Painful lessons. Literally.

Three weeks ago, my back went out.  There was no reason that anyone can discern, and the diagnosis has yet to be made more specific than "pulled muscle with pain."  Which is true enough but doesn't begin to tell whole story.  On Monday after work, I went for a run before picking Riley up from swim practice.  Normal evening, normal sleep.  The next morning, however, I could barely move.  Even deep breathing meant intense and acute pain.  After a bit of teeth grinding and massive amounts of whimpering,  I got it together and was able to get Riley to school and get myself to a doctor to begin figuring out the cause and treatment.  

From that point to today, I've seen several different medical doctors, a chiropractor, a couple of physical therapists, massage therapist, and an acupuncturist.  I've had x-rays, ultrasounds, muscle work, needles stuck in my gallbladder meridian, tiny gold balls glued to my ears at strategic points, and been offered multiple pain pills, muscle relaxers and anti-inflammatories.  I've been given a walking restriction when I refused to take two weeks off to "just go to bed and hope I felt better," and that has since been lifted and replaced with an order for "light activity but not for more than 20 minutes at a time."  Each of these therapies and treatments offered some relief and some healing, and the pain really is getting better, but I'm still hurting a lot, mostly my right leg and foot.  

I'm not writing this for sympathy, quite the opposite. I'm writing this because I feel like there are several lessons I've learned and ways I want to change my own habits in relation to this experience.

One of the most concrete things that his experience has shown me is that I want to be the type of person that offers real, tangible help to those in need.  There have been many offers of assistance, and don't mean to discount any of them because I do truly appreciate the sentiment and I know they were offered with the best of intentions.  Still, I've had a few friends who have stepped in and offered real, practical, incredibly "helpful" help - the kind of help I didn't even think about requesting because I didn't know I needed it.  One lovely lady called and asked if I had everything I needed for Halloween, and when I didn't, she went to Target and picked up candy and a trick or treat bucket for Riley.  Another couple stopped over, picked up my car, a grocery list and my credit card and headed off to fill up my car with gas and pick up some groceries for me.  Both of these acts were so simple and so straightforward, but they were both so needed and so appreciated.  I try to be helpful, but I think that I often offer vague, "let me know what I can do" type of assistance.  I am making a note, from this point forward, to be the person who offers the real, practical, "make-a-difference" type of help.  It matters.

I am also learning a lot about surrender, about not trying to tough it out or muscle through when something hurts.  There have been days when I had no choice but to surrender to the pain because nothing-  NOTHING- touched it.  The most I could do was just go to bed, feel it for what it was and be grateful it was intermittent and there was enough relief that I could take care of my daughter.  I'm learning to surrender to the need for rest, because many days I am exhausted by 8:30 pm and can't do
much but head to bed early.  I'm learning to accept that some days, I am going to accomplish less than usual at work, because physical therapy and doctors appointments take a large amount of time and I have a limited amount of that available each day.  I'm even starting to surrender to the humor in the whole experience, like when the senior citizens brush past me when I'm walking too slow, hurrumphing their irritation with my impaired gait or when the PT aide, in all seriousness, suggests pregnancy as way to help loosen up my muscles and joints.  But most of all, I'm learning to surrender my own expectations of how a situation should look or feel or be, and instead just trying to open up to whatever the moment brings.  These have been hard, hard lessons to learn. 

Try as I might, I can't bring myself to be grateful for this mysterious, random pain.  I'm not thrilled that it's happening and I'm really not happy it's taking so long to heal.  But I do believe in trying to find the lessons in the hard times, and I think this experience is proving to be am important teacher.  I'm getting stronger and feeling better each day, but I really, truly hope that there aren't more lessons I'm supposed to learn from this, because I'd like to move on to the normal, active life I love. 

Changing Perspective

Change has been a constant theme in my world for the past several months.  I've known for a while that my life needed some big shifts and I've done the work to bring them into reality.  Real estate has been bought and sold.  A different car now sits in my garage.  Some friendships have been deepened and strengthened and others have been been let go.  Priorities have been examined and altered, and big, tall, wide boundaries have been drawn to weed out as much drama and negativity as possible.   I've spent countless hours dismantling a belief structure I was born into to test the various parts for stability and resonance, and now I am steadily working to rebuild what works into a structure that makes room for the parts of me that don't fit into the box while keeping the pieces I love and cherish in the overall design.  I've purged some things and brought in others.  Good hell, I even own not one, but TWO, pairs of skinny jeans.  In some ways, I don't recognize this version of myself, and I mean that in a very good way.  The changes I'm working on making are turning me into a more authentic, more genuine version of myself.  This version might not be as patient with drama, or as willing to say yes when she means no, or as accepting of people who play the victim in their own self-created circumstance (this has been absolutely intolerable for me lately) but this version of me is more authentic, more open and is living closer to my truth than I have been for a while.  Basically, I like where these changes are taking me. 

Here's the strange truth about this self directed campaign of change:   I don't actually like change.  I like ease.  I like calm.  I like routine.  Sure, I like the occasional adventure to a new place or an impromptu roadtrip, but these are exceptions to the rule.  Throwing myself into the types of changes I've been making are almost always the exact opposite of ease and calm and routine, but I am enough of a Pinterest addict to know that sometimes, you have to do what you don't want to do to get what you want to get.  Or maybe that's from Rocky?  I don't know.  The point is still valid. 

None of this has been an easy process, but there has been a certain flow about it that keeps me moving forward, even when I want to push against the flow,  or turn and run like Satan himself was chasing me. 

There are still some big changes I am working to bring into reality, and I've noticed that sometimes, when I think about these kinds of big shifts, I start trying to talk myself out of them.  I hear the old taped loops of "nice girls don't..." or "be careful what you wish for...." or "you don't deserve ..." and I have to make a full and concerted effort to stop those stories where they are and tell myself the new and improved truth.  It's a constant, daily effort. 

Today, when those stories were rearing their ugly heads, I took a walk outside my office, hoping that a shift in scenery would bring about a shift in perspective.  I walked up and down the sidewalk pictured above, and I really focused on the clear blue sky and the leaves crunching under my feet.  The autumn air was cool and crisp, but the sun warmed my shoulders and hair, and I sat for a minute and simply brought my attention to the trees, resplendent in a wash of hazy gold.  After a few minutes of breath work, I felt better.  I snapped a quick pic of the gorgeous October afternoon, and I walked inside to resume my workday.

As I flipped through my phone tonight, I landed on that photo and thought about the big and intimidating changes I'm still working towards.  And then I realized that the entire beauty of the afternoon was brought to me by the process of change.  The leaves had changed from their simple spring green to the dreamy coppers and golds on display today.  The air was refreshingly chilly because the the seasons had changed from summer to fall.   Even the sun was warm on my face instead of high above and blocked by the trees because the change in seasons meant a change of the suns angle.  The earth doesn't fight change, but simply embraces it, lets it work it's magic, and in turn, change makes her shine. 

There's a big metaphor in this story for me.  Maybe there's one for you too?

(I will try to) Fix You

I've realized that I do a lot of fixing.

At home, I fix breakfast.
I fix what hurts.
I fix hair into high ponytails and intricate french braids.
I may not fix the backwards D or misplaced comma myself, but I damn well stand over her shoulder until she fixes it.  
I have been known to take an appliance apart and spread the parts out on the floor until I can find the way to fix whatever ails it. 

I fix things. It's what I do. 

At work, I fix problems.  My title may sound fancy and academic, but basically I fix problems when they come up.  And they always come up.
Sometimes I fix money.
Sometimes I fix projects that have gone awry or are headed in that direction.
Sometimes I fix a colleague, mop them up,  put them back together because, after all, that's my job.

I fix things.  It's what I do.

I fix the people I love.  I help them examine their situations, offer new insight and sometimes I even walk them directly into the answers they are searching for when they can't seem to find them on their way. 
Sometimes I fix the people I don't love.
Sometimes I fix the people I don't even like.  
Today I found myself outlining a four step solution for a problem that had nothing to do with me for a woman I actively and honestly dislike.  She asked me because she knew I'd have a solution.  Because I fix things.  It's what I do.

I don't mind being the fixer.  I usually find great satisfaction in finding a solution that works and in using my analytic and intuitive mind (because yes, I am both analytic and intuitive) to help others live their best life.  I like finding the answer.  I like solving the problem.  I like finding ways to make the pieces fit.

I like fixing things. It's what I do.  And I'm damn good at it.

And yet, on nights like tonight, when I am exhausted from a day (ok, let's be honest, from weeks and weeks and weeks) of fixing hair, fixing breakfast, fixing problems that I created and fixing ones that I didn't, fixing errors, fixing a smile on my face and fixing to get yet another thing done.....

On nights like tonight, i can't help but wonder if maybe I'm going about this all wrong. 

I know I can't fix everything, so maybe I should not try to fix anything. 
Maybe some problems are best solved by leaving them on the ground until they are ground to dust by so many heels trampling thoughtlessly across them.
Maybe leading the people I love into answers deprives them of the experiences of failing and trying again.
Maybe insisting she fix her backwards D only solves the problem on this go-around and tomorrow it will be Bog instead of Dog, yet again. Maybe there is a bigger problem to solve here.
Maybe my time and attention and considerable efforts would be better spent on fixing me, rather than you. 
Maybe there is truth in the tension and maybe there is beauty in the broken pieces.
Maybe the way is to only fix what truly needs to be fixed, to fix only what is truly mine, and let the rest just....rest.

This feels so little and big, all at once.  This feels like some cosmic lesson I am given to learn over and over again.
Maybe the answer really isn't about fixing at all, but instead about enjoying the cracked open parts that, as Leohard Cohen so famously puts it, let in the light.

What I want to tell you about 5th and G

I want to tell you so much about this beautiful space, now that I've said goodbye and moved on.  I want to tell you how it held me through some of my darkest trials, it's walls providing refuge from the storms I faced outside.  I want to tell you how I learned about my own unexpected talents and strength through my efforts in making it beautiful; how my hands placed the floor boards and the tile, how my arms and shoulders ached after scraping and patching and repairing the walls and ceilings.  I want to tell you how the colors on the walls reflected so much of what was in my heart at the time - red when I was aching and bleeding.  Yellow when I'd spun into crazy happiness and a type of manic joy. Blue when a peaceful calm had seeped and spread it's way into my soul.

I want to tell you how the walls held my daughter's laughter and the sounds of new friendships being born.  I want to tell you how those happy sounds chased away the heartache that was held there.  I want to tell you how I opened my windows every night, no matter how cold or hot the outside temperature, because bringing the outside in felt critical to my comfort.  I want to tell you how much I grew to love some of the people who lived around me, their friendships crossing boundaries into family.  I want to tell you how those bonds are still strong, long after we've all moved in different directions.

I want to tell you how I loved to watch the morning light spread over and around the various rooms.  I want to tell you how I will always picture my sweet dog wandering through the house, chasing that light so he could lie down and sleep in the sun.  I want to tell you how many nights the dark held a kind of refuge for me, a place where I could finally, finally give in to whatever emotion had been too long inside - worry, anger, grief or when I simply needed the oblivion that sleep would bring.  I want to tell you that I loved there, I laughed there,  I ached there.   I danced there, I cried there, I grew there.  I was broken open and I healed there.  I lived there.  And I loved living there.

I want to tell you that although I loved living there, when it was time to go, the Universe moved me along in a hurry.  I want to tell you that the perfect home showed up for me and my Girl almost immediately, and despite the hurried move and a couple of minor inconveniences, everything pretty much fell into place in exactly the time and way it needed to.  I want to tell you that I left our 5th and G home with no strings to hold my heart there, no regrets and no reason for any wishing or wanting.  I want to tell you that I got what I needed there, and when our time there was done,  I was ready to find our next home.  I want to tell you that when the time came, I moved on in simple and very sweet gratitude for the comfort, the peace and the home it was for us and excitement for our new place to be in this world. 

Last day at 5th and G.  Leaving with the peace that came after saying "thank you."

Sick and tired of being sick and tired.

The day before my Dad's birthday party (Mid May), I started to feel sorta under the weather.  Nothing major, just a bug.  Then it got worse.  Coughing, fever, chest congestion.  After a week, it required antibiotics.  After two weeks, it became apparent that it required different antibiotics.  My doctor actually wrote "The mother of all sinus infections" on my medical record as a diagnosis the second time I went in to see him.  Awesome.  A few days later, my doc added "in-office"breathing treatments, a steroid and an inhaler to the mix because the coughing was making my breathing wheezy and labored.  Not so fun.  And when I was heading out of town for work and knew I'd be kid free and able to get four really good nights of sleep, he added a strong nighttime cough medicine in hopes that some solid zzzzz's would help knock this out.  (and oh, did I enjoy those drugged up, out cold nights!)  It's been another two weeks, and the antibiotics and steroid are finished.  I'm still using the inhaler more than I'd like, and I'm still coughing a lot.  I'm still wiped out easily and early.  I'm better - much, much better than I was -  but i'm still not feeling great.

Suffice it to say, it's not been a whole lot of fun. 

 I wrote today in my morning pages about just how fed up I am with being sick and tired.  It's interesting to me that, during all of this, I've only missed a couple of days of work.  I still took my daughter to Disneyland and had a dang good time doing it!  I still completed a trip to San Diego for a work conference.  I've still cleaned my house and folded laundry and handled all the things that single mama hood throws into the mix.  I'm not trying to claim superhero status - all of these things needed to be done and so I did them - sometimes you have to just push through.  And oh yes - forgot to mention - on top all this off,  I've also been dealing with the sale of my condo and purchasing a new house during the last month as well.  So yeah...it's been a crazy, fun, eventful, exhausting month even without the added burden of a lingering illness.  And so yeah...I'm ready to be done feeling sick and tired.  

Part of my reflective journaling while recovering from this has been about knowing what other little things are showing up in my life and stealing my focus and energy, and how am I handling them?  Do I ignore them and hope they'll go away, while I continue to try to do all the things that have to be done?  Or do I do a good job of investigating and understanding them and taking time out to deal before some wicked combination of issues becomes critical and requires major intervention.  I wish I could say that it's the latter, but my default mode is to keep going and keep doing until I just can't anymore.  It's a sticky balance to find, because I really don't believe in dropping everything and going to bed when things aren't going right.  I do believe that a sense or order and structure are helpful for me to feel good about how my life is going.  I do think that a clean house -not perfection, but clean dishes, floors and laundry- is as important as brushing your teeth.  Still,  this past month has been teaching me a great big lesson in the importance of self care and the need to build in some room for recovery and rest. 

For me, this is part of authentic living - knowing yourself well enough to know where that balance is.  What must be done and what can wait?  What is necessary and what is "nice to do?"  What is self care and what is selfish?  I'm still working through those details for myself and trying to find some basic guidelines, but one things is for certain - I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired.  I can't do this again. 

A blog tour (a week late)

Well, as usual, I seem to be running about a week late with things that aren't on my "must do to stay alive" list, so I'm about a week late in getting my blog post up for a blog tour I am part of.  I suck.  I know.  I'm ok with it.  Anyway....

I was asked to be part of a blog tour by the lovely and talented Eileen Nishi.  I met Eileen at Serendipity last October, and although we didn't really spend a lot of time together there,  any time we did interact I thought "this chic is just cool."  Since then, we've become blog/instagram/facebook friends and I admire her eye for  photography, her laid-back-mama-of-boys parenting style and her funky fashion style (her glasses! Her shoes! swoooon.)  You can check her out at www.westofwhimsy.com.  She's awesome.  Go see for yourself.

Anyway, on with my blog tour interview. 

What am I working on?
Most of my writing and photography these days is about capturing memories for my family and my daughter.  I burned out of scrapbooking in a very big way before Riley was even born, but I have been really diligent about taking photos and writing in my journal all along,  and I'm currently working on curating some of that into what I hope becomes a personal history of my life as a mother.  It's a very private undertaking, which is why I haven't talked much about it, and it's turning out to be deeply healing.  Besides that, I'm working on some other writing projects (fiction!  short stories!) and also working on a photo project that I hope to turn into something awesome someday.   

 How does my work differ from others of its genre?
I'm not even sure what my genre is. Blogger, I guess, although that feels more defined and real than I consider myself to be.  Writer is more accurate, because although I write all the time, 95% of the stuff I write will never show up on my blog.  I write about being me, being a mom, being a sister, daughter, aunt and friend.  I write about what's happening in my world and I write about how it makes me feel.  I write a lot of poetry - some good, some really, really bad. Character sketches.  Essays.  Lists.  Random crap.  I write a lot for no major reason, which perhaps is unique in and of itself.  I'm just trying to get the words out. 

Why do I write/create what I do?

Quite honestly, I write to stay sane.  Because there is not better way for me to work through an experience or process what I am feeling.  Because once I can lay down the words that are bouncing around my head into some sort of cogent structure, I can start to bring them to center and integrate them into my life story.  Simply put, if my words can't come together to tell the story, I know I have more soulwork to do.   My reason for my inteest in photography is also simple.  I take pictures because I want to remember things.  I try to learn about technique, composition and form because my life continues to offer up beautiful moments and I want to capture those in a way that reflects that beauty when possible.   It's that simple. 

How does your writing/creative process work?
One of my New Year's Intentions was to be more conciously and consistenly creative.  Althought I am constantly writing in my head, I am not the best about getting words down in a meaningful form unless I commit to it. So a few nights a week, I've been setting my timer for 30 or 45 minutes and just working on something.  Anything.  My photos, my writing, a jewelry piece, a sewing project or the Project Life Album Riley and I are keeping this year....whatever.  Something. I do something creative.  It sometimes feels forced, but when the timer rings, I'm always glad I did it. 

So, I had three people who agreed to take part in this tour, and for different and valid reasons, all three were all unable to do it.  So, how about some of my readers take over?  Anyone want to help continue this blog tour?  Shoot me an email and we'll get you going.  And thanks, Eileen, for the invitation to join!  

Rainy nights and HELLS yes!

I am stretched out on a squeaky twin bed in a rental house in St. Simons Island, GA.  My little girl is in the twin bed beside mine, having finally exhausted her seemingly endless stream-of-consciousness chatter and dropped into an even-breathed sleep. The rain is hitting the rooftops of this old, charming house in a steady, solid rhythm that I find soothing and sleep-Inducing.  Our friend and her dog are both asleep in the other room, their presence a reminder of the lovely people we are lucky to have in our world.   The four of us piled in the car and drove a rainy five hours from Atlanta to the Georgia coast hoping for sunshine, but it looks like we may only have tiny slices of that particular commodity.  That's ok.  Rain or shine, I'm grateful for the time away from my day-to-day and time to spend with my little one and my friend.  And rain or shine, I'm certain some small adventures will be found this weekend, in this beautiful coastal place. That seems to be what happens with this particular cast of characters.

On the drive here, and more so tonight as I sit listening to the rain, I've been thinking about what it takes to say "yes" to living the life I want for myself and my Girl.  About how I've had to say no to some things in order to say yes to something I want more or be strategic about where I put my energy so there is enough to carry me through the yeses.  I've been thinking about those times the yes was hard to hear and about the other times it wasn't just a yes, but a loud, deep and resounding " oh HELLS yes!"  I love the HELLS Yeses. The chance to travel, especially when it involves seeing friends and family and exploring new places is almost always a "HELLS Yes!" for me.  And even when if doesn't go as well as hoped, I've found that when I'm answering the call of yes, the rainy drives and cold ocean water don't disappoint me as much as ignoring what I truly desire would. 

So tonight I'm making a promise to myself to keep finding ways to say yes to the big yeses, the real yeses, and most certainly the "HELLS yeses."  I'm not sure what that means yet, but that's ok.  It's enough to know I'm working on setting up camp permanently in the land of yes.   It seems that, for me, it's the only place to live.