Beginnings

It's a Monday, and I awoke to a sudden storm. How long had it been going on? I'm not sure. As a child, living on the Gulf Coast, I loved them. I loved the sound of thunder rolling in, taking it's time with the warm up before the big show started. And what a show. Then, the aftermath, soft rain continuing sometimes for several days. Here, the storms are sudden and short. They do their job washing our little piece of earth, then move on.

Earlier, I wrote about the gift(s) I had no doubt I would find in my illness. The firmest diagnosis for what I have is fibromyalgia. Of course, I would have something not well-defined and with no known cure :-). That's okay. I can walk, talk, do pretty much what I want to as long as I don't overdo, which is more than some folks. I am grateful.

This has been a year of exploration. Starting and stopping, then starting again. Searching for answers ... and the good Lord has provided just enough that I don't get too discouraged. But, as usually is the case, the most essential answers were inside of me, just waiting to be discovered. It's time to open them now.

In Taylor Hartman's book, The Character Code, he writes about four major personality types based on individual motivation. I am a red ... my gift is the gift of vision. I often see a bridge and how to build it. My challenge is to be sure I cross the bridge to the other side.

I think it's time I start crossing some bridges.

What bridges do I sense are waiting to be explored? Well, going through quite a bit of family history/photographs is one. Writing a book about my mother, at least getting a working draft, is another. Finding my style statement is a third. I think that's enough for now, don't you?

There are a few others ... getting into the habit of productive routines will support the bridges mentioned above, and some smaller but no less important goals I have in my life. And with fibro, the routine can change from day to day depending on how one feels. I can tell you when the weather is going to change, usually at least 24 hours in advance, based on how I feel. My joints will begin to hurt, or I will get a headache, or my nerves will fire up and I have to ground myself in some way, listening to my body and what it needs. But I refuse to focus on what I can't do.

I can.

Yes, that is the answer that springs from my spirit, the answer that was inside of me all the time, waiting for me to hear it's empowering and flexible voice.

47

"In your own life, you should take particular care with endings, for their color will forever tinge your memory of the entire relationship and your willingness to reenter it".

Martin Seligman, Authentic Happiness


I usually don't have too much trouble with getting older. Really. But I should qualify that by saying that until this year, I've had really good health, so it's been easy to say, "Getting older? Piece of cake." (Pun definitely intended.)


46 started out as usual, except, as you know, it didn't stay life as usual, and by January, I was down for the count. 3 months in bed. Not exactly fun, but I did finally get some much needed rest.

The interesting thing about 46 is that I forgot I was 46 and started telling people I was 47. Now, I have NO idea how the wrong age got into my brain, but it did, and so, for about 6 months, I told people I was 47 when I WAS NOT. Talk about losing part of your life. Then, in March, as DH and I were trying to figure out which birthday this would be for him, we discovered that I was in fact 46 and that I might even enjoy being accurate when I told people my correct age.

I must admit, I felt a little cheated. What, only six more months to enjoy being 46? I didn't get the entire year back? Oh well, stuff like that happens, just like the rock that hit my windshield the other day and put a sizeable crack across it, so S, just deal, okay?

BUT, 47 did not start off well. I had an appointment with my rheumatalogist who had ordered x-rays and then MRIs and I was off to see him that morning to get the news. The news was: possible (meaning probable) neck surgery due to cervical spinal stenosis. Hmmmm. Well, that news coupled with the fact that it was delivered on the morning of my 47th birthday, on top of the fact that this doctor does NOT have a great bedside manner, as they say, and all I could think as we ended the appointment was "I can not get out of here fast enough." My chest felt tight, I wanted to cry, and I admit to being probably the biggest wuss you have ever met. Physically, that is. Really, I have to look away when the nurse draws blood. And now, neck surgery? Are you kidding me?

I got out of the building and to my car as fast as I could. Then the floodgates opened. I'm not going to question those emotions .... whatever sadness/vulnerability/disbelief I felt had a right to be there, at least for a little while. I came home, and rested my head against DH's chest, sobbing, barely able to get out the news. And he handled me beautifully. So loving and caring and reassuring in ways I am sure I have not been when he needed it. I was grateful for that. The tide abated, and sensible thinking soon returned. Thoughts like, "You have access to great medical care," and "People have surgery like this all the time and they recover and live productive lives." (Told you I was a wuss. Of course, it didn't help that I almost died last time I tried to have minor elective surgery, but I'M SURE that wasn't coloring my thinking.)

Well, if I was going to have to have surgery, I was going in there strong, so off to the gym. And when I got home, DH had EXACTLY what I had asked for my birthday sitting on the kitchen table, along with some lovely flowers. Life was good again.

Over the past few years, I have begun to really think about what I want when the occasion calls for it. So,instead of waiting and wondering if or what I would get from my family for my 47th birthday, I told my husband to tell the kids EXACTLY what I wanted.

And what was that, you may ask? Simple: I wanted the kids to each write down two of their favorite memories with me. That was it. And they did. Well, all except my oldest, but he left a most lovely jar of chocolate covered toffees on the table, so I'm not going to complain about that. Even my youngest, who never says - let alone WRITES! - more than two sentences in one go, wrote something for me.

Then DH said, I am taking you out to dinner, so we went down the street and had salad at one of our favorite little places, then came home and watched a video and the day turned out to be a rather lovely day. So, 47 is okay and if you ever think it doesn't matter what you do for folks, whether it is their birthday or no, think again.

Oh, and I don't have to have neck surgery. Just thought I'd add that in case you were wondering ...

Today

Today was a better day. Sheesh. So I got done what I could while I was feeling well, like going to the store and the gym. I even postponed a few errands, as I am trying to listen to my body and my brain and my heart and not overextend myself. I'm rather proud of myself for learning to listen like that ... for giving myself permission to even listen like that.

My kids are a wonder as they adapt to our new financial and physical limitations. DS, 18, offered to mow the entire yard in a very unfair exchange of chores between him and me. (Unfair to him, I might add, but he insisted.) Then, he and his older brother cooked their lunch today and then .... drumroll ... cleaned the entire kitchen without being asked, including unloading the dishwasher. I heard them working from the other room, came into the kitchen, had my suspicions delightfully confirmed, then felt an overwhelming desire to cry. I was that touched.

They never cease to amaze me. Who raised them? ;-).

You can see why I want them to wear their helmets when they are out on their bikes and longboards. I'd like to keep them around for while.

My new reality?

Four days ago, I laughed. It was short and sweet, barely more than a chuckle, but a nice gutteral sound all the same.

Then yesterday, I laughed, like, 3 times! I felt almost giddy.

Today, I do not feel like laughing. Today kinda sucks. I have a migraine and I'm deeply fatigued and the malaise of last summer is coming rushing back all over again.

David Richo defines mental health, in part, as being able to go with the flow of life, the good and the bad, and not feeling threatened by it. How do we get this kind of mental health? We practice, but usually we have to do so with the help of a therapist.

Yesterday I felt spontaneous and confident. Today, I just feel tired.

Another list :-)

List what consistently worries you each day.

Well, now that changes, according to what is going on in my life at the moment. I suppose I could worry about my kids -- and maybe I should more! -- but I have great faith in my children and in their abilities. Yes, we all struggle, and yes, they will do stupid things, just like I did. And that phenomenon won't go away just because they are adults. But my worrying won't help them become all that they can be. DD said to me the other day, "Mom, I know you like to believe the best about people because if you believe that, then they are more likely to become it." Well, someone has to see the best in us, don't they? I know I respond quite positively to that kind of demonstrated confidence.

No, right now, what worries me is my health, just a bit, and DH's health, and our financial situation. I hadn't realized how dependent we could quickly become on my income if DH didn't get enough work. I try not to worry, as I know worry won't accomplish much. I try to get up each day with faith, asking myself "What CAN I do, even with what is going on around me?" I KNOW it was the right thing for me to stop working -- had no choice, really -- and a friend of mine the other day said, "Well, if you knew stopping work was the right thing, and you are home now, then you are doing what you are supposed to be doing, right?" Her statement caught me, and I mean in a good way. I had never quite thought of my situation in that way before.

Another friend shared this quote with me: Faith is a willingness to act on incomplete information. (Yes, I know I am going on a lot of quotes lately, but hey, whatever keeps you in a good place, right?)

I'm trying to remember if I have ever had to have such great faith before. I don't think so ... I think faith is something that has come fairly easily to me in my life, or, if I didn't have faith, I could muster enough 'stick-to-it-iveness' to keep going. My darling bishop gave me a blessing last fall, when I knew I might have to stop working. He said I would blessed to hear and recognize the whisperings of the Spirit in my life. Well, the Spirit MUST be whispering because I sure as heck am NOT getting any 'loud and clear' statements to go on at this time! But I think He used my friend to whisper to me, because when she said, "You are doing what you are supposed to be doing," it did not come across as a firm declaration of truth. Instead, my soul felt comforted in this soft, soft thought.

So, besides finances, I worry about things like my sons NOT WEARING HELMETS WHEN THEY ARE ON THEIR MOTORBIKE OR LONGBOARD AND YES, I AM YELLING AT YOU BOYS RIGHT NOW!!!!

Waiting

Well, the transition continues. Whether I want it to or not, so I might as well go with it, eh?

This thing, this lovely illness that I have, which we still don't have a name for because WOULD YOU BELIEVE IT TAKES OVER 3 MONTHS TO GET IN TO SEE A SPECIALIST? Sorry, I digress.

I know there is a gift somewhere in this. I believe that with all my heart. And I'll admit, the waiting is tough. As we like to quote from the great film, Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory: "I want an Oompah Loompah NOW, Daddy!" That is how I have felt most of the past three months. I want to know IF and WHEN I will get better, WHEN will I be able to return to work, and then when I return, WHAT work SHOULD or even CAN I do? The Lord, in His infinite wisdom, will not let me see past today. And yes, I can hear all of you writing me a collective response, "Maybe THAT is the EXACT lesson in this for you, to live in today!"

I'll admit, I have felt quite disoriented and not myself. I think that is part of my illness, not being able to 'feel.' So, I'm going quite a bit on faith here. No, let me correct that: I am going TOTALLY on faith here.

It's all I can do.

Oh, but wait a minute. I do have a choice here. I could choose not to live in faith, I suppose. So, big pat on the back to me for that one.

And in the meantime, I came across this lovely quote from Ekchart Tolle:

Waiting is a state of mind, the usual state of mind. Presence is when you're no longer waiting for the next moment, believing that the next moment will be more fulfilling than this one.

Great Quote

Adlous Huxley wrote Brave New World. I have never read the book, but he was asked later in his career about putting out a new edition. He stewed and stewed about whether or not he should rewrite the book. After all, he had come so far as a writer since that early text. Surely it could be improved knowing what he knew now! However, he realized that revising would really not accomplish anything, and the text is still in it's original published form. Here is what he had to say about that experience:

"Classic remorse, as all the moralists are agreed, is a most undesirable sentiment. If you have behaved badly, repent, make what amends you can and address yourself to the task of behaving better next time. On no account brood over your wrongdoing. Rolling in the muck is not the best way of getting clean.”

Yes, I am tattooing this on my heart even as I write it here ...

More on this in his own words:

"Art also has its morality, and many of the rules of this morality are the same as, or at least analogous to, the rules of ordinary ethics. Remorse, for example, is as undesirable in relation to our bad art as it is in relation to our bad behaviour. The badness should be hunted out, acknowledged and, if possible, avoided in the future. To pore over the literary shortcomings of twenty years ago, to attempt to patch a faulty work into the perfection it missed at its first execution, to spend one's middle age in trying to mend the artistic sins committed and bequeathed by that different person who was oneself in youth -- all this is surely vain and futile. And that is why this new Brave New World is the same as the old one. Its defects as a work of art are considerable; but in order to correct them I should have to rewrite the book -- and in the process of rewriting, as an older, other person, I should probably get rid not only of some of the faults of the story, but also of such merits as it originally possessed. And so, resisting the temptation to wallow in artistic remorse, I prefer to leave both well and ill alone and to think about something else."

From: http://www.wealthandwant.com/auth/Huxley.html