Weekend at a nudist camp. Barefoot waterskiing. Traveling to an unknown city with no itinerary. Singing torch songs at a San Francisco nightclub. Completing a half-marathon. Every year, starting with my 20th birthday, I make an effort to push my "comfort" limits. This tradition has given me some interesting, if not somewhat stupid, memories and my friends will occasionally ask me about these events. Recently though, age and reflection has caused me to have to "adjust" one of my recollections.
I used to think that my non-tandem skydive from 18,000 feet - the highest jump a human can make without having an oxygen tank (or so I was told at the time) - was a pretty good "pushing my comfort limits" thing to have done but I rarely included it in my list. The truth of the matter is that the memory was tainted by something I didn't do. I wasn't successful on the jump - I didn't do it "right". So every time I've reflected on that experience, I regret that I failed overall and I kinda write it off as a let-down. Most times I don't even include it in my "what I've done" list. But I need to start giving that jump more credit than I previously have done.
It turns out that my having failed the jump was the bigger story. Because while it is true that I jumped non-tandem from 18,000 feet off a plane flying over Hollister, it is also true that I did not pull my parachute.
The moment I deplaned, I started into an unplanned air ballet that probably looked kinda cool from the ground far below. My view was different because what I saw was sky ground sky ground sky ground and the two dive instructors that jumped with me couldn't get close enough to help me stop "flipping".
When ya' jump from 18,000 feet, the freefall is supposed to last for 90 seconds and you're supposed to pull your chute in-between 8,500 and 11,000 feet. During that freefall, you're supposed to watch your altimeter, continue to steer yourself towards the landing site and generally keep your wits about you. I was unable to do any of those things because I never evened out like I was supposed to have done. Finally, at about 12,000 feet, the videographer (who had also jumped), managed to get close enough to pull my chute for me.
So: Weekend at a nudist camp. Barefoot waterskiing. Traveling to an unknown city with no itinerary. Singing torch songs at a San Francisco nightclub. Completing a half-marathon. Freefalling from 18,000 feet and not deploying my parachute.
There. That's better.
Anyone else have a list?
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
What a boob ...
After my self-imposed "get over yourself and get your 5hit together" weekend, it was rather a let-down to have to start off my Monday with a hospital visit. I'd known for nearly a month that this was how I'd be starting my day, so it's not like it was a surprise or emergency visit. (When you're as grace-impaired as I am, hospital visits typically get filed under "e" for "emergency".) No, this was an appointment – a scheduled visit. Knowing that I will be turning 40 this year, recognizing that Cancer does marathon runs throughout my family, and figuring that I am owed a little good news for a change, I had my first mammogram.
So headsup – if you're a guy who is uncomfortable hearing about such things, or maybe you're just not a fan of boobs, you can leave now and I promise I won't be the least bit upset. I'll wait.
***
***
***
Ok – we all alright now? Good.
So I arrive at the front desk to check in for my appt and am handed a form on a clipboard and told to have a seat. It's very early on a Monday morning, so I nicely ask "uh – you want me to fill out this form, right?" and realize that I will be the "dumb patient" this person talks about later when she is home. The form is basic enough – name, date, daytime phone number. Then the questions get a little more sinister. Recent surgery? Last mammogram? History of Cancer? I find myself taking a deep breath. I also realize that my hands are cold.
I'm escorted to a small changing room and given a gown to replace my top. Unlike most other hospital gowns, this one actually works. Then we head to the room and, for whatever reason, I'm officially nervous. Not because of the unknown aspect here … more like because of the familiar. This is JUST familiar enough for me to remember the first time I heard my name and "Cancer" in the same sentence.
I was alone that day, too. The difference then was that I WANTED to be alone. And after I heard what was going on inside my body – the internal war raging inside of my neck - I continued to want to be alone. After more than a year later, I owned up to what I'd gone through to my family and my friends. Some were surprised that I'd kept it to myself, some were angry and hurt, some stopped being friends with me because of it, and others just nodded and said "so you're ok now then, yes?" and we kept going.
I told about seven or eight folks that this appointment was coming up for me. I admitted that I was nervous … scared even … about it. And, while I consider myself a pretty good friend, a caring sister, an upfront daughter, no one asked if I wanted company. No one called me later to ask how things had gone. It may seem silly to you that I noticed this, but I will risk being called "silly".
It's now 12:50pm the next day. I've officially talked with everyone who knew this appointment was yesterday. I freely admit that we all have our lives, our families, our jobs, our tasks and our plans and schedules. I know that this was high ONLY on my radar. And I'm ok that no one has asked me how things went. But I'll tell ya' two things:
(1) My dearest friend Karin will have her first mammogram this year too and I will be calling her to arrange for lunch after her appointment.
(2) If I get crappy news next week, I'm sure as hell gonna tell people and ask for help.
Monday, February 25, 2008
She’s A Little Runaway
I had a self-created massively crappy end to my Thursday at work and, as I drove home while kicking myself (a difficult task in a stick-shift), I decided that an immediate change of scenery was not only called for but mandatory. For everyone concerned, especially me.
It used to be much easier for me to run away. I'd call up the college student tenants living in my rental home and tell them to clear out of the pool house for the weekend. Mostly this was my way of telling the boys that I was going be on the property for a bit because they never really used the pool house at all. I kept about a weeks worth of clothing locked up there so I could, quite literally, drive away from work on a Friday and not have to make any stops until I arrived, save for getting more fuel. It was incredibly freeing, having this option at my whim and, while Scott and Tim would likely disagree, I don't think I took advantage of it as frequently as I should have. Knowing that hindsight is 20-20, I rather wish I'd never sold the home in the first place.
Even 'tho I haven't been a landlord in well over a year now, my last batch of tenants and I still keep in touch. I've encouraged them to use me as a reference (should they need it) because they were really GREAT tenants. In fact, when I told them I'd be selling the home at the end of their school year, they voluntarily spent their free weekends helping me on "around the home" tasks (re-bricking the patio, changing out the planting beds, updating the kitchen, etc.). They've all graduated now, and are employed – not necessarily in their chosen field but they seem happy, just the same. Three of the four still live together in fact, and are now looking to go in together on their own home. It probably won't be in the same neighborhood that they were in (even in this market, prices in that zip code are impossible for first-timers), but I'm sure they'll figure out something. I still refer to them as "good kids", 'tho not to their faces.
Anyway, now it's more difficult to run away – what with no destination to call my own – but when one is creative (and I'm NOTHING if not creative), the "where" is only a minor detail, right up there with the "how". Lately, as you've no doubt gathered, my life has been far more about the "why". For me, the "why" was because I was no longer any fun for myself or anyone else. Having figured that out, I grabbed a few things from home, gave my neighbor a heads-up, plugged in my iPod, and figured Jake was the "how" and he'd decide the "where" for me.
My "run away" weekend was much like my "at home" weekend would have been – quiet, contemplative and, for the most part, alone. I decided to leave my laptop behind ('tho I'll confess I did borrow one for about 15 minutes on Friday), and spent the bulk of my time doing "guilty pleasure" things – freezing my butt off sitting on a rainy beach, having an afternoon snack in a small café on a busy street while people-watching, and allowing two professionals cover my body in oil and use a few hours to work out tight areas in muscles I didn't know I even had. (One of these professionals was, in fact, one of the aforementioned "good kids", which wasn't as problematic as I thought it'd be.)
It was a pretty wonderful few days and it awakened me to the idea … fact, actually … that my making myself miserable over things I don't necessarily control isn't just a stupid use of my time and energy, but it's hurting my already deeply-battered heart. If all I want to do is run away from myself, why would I ask anyone else to want to spend their time with me? I can't wish that on anyone.
So, during my run away weekend, it seems that I finally ran smack into the truth. Yes, there's still a lot of hurdles left on the track ahead of me, but it's ok for me to decide which ones I want to clear and which ones I'm just gonna kick down. I don't have to kill myself in the process. And I'll be damned if I'll let anyone else do so.
"No one heard a single word she said. They should have seen it in your eyes - what was going around your heart. Ooh, she's a little runaway …"
It used to be much easier for me to run away. I'd call up the college student tenants living in my rental home and tell them to clear out of the pool house for the weekend. Mostly this was my way of telling the boys that I was going be on the property for a bit because they never really used the pool house at all. I kept about a weeks worth of clothing locked up there so I could, quite literally, drive away from work on a Friday and not have to make any stops until I arrived, save for getting more fuel. It was incredibly freeing, having this option at my whim and, while Scott and Tim would likely disagree, I don't think I took advantage of it as frequently as I should have. Knowing that hindsight is 20-20, I rather wish I'd never sold the home in the first place.
Even 'tho I haven't been a landlord in well over a year now, my last batch of tenants and I still keep in touch. I've encouraged them to use me as a reference (should they need it) because they were really GREAT tenants. In fact, when I told them I'd be selling the home at the end of their school year, they voluntarily spent their free weekends helping me on "around the home" tasks (re-bricking the patio, changing out the planting beds, updating the kitchen, etc.). They've all graduated now, and are employed – not necessarily in their chosen field but they seem happy, just the same. Three of the four still live together in fact, and are now looking to go in together on their own home. It probably won't be in the same neighborhood that they were in (even in this market, prices in that zip code are impossible for first-timers), but I'm sure they'll figure out something. I still refer to them as "good kids", 'tho not to their faces.
Anyway, now it's more difficult to run away – what with no destination to call my own – but when one is creative (and I'm NOTHING if not creative), the "where" is only a minor detail, right up there with the "how". Lately, as you've no doubt gathered, my life has been far more about the "why". For me, the "why" was because I was no longer any fun for myself or anyone else. Having figured that out, I grabbed a few things from home, gave my neighbor a heads-up, plugged in my iPod, and figured Jake was the "how" and he'd decide the "where" for me.
My "run away" weekend was much like my "at home" weekend would have been – quiet, contemplative and, for the most part, alone. I decided to leave my laptop behind ('tho I'll confess I did borrow one for about 15 minutes on Friday), and spent the bulk of my time doing "guilty pleasure" things – freezing my butt off sitting on a rainy beach, having an afternoon snack in a small café on a busy street while people-watching, and allowing two professionals cover my body in oil and use a few hours to work out tight areas in muscles I didn't know I even had. (One of these professionals was, in fact, one of the aforementioned "good kids", which wasn't as problematic as I thought it'd be.)
It was a pretty wonderful few days and it awakened me to the idea … fact, actually … that my making myself miserable over things I don't necessarily control isn't just a stupid use of my time and energy, but it's hurting my already deeply-battered heart. If all I want to do is run away from myself, why would I ask anyone else to want to spend their time with me? I can't wish that on anyone.
So, during my run away weekend, it seems that I finally ran smack into the truth. Yes, there's still a lot of hurdles left on the track ahead of me, but it's ok for me to decide which ones I want to clear and which ones I'm just gonna kick down. I don't have to kill myself in the process. And I'll be damned if I'll let anyone else do so.
"No one heard a single word she said. They should have seen it in your eyes - what was going around your heart. Ooh, she's a little runaway …"
Friday, February 22, 2008
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Yes or no, I’d wanna know ... ya’ know?
It's no surprise that discussions in my family lately have been rather – focused. There have been conversations that I don't think would be happening otherwise. Like this one …
As I already have mentioned, my mom and I visited my sister last week, just for a few hours … basically to deliver post-Valentine's Day gifts, pre-St. Patrick's Day gifts and to get caught up on the family news. And, as I've already mentioned, as of late "family news" has been VERY much a downer. My mom's sister and niece (a mother-and-daughter) are both dealing with Cancer.
So there we are, in my sister's living room – five females (my mom, her two daughters, and her two grand-daughters). If we each represented a percentage, 40% of us have already had Cancer. In fact, that same 40% have fought it twice. That's … well, that's just kinda overwhelming.
My aunt, who will not win her fight, has a medical degree and worked for many years as a physician. As such, when she meets with her doctors, they don't have to explain too much to her – she knows what she's up against, and she knows what the prognosis is. One of her doctors has given her a large bottle of Morphine, telling her to use it whenever she's in too much pain to sleep and, basically, to help her remain comfortable … which is rather a large amount of BS. There is little comfort to be had, I am sure. My uncle, however, has taken this bit of news as "that must be good. They're giving you medicine so maybe things are looking up." We ALL know that my uncle is just avoiding reality – but he's allowed to do so.
So the question is this … who would you want to be in that scenario? Your choices are my uncle, who probably knows that things are NOT going to be better but wants to believe there may be a chance … or my aunt, who knows for sure that things are only going to get worse and can prepare herself (and hopefully those around her) for her demise.
My mom said that she wouldn't want to know that there was no hope, and I couldn't have disagreed more quickly. As an interesting twist, I'll point out that both of us been told in our past that we had Cancer. Both of us were also told that what we had was benign ('tho mine would have killed me if it had continued to progress). When my mom received her diagnosis, she sat down with my dad, my sister, and I and explained what was going on and what would be happening. I, in my "I know everything at 19 years old" ignorance, told two human beings, neither of which were family members, handled it alone, and didn't divulge any details to my family until 18 months had passed.
I suspect that there will be plenty more conversations like this in the weeks and months to come. It'd almost be "interesting" ……. if these weren't people I didn't know and love.
As I already have mentioned, my mom and I visited my sister last week, just for a few hours … basically to deliver post-Valentine's Day gifts, pre-St. Patrick's Day gifts and to get caught up on the family news. And, as I've already mentioned, as of late "family news" has been VERY much a downer. My mom's sister and niece (a mother-and-daughter) are both dealing with Cancer.
So there we are, in my sister's living room – five females (my mom, her two daughters, and her two grand-daughters). If we each represented a percentage, 40% of us have already had Cancer. In fact, that same 40% have fought it twice. That's … well, that's just kinda overwhelming.
My aunt, who will not win her fight, has a medical degree and worked for many years as a physician. As such, when she meets with her doctors, they don't have to explain too much to her – she knows what she's up against, and she knows what the prognosis is. One of her doctors has given her a large bottle of Morphine, telling her to use it whenever she's in too much pain to sleep and, basically, to help her remain comfortable … which is rather a large amount of BS. There is little comfort to be had, I am sure. My uncle, however, has taken this bit of news as "that must be good. They're giving you medicine so maybe things are looking up." We ALL know that my uncle is just avoiding reality – but he's allowed to do so.
So the question is this … who would you want to be in that scenario? Your choices are my uncle, who probably knows that things are NOT going to be better but wants to believe there may be a chance … or my aunt, who knows for sure that things are only going to get worse and can prepare herself (and hopefully those around her) for her demise.
My mom said that she wouldn't want to know that there was no hope, and I couldn't have disagreed more quickly. As an interesting twist, I'll point out that both of us been told in our past that we had Cancer. Both of us were also told that what we had was benign ('tho mine would have killed me if it had continued to progress). When my mom received her diagnosis, she sat down with my dad, my sister, and I and explained what was going on and what would be happening. I, in my "I know everything at 19 years old" ignorance, told two human beings, neither of which were family members, handled it alone, and didn't divulge any details to my family until 18 months had passed.
I suspect that there will be plenty more conversations like this in the weeks and months to come. It'd almost be "interesting" ……. if these weren't people I didn't know and love.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Silly Little Fool
I had lunch with Tim yesterday - Valentine's Day. I had invited two other folk to join us, but it turned out to be we two. I promised him it would not be a birthday lunch and it wasn't. It was two friends, who know they can literally say ANYTHING to the other, having a good meal and an even better (and overdue) talk. We discussed our jobs, our coworkers, our personal lives, our pasts, our futures and everything in-between. I wonder sometimes if there is another human on the planet that knows as much about me as Tim does …
Today my mom and I visited drove North and spent a few hours with my sister and her family. I was rather dreading the drive, with just the two of us in the car, because of the inevitable talk that I was sure would somehow be about how badly I've screwed up.
Instead, as we drove past Sloat Boulevard on 19th Avenue, she pointed left and said "That's where your father and I first lived when we got married. The apartment was below ground level – and when people would walk by our window, we would see their shoes … kind of like the set from 'Laverne and Shirley'". I had heard this before, but didn't know that I was literally driving by the place twice a week on my commute.
"When your dad proposed and I accepted, he told his folks and they disowned him immediately. I was terrified because I had torn apart this family just by existing – just by loving their son and wanting to be with him. I felt like I was asking your dad to make all these impossible concessions to just be with me, even 'tho he told me over and over that he'd do whatever it took for us to be together. It wasn't easy and it hurt like hell to know what he was freely giving up and that I was the cause of it all. Your grandparents didn't even talk to us until your sister was three years old."
We were now across the bridge and traffic was light. She turned to me. "Do you honestly think there was anything that anyone could have said or done to keep your Dad and I apart? Do you honestly believe that neither of us had doubts? That we didn't want the other to be completely happy and wonder ALL THE TIME if we were just being selfish for wanting to be with the other person?"
I had all kinds of witty responses at the ready, but before I could respond, she finished me off.
"You know, Julie Lynne, I have heard you say that if you're gonna be a fool, you may as well be a fool for love. Thus far, I'd say you're just being the fool. So – what are you gonna do about it?"
… which brings me, quite naturally, to today.
Today my mom and I visited drove North and spent a few hours with my sister and her family. I was rather dreading the drive, with just the two of us in the car, because of the inevitable talk that I was sure would somehow be about how badly I've screwed up.
Instead, as we drove past Sloat Boulevard on 19th Avenue, she pointed left and said "That's where your father and I first lived when we got married. The apartment was below ground level – and when people would walk by our window, we would see their shoes … kind of like the set from 'Laverne and Shirley'". I had heard this before, but didn't know that I was literally driving by the place twice a week on my commute.
"Your grandparents – your Dad's folks – didn't like me, you know. I wasn't educated enough, I was older, and I was from the 'wrong side of the tracks'. Plus I was already living on my own so I was clearly going to be a bad influence on their only son. Oh, and I had not just a job, but an actual career. All of these things were just so dead opposite from what they wanted in a potential daughter-in-law." She stopped to look over at me, to make sure I was listening.
"When your dad proposed and I accepted, he told his folks and they disowned him immediately. I was terrified because I had torn apart this family just by existing – just by loving their son and wanting to be with him. I felt like I was asking your dad to make all these impossible concessions to just be with me, even 'tho he told me over and over that he'd do whatever it took for us to be together. It wasn't easy and it hurt like hell to know what he was freely giving up and that I was the cause of it all. Your grandparents didn't even talk to us until your sister was three years old."
We were now across the bridge and traffic was light. She turned to me. "Do you honestly think there was anything that anyone could have said or done to keep your Dad and I apart? Do you honestly believe that neither of us had doubts? That we didn't want the other to be completely happy and wonder ALL THE TIME if we were just being selfish for wanting to be with the other person?"
I had all kinds of witty responses at the ready, but before I could respond, she finished me off.
"You know, Julie Lynne, I have heard you say that if you're gonna be a fool, you may as well be a fool for love. Thus far, I'd say you're just being the fool. So – what are you gonna do about it?"
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Oh negative
I grew up knowing that I could give to everyone, but only receive from those similar to me. It doesn't make me particularly unique per se (7% of the population of the US is in the same boat with me), but it is something I keep in mind if I'm feeling ultra-klutzy.
You may recall that I currently have two direct relatives, a mother (my aunt) and her daughter (my cousin) fighting Cancer. One is not expected to live through 2008, the other has taken measures to continue onwards.
My father, because of his heart issues and the medication required to regulate his heartbeat, is unable to help. My mother, because of her own recent Cancer issues, is also unable to help. My sister, for her own reasons, cannot assist. This leaves me.
Except it doesn't.
Because of my own history, and because of the health of those I'd be giving to, I've been refused to be ALLOWED to help them.
So it turns that all I can do is continue to be positive. Except I'm not B+, I'm O-.
You may recall that I currently have two direct relatives, a mother (my aunt) and her daughter (my cousin) fighting Cancer. One is not expected to live through 2008, the other has taken measures to continue onwards.
My father, because of his heart issues and the medication required to regulate his heartbeat, is unable to help. My mother, because of her own recent Cancer issues, is also unable to help. My sister, for her own reasons, cannot assist. This leaves me.
Except it doesn't.
Because of my own history, and because of the health of those I'd be giving to, I've been refused to be ALLOWED to help them.
So it turns that all I can do is continue to be positive. Except I'm not B+, I'm O-.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
A gift for the guy that has everything
When my friend Tim talks about his days as a child in Minnesota, his eyes brighten and a grin comes across his face. I'm sure he didn't have a completely idyllic childhood (does anyone?) but I rarely hear him talk about having arguments with his siblings or any disappointments in school. He rarely even complains about the difficulties that the weather would bring (and again, I'm sure there were some). He's very close with the members of his family and, while he's traveled all over the world (and continues to do so), I know that he probably still considers "home" to be a different city from the one in which he currently lives.
Tim isn't difficult to shop for – at least, I don't think so – but he *is* someone you need to be pretty specific about when it comes to presents. I believe that I know him well enough that I can surprise him with a pretty nearly perfect gift each time, be it something "Peanuts" themed or just something that I don't think he'd get for himself. For Christmas last year, I shipped an entire cheesecake to his parents' home, knowing he would be there. I arranged the delivery in advance with the help of his sister and he was completely surprised by it. (It STILL makes me smile to think of he and his partner Simon arriving at the family home in Minnesota to be greeted with a cheesecake sent from Chicago as a gift from a girl in California. *Whew* - that's a heck of a sentence to write!)
One year for Tim's birthday, I told him we'd be going shopping, but I wouldn't tell him what we'd be shopping for or where we'd be going. We arrived at the Apple Store, where I outfitted him with the Nano of his choice and whatever headphones he desired. I would have happily purchased these without his being there, but I wanted him to have some say in my gift. I like the idea of making the recipient part of the process. Plus, Tim is well-versed on classical music and I wanted to make sure that he was comfortable with the performance of whatever I'd purchase.
Each year, Tim does his best to visit his family or have his some of his family visit him. Some years it is easy and others, not so much. Sometimes he can't arrange for the time off from his job or the cost of the trip itself is just out of reach, or his family has other events that just get in the way – you know, usual "life" stuff. And, however messed up my family may be (and whatever difficulties Tim and his family have faced), I really do believe that keeping those lines of contact are, probably, the single most important "thing" a person has in this world. I knew I wanted to encourage that contact – I just needed to figure out how – without going overboard. (I'm … kinda known in my circle of friends as the one that always goes "overboard", just because I can I guess.)
I called Tim first thing today and wished him a happy birthday, and then told him what I'd decided to give to him. It's getting harder for me to figure out gifts as our friendship continues because I am seeing more and more that he really *is* the guy who has everything.
Tim isn't difficult to shop for – at least, I don't think so – but he *is* someone you need to be pretty specific about when it comes to presents. I believe that I know him well enough that I can surprise him with a pretty nearly perfect gift each time, be it something "Peanuts" themed or just something that I don't think he'd get for himself. For Christmas last year, I shipped an entire cheesecake to his parents' home, knowing he would be there. I arranged the delivery in advance with the help of his sister and he was completely surprised by it. (It STILL makes me smile to think of he and his partner Simon arriving at the family home in Minnesota to be greeted with a cheesecake sent from Chicago as a gift from a girl in California. *Whew* - that's a heck of a sentence to write!)
One year for Tim's birthday, I told him we'd be going shopping, but I wouldn't tell him what we'd be shopping for or where we'd be going. We arrived at the Apple Store, where I outfitted him with the Nano of his choice and whatever headphones he desired. I would have happily purchased these without his being there, but I wanted him to have some say in my gift. I like the idea of making the recipient part of the process. Plus, Tim is well-versed on classical music and I wanted to make sure that he was comfortable with the performance of whatever I'd purchase.
Each year, Tim does his best to visit his family or have his some of his family visit him. Some years it is easy and others, not so much. Sometimes he can't arrange for the time off from his job or the cost of the trip itself is just out of reach, or his family has other events that just get in the way – you know, usual "life" stuff. And, however messed up my family may be (and whatever difficulties Tim and his family have faced), I really do believe that keeping those lines of contact are, probably, the single most important "thing" a person has in this world. I knew I wanted to encourage that contact – I just needed to figure out how – without going overboard. (I'm … kinda known in my circle of friends as the one that always goes "overboard", just because I can I guess.)
I called Tim first thing today and wished him a happy birthday, and then told him what I'd decided to give to him. It's getting harder for me to figure out gifts as our friendship continues because I am seeing more and more that he really *is* the guy who has everything.
Saturday, February 9, 2008
A conversation, mid-stream
"Aw Jules, I'm just so damn sorry. I wish I could just help you just fast-forward all of this and not feel it ..."
"No, actually. I am ok with feeling it. I think you have to feel it. Ya' don't get one without the other, you know? I'm really thankful I feel this, actually. I was ... blessed ... with the opportunity to learn this early in my life and ... really, it's good. This is ... good."
Blank stare. "Ummmm ... but ..."
"It's ok. Really. If I gotta help my family get through something that I know way too much about? At least I have good training for the gig. Maybe I experienced something at 19 years of age so that, 20 years later, I could get others through the process."
"Wait - what are you talking about?"
"Cancer. What are you ... ?"
"Oh. I was ... ummm ... I mean, I heard ..."
"Ohhhhh. *smirk* Well ... it all still applies."
"No, actually. I am ok with feeling it. I think you have to feel it. Ya' don't get one without the other, you know? I'm really thankful I feel this, actually. I was ... blessed ... with the opportunity to learn this early in my life and ... really, it's good. This is ... good."
Blank stare. "Ummmm ... but ..."
"It's ok. Really. If I gotta help my family get through something that I know way too much about? At least I have good training for the gig. Maybe I experienced something at 19 years of age so that, 20 years later, I could get others through the process."
"Wait - what are you talking about?"
"Cancer. What are you ... ?"
"Oh. I was ... ummm ... I mean, I heard ..."
"Ohhhhh. *smirk* Well ... it all still applies."
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
"Actually, it’s a buck and a quarter quarter-staff ...
but I'm not telling him that." http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wyTEH95_vNo
I was thinking of naming this "Parents Just Don't Understand" but I really like the idea of having the secret weapon of a "buck-and-a-quarter quarter-staff" up my sleeve instead.
Ahhhhhhhhhh parents. Ya' get the ones you're born with and then they don't lose their minds quickly enough for you to move them into a retirement home when they're not looking, eh? Or, ya' tell them that you're making some significant life changes because you want to grow into the responsible human being that they were trying to raise all along - and they tell you "that's great, Honey" meanwhile they're cutting you off at the knees.
But here's the thing - because they're your folks (and this, of course, depends totally on how you were raised, I think), you really do need to believe that they honestly have your best interests at heart. Are there really bad, nasty parents out there? Of course there are. Ya' don't have to pass a test to become a parent - pretty much the only test involves some version of peeing on an indicator stick. But if you don't think that your parents have your best interests in their actions, then you probably should have run away when you were nine years old. Or maybe you really were found on their doorstep. (You really don't resemble anyone in the family album, yanno?)
So, if you're goofy enough to share to your friends about stuff that your parents do in the name of said "support", and you don't freak out, but your friends are mortified? Welllll they're your parents, not the parents of your friends. My parents aren't *yours*. Trust me on this - your parents are extremely screwed up in THEIR very own unique little ways. I mean really - have you taken a good look at the family album? Honestly! Get the hell back home to your own glass house and stop leaving your grubby little fingerprints all over mine. Geez, where's the Windex?
If you had my parents, you'd react differently to all kinds of crap, I'm sure. But see - you wouldn't have been properly prepared. I've had my parents for a lot o' years now. So ok, this may seem broken and nasty from the outside looking in (great Oingo-Boingo song, by the way), but it's not new to me. I'm more than ready to take a deep breath and smile pleasantly through whatever is tossed at me in the name of love. I can even accept it graciously. I've been in training for a long damn time. I'm not muttering "of course you know this means war" under my breath at all. This is more like "Marco Polo". In a wading pool. With a posted lifeguard. And water wings.
Wanna know what MY secret weapon is?
There are things that can be altered, renamed, removed, changed, edited, closed, adjusted, deleted, cancelled, tweaked or otherwise modified ... but those are just "things". And at it turns out, I've been accidentally growing less and less fond of "things" for quite awhile now. "Things" come and go. "Things" are borrowed for a length of time that we sometimes know and we sometimes don't, and then "things" go elsewhere. "Things" are bought and sold. "Things" exchange hands allllll day long. "Things" get lost. "Things" get destroyed. "Things" go away.
So I'll go ahead and let my parents do their "thing", but it doesn't stop me from doing mine because my secret weapon is not a "thing". It's not a tangible. And it doesn't "belong" to any one person to alter, rename, remove, change, etc.
It is belief. It is hope. It is faith. It is trust. It is knowledge. And it provides to me all that I may require.
Now then ... ho, ha ha, guard, turn, parry, dodge, spin, ha, thrust ...
I was thinking of naming this "Parents Just Don't Understand" but I really like the idea of having the secret weapon of a "buck-and-a-quarter quarter-staff" up my sleeve instead.
Ahhhhhhhhhh parents. Ya' get the ones you're born with and then they don't lose their minds quickly enough for you to move them into a retirement home when they're not looking, eh? Or, ya' tell them that you're making some significant life changes because you want to grow into the responsible human being that they were trying to raise all along - and they tell you "that's great, Honey" meanwhile they're cutting you off at the knees.
But here's the thing - because they're your folks (and this, of course, depends totally on how you were raised, I think), you really do need to believe that they honestly have your best interests at heart. Are there really bad, nasty parents out there? Of course there are. Ya' don't have to pass a test to become a parent - pretty much the only test involves some version of peeing on an indicator stick. But if you don't think that your parents have your best interests in their actions, then you probably should have run away when you were nine years old. Or maybe you really were found on their doorstep. (You really don't resemble anyone in the family album, yanno?)
So, if you're goofy enough to share to your friends about stuff that your parents do in the name of said "support", and you don't freak out, but your friends are mortified? Welllll they're your parents, not the parents of your friends. My parents aren't *yours*. Trust me on this - your parents are extremely screwed up in THEIR very own unique little ways. I mean really - have you taken a good look at the family album? Honestly! Get the hell back home to your own glass house and stop leaving your grubby little fingerprints all over mine. Geez, where's the Windex?
If you had my parents, you'd react differently to all kinds of crap, I'm sure. But see - you wouldn't have been properly prepared. I've had my parents for a lot o' years now. So ok, this may seem broken and nasty from the outside looking in (great Oingo-Boingo song, by the way), but it's not new to me. I'm more than ready to take a deep breath and smile pleasantly through whatever is tossed at me in the name of love. I can even accept it graciously. I've been in training for a long damn time. I'm not muttering "of course you know this means war" under my breath at all. This is more like "Marco Polo". In a wading pool. With a posted lifeguard. And water wings.
Wanna know what MY secret weapon is?
There are things that can be altered, renamed, removed, changed, edited, closed, adjusted, deleted, cancelled, tweaked or otherwise modified ... but those are just "things". And at it turns out, I've been accidentally growing less and less fond of "things" for quite awhile now. "Things" come and go. "Things" are borrowed for a length of time that we sometimes know and we sometimes don't, and then "things" go elsewhere. "Things" are bought and sold. "Things" exchange hands allllll day long. "Things" get lost. "Things" get destroyed. "Things" go away.
So I'll go ahead and let my parents do their "thing", but it doesn't stop me from doing mine because my secret weapon is not a "thing". It's not a tangible. And it doesn't "belong" to any one person to alter, rename, remove, change, etc.
It is belief. It is hope. It is faith. It is trust. It is knowledge. And it provides to me all that I may require.
Now then ... ho, ha ha, guard, turn, parry, dodge, spin, ha, thrust ...
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
7 things I’ve learned in 5 days
* I'm not capable of "crying myself out". I always thought, even growing up, that there was some kind of limit on tears. Turns out, I was wrong, and - actually - I'm ok with that, 'tho I'm also ok with not conducting any further testing on the theory.
* The last time I had an adult-to-adult conversation with my parents was 25 years ago. No joke. I remember THAT conversation vividly. Since that evening, I've experienced: a failed wedding engagement; Cancer; the death of a dear friend from a disease that my parents will probably never understand; the rescuing my sister from two abusive husbands and many many other very serious situations. For whatever reasons I may have offered myself during those times, I didn't address any of these events with my parents. I felt that by not allowing them to be involved, they would not have the opportunity to let me down. I neglected to see that by not allowing them to be involved, they would not have the opportunity to support me, either.
* That second bullet point there could be said about many very important people in my life. I see it now ... and I dearly hope it is not a lesson I have learned too late, but I will allow the opportunity for support, either way.
* Because of my medical history, when I make an Urgent Care appointment on a Sunday afternoon, I'm seen first thing the next day. I will not abuse this "earned privilage", of course, but it came in REALLY handy for me this go-around.
* Sometimes you need to allow your business-life and your personal-life collide. When doing so is appropriate, you will likely learn a lot about the human beings that you work for, and with. And they will, more often than not, pleasantly surprise you. I've received more medical references in the past 4 hours from people whom I'd never expect to offer any advice, let alone personal stories.
* It's ok for me to hope that I'm allowed the opportunity to apply what I've learned over just these past few days (and what I'll continue to learn over the next months) but that's all that it can be is a "hope". I'm only 50% of this equation and the rest of that percentage is NOT for me to "create".
* It's also ok for me to admit, and BELIEVE, something I wrote awhile ago. I am not easy to get to know but ... as it turns out ... I actually *am* worth it - and it's NOT egotistical to say that. It's just that if I'm gonna ask for anyone else to support my goals or recognize my strength, I gotta see it in myself first.
* The last time I had an adult-to-adult conversation with my parents was 25 years ago. No joke. I remember THAT conversation vividly. Since that evening, I've experienced: a failed wedding engagement; Cancer; the death of a dear friend from a disease that my parents will probably never understand; the rescuing my sister from two abusive husbands and many many other very serious situations. For whatever reasons I may have offered myself during those times, I didn't address any of these events with my parents. I felt that by not allowing them to be involved, they would not have the opportunity to let me down. I neglected to see that by not allowing them to be involved, they would not have the opportunity to support me, either.
* That second bullet point there could be said about many very important people in my life. I see it now ... and I dearly hope it is not a lesson I have learned too late, but I will allow the opportunity for support, either way.
* Because of my medical history, when I make an Urgent Care appointment on a Sunday afternoon, I'm seen first thing the next day. I will not abuse this "earned privilage", of course, but it came in REALLY handy for me this go-around.
* Sometimes you need to allow your business-life and your personal-life collide. When doing so is appropriate, you will likely learn a lot about the human beings that you work for, and with. And they will, more often than not, pleasantly surprise you. I've received more medical references in the past 4 hours from people whom I'd never expect to offer any advice, let alone personal stories.
* It's ok for me to hope that I'm allowed the opportunity to apply what I've learned over just these past few days (and what I'll continue to learn over the next months) but that's all that it can be is a "hope". I'm only 50% of this equation and the rest of that percentage is NOT for me to "create".
* It's also ok for me to admit, and BELIEVE, something I wrote awhile ago. I am not easy to get to know but ... as it turns out ... I actually *am* worth it - and it's NOT egotistical to say that. It's just that if I'm gonna ask for anyone else to support my goals or recognize my strength, I gotta see it in myself first.
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Reach by Collective Soul
In the past week, I've experienced a series of punches to my gut … and heart … that have made me wanna cry.
On Wednesday Jan 30th, my mom called me to tell me my cousin Lisa had had a relapse in her Cancer and went into surgery on Monday for a complete and total mastectomy. Lisa had been doing GREAT and I wanna say she was in her 4th (maybe 5th) year of remission. She'd done chemotherapy and radiation already, and was coming back from it pretty well. When ya' look at her, with her shoulder-length black hair and perpetual smile, you'd never guess what she's been through and now she has to start all over again.
The doctors came out and spoke to Lisa's husband (Marty) and Lisa's mom (Verna). Verna (my mom's sister & my aunt) is a medical lawyer. In CA, this means she went completely through medical school, picked a specialty, practiced it for more than 5 years, and then started on her legal education to become a practicing attorney. Suffice to say, Verna is no dummy. Lisa's doctor explained to Verna what they'd done, and then Verna translated it into "real person speak" for Marty. So Mom called me to give me the unfortunate news. I digested this for an hour or so. And then I picked up the phone and made an appointment for my first mammogram in late February. Considering the combined medical histories of my mom, myself, two of my three aunts, and two of my cousins, waiting until I was 39 was probably unwise, but I at least made the call and set up the appointment.
I spent the rest of my day avoiding thinking too hard. When you work at home, with no interruptions but the occasional yawning of a cat, you have a LOT of time to spend in your head. I've been battling (unsuccessfully, as it turns out) the Winter blues. I have NO desire to spend time in my head - I know what's there. I have plans, and some pretty great changes happening later this year, so I've been preparing myself for that time. In looking at this now, I have been ignoring myself. Probably not the BRIGHTEST thing I've done – but (and Scott can attest to this actually), I'm best at taking care of everyone else. If there's no one else that I can take care of but me, I find a task and bury myself in it – be it selling a business, sprucing up a home to sell, traveling to the South to be productive in rebuilding a community, etc. I find me boring. I am not worth my time. Wow – that's interesting to write.
So anyway … on Friday, Feb 1st, my mom called me to tell me that Verna has been diagnosed with inoperable lung cancer. She would have about three years if she went through chemotherapy. Thing is, Verna has never been blessed with good health. She became a doctor because she spent so much of her childhood ill. ("Ill" as in "she spent 2 of her 4 years in high school totally bedridden".) Her doctors told her that her body will not tolerate chemo. Without chemo, her doctors have told her that she probably has a year. My mom is devastated. Of her three siblings, she has but one sister – and her two brothers dropped out of the family quite awhile ago. This is her older sister. My mom was in her early 20s and she (and Verna) watched their father die of lung cancer. It was, in my mom's words, "a death I would wish on no human being. Ever." And now she will watch as her sister experiences it first-hand.
I hung up the phone, experiencing deep sadness for my mom, and my aunt, and my cousin … but I noticed I was not crying. I actually *noticed* this. Now, I cry at Hallmark ads. I cry when I read a sad story. I cry at slow, sad songs. But even with ALL this tragic news happening in my family … not a tear. "Good for me", I thought. All in all, I was handling this pathos pretty well.
It was later that day, when the person I'm closest to, the person who I've spent almost a year getting to know and falling deeply in love with, the person with whom I'd like to build a future, decided that I am so deeply stuck in my blues, he needs to distance himself from me.
And I seem to have NO problem crying now.
************************
It's been a couple of days since I've had all this occur. I have wallowed and begged and pleaded. I've sobbed and curled up and stared at my email, willing for an escape. I've TRIED to go about my day, only to return home, having done nothing, because it's not safe for me to drive when I cannot see. I have reached out annnnnd curled back up again. I've *tried* to sleep and find myself waking at 2am, sometimes 3am, in tears. I am trying to give distance, but I have lost a friend, and I miss him greatly.
I'm not stupid - this isn't good. I have come to the conclusion you've all probably had of me for awhile now. I believe I need help. So my new thing for 2008, it seems, will be to get professional help. I need to do this. For me. Those around me will benefit in some fashion, I'm sure, but this - this is completely for me.
The thing is … and this isn't easy for me but I gotta do it ... I'm probably gonna need y'all to help me out a little, ok? That means reaching out. I'm asking you to please reach out to me. It may be uncomfortable for you to do so but, if it helps at all, I'm NOT comfortable asking.
And I'd apologize for my extra-long post today, but I'm not sorry about it. I have too many other things to be sorry about.
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