooked again. I was supposed to, but life felt like it spiraled out of control halfway through my day and John rescued me. I’d marinated steaks and planned to do baby golden potatoes and asparagus but luckily, John is more creative than I am, and he swapped out the potatoes for riced butternut squash. It was insanely delicious. He cooked it simply ~ in the oven for about an hour with butter and salt & pepper spread out in a glass baking dish. He made some whipped cinnamon sour cream as a garnish.
The asparagus and steaks were cooked on the grill. Probably about ten to fifteen minutes for the asparagus and a minute per side for the steak (we like our red meat rare). The marinade keeps them tender and is (if I do say so myself) delicious. It’s my mother’s recipe and when I finally focused long enough to make it instead of just winging it (as I did for the first few years John and I lived together and when I began to cook) it was so worth it. Now, steak feels naked without it.
We ate outside at our new bistro table. John and I have a small spending problem ~ when we see something we like and can envision it in our lives, we tend to buy it. Lowe’s was having a sale and this little table with two bar stools spoke to us. We brought it home, assembled it (ahem, John assembled it) and have been using it at every opportunity since. I picked a nice bottle of Pinotage and we had a really wonderful evening.
I have to admit that when we sit down and eat dinner and talk it’s truly wonderful. There are certainly nights when we are both so exhausted and wiped out that it’s about all we can do to put a meal together and collapse in front of the TV. But last night was a good night.
Tonight? Not so much. I keep reminding myself that it’s only October 4th and I can’t give up on my challenge this early. That throwing in the towel at the first sign of difficulty is really pretty weak. And there will always be hardships. Life is not habitually sunshine and roses. But today feels heavy, like Sisyphus leaning against his boulder at the bottom of the hill, knowing that all the effort and all the energy will be for naught and yet must be expended. That tomorrow, I will have to begin again at the beginning. That it will still feel heavy and damn near impossible. And that won’t change.
Last week one of my closest friends lost her father. And amongst everything she said in the wake of his death, she echoed the sentiments of Gretchen Jackson following the death of her race horse, Barbaro. That grief is the price we pay for love.
And love is wonderful and all-encompassing and lifts us up and allows us to believe that anything and everything is possible. But grief — grief is absolutely awful. It is the coldness of Harry Potter’s dementors and the bereftness of Frodo’s Ring Wraiths. It is emptiness and loneliness and hopelessness and unendurable aching pain. Grief sucks the air out of your lungs and leaves you helpless. Grief is agony. Grief is how I feel today.
So, that being said, I know that tomorrow I must get up and be strong again. I must smile and be positive and focus on all the good. But yesterday and today I spent some time feeling irrevocably sorry for myself. And John, as always, saved me.
staying focused
Last night hubs took lead dinner preparing duties and made chicken parmesan with cauliflower rice. I may be the only person in the world to feel this way, but I vastly prefer cauliflower rice to regular rice. I am a huge, huge fan. And dinner was delicious.
I, however, failed to take any photos or note any cooking methods. Perhaps this challenge will catch me up earlier than I anticipated. But I do love having a meal at the end of the day that’s warm, and home-cooked and filling. I will make a better effort this evening to document!
This morning I ventured to yoga for the first time in nearly three weeks. My knee injury has been harder for me to deal with than I anticipated. To be fair, the last injury that really sidelined me was five years ago when I accidentally broke my foot on John & my honeymoon. That was a pretty tough one. But memories of the difficulties of being out of commission faded with time. And that was also in my first year of MS, so everything felt much more confusing and challenging. That broken foot took nearly four months to heal. That’s a long time for a hairline fracture.
Back in April when husby encouraged me to get back to yoga and I trepidatiously ventured out to a new studio, it was pretty hard. I think I sweat nearly a gallon and I smelled terrible and I was fairly certain that I was going to pass out or collapse after sixty minutes of heat, chaturangas & downward facing dogs. Today was a different kind of hard. Poses that were never difficult proved nearly impossible. My heightened awareness of both my knees made my movements slow and labored. I saw myself in the mirror and felt clunky and puffy (Can you balloon up after merely three weeks of inactivity? Yes, yes you can). But strangely, after my awkward triangle poses and extended side angles and my near inability to do a simple warrior one, I finished class feeling better than I did before I went in. Yoga just does that, I guess.
Getting injured hasn’t just been physically difficult for me. It has been mental torture. I’ve wallowed in the frustrations of lack of movement, fear of the increased MS-ness of my body, and slowness with which every task has had to be completed. When you favor one leg (either consciously or unconsciously) it throws your whole body out of whack so not only does my left knee hurt in uncomfortable ways, but now so does my right knee and both my hips from my strange, labored, limping walk. I’ve tried to focus on other things ~ writing, cooking, etc etc. But I get distracted by the disorder of the house and the need to clean (something I haven’t tried because of my lack of fluid movement). Yoga helped with all that mental clutter, too. Therapy has been good in so many ways. But not the calming, meditative way that yoga is helpful. The feeling of just being on your mat and everything else fading away. Being present. Being fully in that moment. (Sidenote, that sh*t is hard, sometimes. I feel like my mind never stops – it’s constantly whirring and buzzing with a million thoughts at once).
I want to make a conscious effort to stay positive and stay upbeat as I move through the recovery of my knee. I want to make sure I am not dipping into depression and putting to much emphasis on having MS. I think people who say “I might have MS but MS does not have me” are either the healthiest MS people ever or slightly in denial. I’m okay saying that sometimes, MS does have me. Sometimes it wins the power struggle and I have a really bad run of days. Sometimes, pathetically, I feel super duper sorry for myself. But the trick is to feel those feelings. Get mad, be sad, wallow. And then wake up the next day and move forward. Give MS its space. Respect its tantrum-throwing, infuriating ways. But don’t let it control you all the time.
Going to yoga today – if I’m completely honest – was terrifying. I was so afraid. Of how it would feel. Of what I would or wouldn’t be able to do. Of hurting myself again. Of everything you might think I would be nervous about and so much more. I was scared I wouldn’t be able to drive home after class. I was scared of everything.
But here’s the thing, here’s the trick. I did it anyway. And that’s what makes the difference.
injury time out
On Sunday I was walking down the stairs to take Lucy out and my right foot slipped. It slid four or five steps. My left did not. There were bumps and John came running. I looked up at him with teary eyes and smiled, nodding slightly. “I just slipped,” I said, but the tears weren’t because of that.
He told me not to move, he would take Lucy out. Normally, I would agree and then blatantly ignore him. But I didn’t. After getting both legs next to each other (from their lightening bolt position of the slip) I sat and waited for him to come home. I tried to feel as much as I could in my legs. Which, if I’m honest, isn’t much. Even on a good day.
A million thoughts raced through my head. Breath steady and move your toes and just be quiet for a minute. Those were the good thoughts. The bad ones included It’s your knee, how you could have been so stupid, it will take ten times the amount of time to heal because of MS ….
But I walked upstairs when John got home. We iced it. We went to bed. I felt confident that it would be okay.
On Monday we went to the ER. Because it didn’t feel okay. It felt wretched and scary and I felt wretched and scared (and frustrated and mad and defeated … among other things). The ER told us (after hours and ex-rays and the sound of sneakers on linoleum passing our room over and over) a whole lot of nothing. As we drove home in the rain of Hurricane Florence I spewed vitriol, frustrations dripping in sarcasm and resentment.
Life isn’t always about having MS. But also … it is always about having MS.
This week has been brutal for me. Drowning in my frustrations, my limitations, the pain of my body from inactivity as much as injury. Resentment. Inability. The list goes on, and on. And infuriatingly on.
The truth? I will take longer to heal than someone who doesn’t have an autoimmune disease. I will also be slightly more proactive about it, because I know how debilitating the consequences are for not taking care of myself.
I didn’t fall down the stairs because of MS. So as mad as I’ve been, I can’t blame it on my disease. I slipped on the steps because I didn’t have shoes on, I was looking behind me to get Lucy to come down the stairs and I missteped. Not being able to blame MS pisses me off, to be honest. I like when MS gets to be the bad guy of my life. I wasn’t super pleased at having to accept that this slip could have happened to anyone, MS or not.
It is challenging to be restricted. It’s challenging to have to sit, knowing full well that the only thing that will help things get better is time. It’s challenging to go to sleep each night trying to figure out how to get the best rest possible when it feels impossible. Not being able to run around and do simple household chores means that all I can do is sit here and think about it. Think about life. Think (and worry) about my knee. Think about everything I currently can’t do.
It’s also hard to acknowledge all the challenges, admit your faults and move through it. I am pretty bad at that. Today, as the week winds down into the weekend, the only thing I am trying to do is give myself a break. Let go of the resentment. Accept everything for what it is without needing to define or categorize it. And breathe through it.
That’s really all I can do.
change
My life has changed dramatically since leaving my job last January.
I mean, dramatically.
At first, I felt lost. As though I had no direction and even worse, didn’t even know how to find one. Then I felt resentful. At the circumstances under which I left my job. At my disease. At the world for doing me so dirty. And then came defiance. I will conquer. I will succeed. I will create and live and be unstoppable.
But MS nipped that one pretty quickly in the bud.
Who am I? What do I want to do with my life? What am I currently doing with my life? … I chewed on these questions for a long time. I felt like I wasn’t contributing to our household, that I was the weak link. That this invisible illness of mine was debilitating, but not debilitating *enough*.
But the real question that I kept coming back to was ~ who was I before and why was I that girl? Did I like that girl? Was I proud of her? Did she pursue dreams relentlessly and with passion? Um…. hmmm.
I spent a lot of time not knowing myself and not really having a clear direction (other than stay alive and pay the bills). I spent over twenty years in the hospitality/restaurant industry because I sort of landed there. And I did love it. And I was passionate about it. I was so proud of my last company and all it accomplished while I was there. I look at it now and it’s nearly unrecognizable — it just blew up. Which is fabulous. But I’m not sad that I’m no longer part of it. I wasn’t *that* passionate.
I went to college for musical theatre. And I absolutely adore musical theatre. In fact, I was medium okay at performing, too. But I wasn’t passionate enough to risk it all. To sleep on couches and starve myself and do everything you need to do to make it in the industry. I started waiting tables instead. (See above for where that lead).
So you can imagine that these past eighteen months have been interesting for me. Challenging, frustrating, desperate. Freeing.
I mean, seriously. What do I care about?
Last year was a blur. I quit and then John had surgery. Then he started a new job. And then September happened and September to December are always a blur of football and holidays. This year started well – we hosted our first Rabbie Burns supper and I was hired by Aflac to sell insurance. I got my license. I did my training. I f*cking hated it. I had some major issues with how business was done. I lasted a month. It wasn’t my finest moment in time.
And then the husband told me to go back to yoga.
He’d said it in the past but he was pretty adamant this time. My body was hurting. I was riding my bike every day but I was getting stiffer. The relief that I’d experienced before this for all the joyous physical MS symptoms was fading. I was mentally trapped. And then Dr. Markowitz suggested in April that I needed to figure out my anxiety because my MS wasn’t being triggered by anything physical. Physically, he said, I was doing really well.
Well, isn’t that a b*tch.
Timing is a crazy thing. I received an email blast from a new yoga studio offering a new student special – $21 for 21 days. I called my friend (recently on short term disability for a new MS drug therapy) and we began our 21 days. She didn’t end up staying at the studio after those first few weeks. But I did. I had found something that was missing. I still don’t know if I can put my finger on what it is. But I found it. And it led to some amazing things.
First, it led me to the chiropractor. I did something to my left shoulder (always a painful nuisance … thank you high school swim team). I arrived at my chiro slightly trepidatious but over my first three months fell madly in love with their philosophies, their clean living examples (homemade bug spray! homemade sunscreen! detox diets!)and their long term goal of helping me be the healthiest version of myself I can be.
I discovered essential oils. With a healthy dose of skepticism I ordered a diffuser and all kinds of oils I didn’t even understand. I didn’t even know how to use them for the first few weeks. I just occasionally googled something and then went about my day. And then, all of sudden, things started to make sense.
I also fully committed to using more natural products. I mean, your skin is your largest organ. It makes sense that the things you put on it affect your body as a whole. But I’m a skincare snob. I mean, a big one. Finding new products was not something I undertook lightly.
But Instagram came to my rescue (as it so often does … sort of, haha!). I found Real Simple Soaps out of Hilton Head Island South Carolina and I fell so ridiculously in love with her products that I even got my mother on the natural products train. RSS makes products using goat milk, kefir and probiotics with all natural ingredients. And the stuff works better than anything I’ve ever used. This amazing discovery led me to try Kopari deodorant (all natural coconut). Once the door to vegan, non-GMO, cruelty-free, natural products was open, I not only discovered some amazing things (all Kopari products that I’ve tried are amazing and Thrive Causmetics are THE SH*T) but I felt really, really happy.
I also took Dr. M’s advice and went to therapy. That has been super interesting. Always rewarding, sometimes painful. Usually thought-provoking.
I think that what I’ve learned more clearly than anything I expected to learn was the empowering and positive force of self care. It sounds super (I mean, super duper) pretentious, but it isn’t. I believe in it passionately. I believe in getting sweaty every day and the cleansing power of physically moving your body. I believe in eating healthy, whole foods (but still uber delicious and fun and inventive and non-restrictive). I believe in drinking a ton of water. I mean, a ton. (I drink about 96 ounces a day. I know. It’s a lot). I believe in prioritizing sleep in order to more fully enjoy your awake hours.
I have found that taking care of myself is so much more than getting my Tysabri infusion every twenty-eight days. And in turn, it helps keep my MS under control. It’s insanely powerful.
So I might not have a clear direction yet. But I’m starting to get a good sense of what I believe in, what I’m passionate about and how I want to spend my time. I’m learning to love and accept myself, flaws and all. I’m learning to forgive myself and my disease for bad days.
I’m also attempting to learn how to have curly hair. It’ll be an adventure.
deja vu
I remember the first time I went to NIH for a surgery. John & I took his father down, spent the day in the surgical waiting room and were able to see Alan in the ICU that evening as he crawled out of anesthesia and began working on recovery.
I’ve done it twice now with John, deliriously tired, pacing a hospital I have come to know. Watching the clock. Reminding myself not to panic. Finally finding my husband in ICU, his face flushed and his words groggy. But back.
This past Friday John and I celebrated our fifth wedding anniversary. Our tenth year of togetherness. Time is a strange and wonderful phenomenon. “This too shall pass’ is one of the truest sayings that exists. ‘Time heals all’. Another good one.
But sometimes things circle around and you find yourself facing the same demons you’ve conquered in the past. This morning we woke up at 3am (I use ‘woke up’ loosely because I’m still not sure I’m awake) and journeyed to Elmira, NY for Alan’s latest surgery. And we are in another surgical waiting room. Eating fast food. Waiting. Bleary-eyed.
The waiting is the worst.
Nothing makes the time go faster. And as it slips past (slower than usual) it feels painfully wasted and, conversely, painfully important.
In the end, we are all small beings moving through our small lives with their ups and downs and twists and turns. Nothing occurring will be remembered in 100 years or prove to be significant in any way. Which makes the significance in this moment, to these people (myself included) heartbreakingly poignant.
Did I mention I was tired? Yes. Very tired.
Also introspective, contemplative.
We each shape our stories with our attitudes, our thoughts, our beliefs. The things we place value in, the way we choose to articulate ourselves. We can be positive, negative, optimistic, realistic, pessimistic. We can find comfort or insult in any action. We have been gifted the divine right to choose.
Today feels like deja vu. And also, nothing like deja vu. As my shoulders and back burn & ache from fatigue. And my eyelids lay heavily across my pupils. And I’m intermittently bone-numbingly cold and uncomfortably stale & warm.
I need to sleep. And sweat. And stretch. And drink green smoothies or juice — or anything that feels nutritious in any way.
But all I can do right now is breathe. And wait. And be as strong as I can be for my husband, who is the strongest man in the world.
D5 Creation