A crash day followed by a crash day followed by a crash day. Somehow it’s worse when you’ve been feeling well. All the years I’ve been sick, all the crash days and months, and I still can’t remember how bad it feels. It always pulls the rug out from under me–more so if I’ve had good health. Over and over, I forget. How incapacitating it is. How depressing it can get. When you’re moving and doing and performing tasks, you don’t think about these things. You don’t have to. You’re fitting in and alongside the rest of the functioning, productive world and that’s how you like it. It’s the best kind of fitting in. Someone asking you how you are is nothing more than a pleasantry and that’s how I like it. No reason to sugarcoat or think twice about the answer. I’ve yet to figure out a response that feels right, so mostly I lie, and I’m a bad liar. I cave easy. But this is one I get away with. I suppose it’s why anyone lies; it’s just easier. It feels good to give an answer that people want to hear. It keeps a hard reality in the blurry background, and that’s how I like that, too.
On day 4 of my crash, I’m laying on my moms couch in the office. My mom comes in and asks if I am still as weak as I’ve been. I quickly reply ‘no’ and that I’m feeling at least a small bit better. It’s a lie. I can tell because saying it out loud causes some kind of turning in my gut; where the truth would’ve provided solace maybe. I feel just as bad if not worse than yesterday. I’m short of breath for no reason and I’m weak down to my finger tips–peeling my banana earlier was way harder than it should have been. I’m dizzy every time I move. I get waves of nausea that are as close to puking without actually puking as it gets. But I lied. I said I was better. I’m left wondering why I did that. I’ve got some ideas.
Not having to think for very long, the answer came. It’s so easy: I’m afraid. I’m afraid that it could mean what it’s meant before. That it won’t go away. That I could be stuck this way the rest of my life. That I’ll never be able to fulfill all the dreams I have or achieve my notebook full of plans and ideas. I’ve had a one day crash turn into a week turn into 6 months. I’ve watched my life turn inside out and be emptied of the good parts. So often it feels like I’m watching it all happen from the outside. At 26 it felt as though the narrative of my life shifted from 1st person to 3rd, and that’s been hard to get used to. I said goodbye to things I wasn’t ready to. The illness took me over and then swallowed everything in my vicinity too. It was hard. It is hard. Some days, some weeks, some months better than others. It’s just been so “good” the last few months. It seems every time I crash I have to confront everything all over again. I think it will be that way until I fully accept and surrender to what my life might be. I already know the challenges I face, I also know it could be a lot worse. That in the end I have everything I really need. And while my life could be bad like I fear sometimes, it could also be good. great even. And the reason I need to let go of that fear is because what my life can be is up to me. Sick or healthy.
I have to remind myself often that a lot of this is out of my hands, which I have to be very careful with. That kind of acknowledgment requiresperspective and reflection and it should never be an excuse. This is surrender, it is not giving up. They are two different animals and mixing them up can heavy the suffering. It doesn’t mean you call it quits and accept that life is shit. I’ve had to draw a lot lines between surrender and giving up and so often I’ve gotten it wrong. I’m ready to start getting it right. Apart from what we’re doing in our lives, the way in which we examine them makes all the difference in its joy or sadness. You’ll know whether you’re surrendering or giving up the same way you’ll know whether you’re telling the truth or not: one feels like relief, the other like defeat. One has roots in reality, the other in fear of it.
I have to stay aware. I have to remain conscious about the choices I am still free to make, and remember that I do still play a part in all this. Of course there are many parts of my life I would change were I able. But how I go about living the rest of my days is in fact up to me. Actually, it is only up to me. Will I choose to react? Will I choose to be a victim? Will I make excuses for myself to justify poor decisions? All of these are possible. And every day I wake up I can think of 100 reasons to choose a darker path. To stew in my own sorrow, to stop trying, to be defeated by something difficult, as if no one else alive is faced with their own challenges. Some that make mine look like a splinter in my pinky. The opportunity to go another route will always be there. You’ll get in trouble thinking that if you choose one good thing, you won’t be tempted by so many other bad ones. You will be. Everyone is, in their own way. Every person has demons to manage and a truth that isn’t easy to sit with in silence, but truthfully this is half of being alive. It’s why you’re a human being and not a turtle in the mud or an insect reacting to stimuli; flying toward whatever is bright.
The funny thing is, what most humans want is control. We like to think we make our own lives and everything is up to us. I disagree with that notion on a few levels and agree with it on others. I know for certain we play a huge hand in our own happiness. But when we get dealt things we didn’t plan for or wouldn’t have picked we feel like we’ve been royally screwed. Robbed. So often I fail to realize it’s not about choosing my hand but how I play the one I got. That has been and always will be up to us.We get to choose how we talk to people and who we surround ourselves with and what we’re going to give our precious energy to each day. What mark will we leave? What will we contribute to the world we’ve been given? Scientists and theologians continue to debate whether we chose to come here or not. Regardless of whether we’re the product of an all-knowing creator or consciousness or the random assimilation of atoms and space, we know for certain our time here is temporary. Loving or hating our life won’t change whether it ends or not. It will end. We don’t get to stay forever. We don’t get a say so in some of the things that were done to us. Every adult has a childhood. Every child had parts that weren’t fair or right. At one time or another, we’ll question every truth we’ve held onto and every drop of optimism we’ve carried. At times we’ll have to fight for our purpose, even if it’s just to get out of bed and make yourself eggs. (That was mine today. Yeah!) We get to choose what we do next with what we have. Will I find a reason to be happy or a reason to be mad? Because I will find both. I can always find both.
I have plenty of reasons to be both. But the last thing I need is to be afraid of what is real. Even if what is real is scary. Life is scary stuff dude. Have you been outside lately?! Even in small doses. Sometimes I have to chop it up smaller and smaller and smaller until it’s digestible enough for me to get out of bed and face the world and find my path and keep going. Doesn’t matter that I know where, so long as it’s forward. The truth moves us forward where lies keep us in the past. Surrender smooths the road for us to navigate with eyes anew, where giving up halts us, traps us in static pause.
I have no idea why even small truths are important, maybe for the reason that even small lies can cause damage. My small truth is that today is the 5th day in a row I feel terrible, and I live in fear that I won’t emerge from it. That the illness has the steering wheel and I’m passenger side. I fear what all the pills I take is doing to my insides. I fear I’ll live with my parents forever. (Sometimes I think they fear it too :) And all of these things are O.K. There’s no need for me to sugarcoat it, lie about it, or fall dramatically somber in acknowledging it. In fact admitting the fear almost instantaneously makes it smaller. Takes away a little of its power. Today I’m unwell, but I’m also unafraid. I expect to get better. Being quiet and afraid won’t rid me of what I fear. So perhaps better to be loud and honest. Life will go on regardless. What I want to be assured of, and what I imagine so many of us want to be assured of, is that we tried. That we didn’t take being alive lightly. I know I don’t live all of my days like that, and that’s a change I’m working on. Imagine if we could all live in our truth, whatever it is, and embrace each day as though we’d never lost. What might our world look like then? Our lives? Our Facebook Statuses?!
This has all stemmed from one small lie I told one afternoon that followed me around all night and morning. Funny that me confronting a grand truth began with a dumb little lie. But something about it makes me feel in my bones that these things matter. Sometimes I see and feel in myself and others that we’re starving for things that matter but are constantly being fed things that don’t. I don’t know how to begin a shift, but I know to make changes on a big scale, we must first begin with ourselves and live honestly. It’s our job to dig deep within, listen to our intuition, and be human for one another, not at one another.
I’m still tying all of my thoughts together. Still looking for answers and often coming up short. Sometimes I can feel the strings of my reality ever so slowly weaving together and making something whole from many mismatched parts. That’s what so many days feel like. Raking through the muck and finding the good parts. Then making sense out of the bad stuff left behind. The fear and pain and anger, there’s a lot of answers in them.
I’m sharing this beginning with anyone reading. (All six of you) Maybe somehow, it’s something we all work towards together. And whether this is just a stepping stone or a small premise for something bigger, it doesn’t matter. This can be the start of something new, even if it’s very very small. And I can look back at this oddly cold day in January, where besides the frozen leaves outside, it would have been business as usual. But it wasn’t. It isn’t. Where a small lie would have left me afraid, a tiny truth burrowed out instead. And in my repetitive life, maybe this is the start of something new.
It is a grey, rainy morning in New Orleans. It looks like it’s recovering from my weekend. I am staying at a friend’s house Uptown and have taken up residence in their sunroom for a couple of days. Like many Uptown homes here, the sunroom is filled wall-to-wall with windows– perfect little glimpses of the diverse lives of old and young people going about their days. It isn’t as action packed as say a window room looking down on the streets of New York City. It’s quieter, more stationary. But just as perfect as it gets to lay and read or write or think about things both heavy and light. I love days like this, in rooms like these. It’s a perfect do-nothing day. And I know what you’re thinking, aren’t most days of your sick, sedentary, jobless life do-nothing days? And yes, many are. Incidentally, do nothing days make for the best writing days. As though both were designed specifically for the other.
I’m surrounded by three animals; a black cat named Elvis that if I’m being honest strikes me more as a Stanley or a Todd. A domesticated wolfdog named Jax, and Monty of course. The cat has stayed near me all morning, and Monty is curious about the cat and Jax is curious about Monty, so we’re an entourage in every room I go including the bathroom. Undoubtedly the sporadic rumblings of thunder worry the dogs and they shuffle nervously when it comes, then drift back to their dog naps. The cat doesn’t move at all. This is the kind of weather I love and New Orleans I love. Maybe it’s that it reinforces the idea that it’s OK to stay inside all day. Doesn’t make you feel bad about never putting real pants on. And I always like things that slow us down. Life is fast. People move so quickly. I often feel like I can’t keep up and I’ll never have the energy to. Today is my pace and I am soaking it in.
I like staying at friends houses and perusing their bookshelves. I’m ever on the hunt for my next good read and right now I can’t decide between two: Merrick by Anne Rice–a New Orleans author I’ve been recommended for years now or In Cold Blood by Truman Capote. I saw the movie which I did love but the book is always something different altogether and so I’ve been going back and forth between both all morning. Dare I try reading two at once. Isn’t there some rule against it? I’ve never done it before but life is crazy and maybe I’ll do something super daring and go for two at once! Woah!
My life-long best friend Kaitlin (aka Matt Damon) was married this weekend and I was the maid-of-honor. Turns out that’s a helluva job! The official festivities started Thursday evening and I had to pace myself to ensure I’d survive until Saturday night, and store some energy for dancing late. With a lot of protein, drinking a lot of electrolytes, and the help of my respective 25 pills, I survived. Not only that, I had a blast. It was a beautiful wedding, and the reception had the three necessary components for a success: Open Bar, Amazing band, Awesome people. I must say dancing to “I’m Sexy and I Know It” with my parents, the brides parents, and the entire entourage was one of my favorite parts. It was a long day. The ceremony didn’t begin until 7 but hair and makeup people showed up at 9 am. Men will never know what we go through or how long it actually takes for women to prepare for events. Well maybe they do know, but they’ll probably never understand. At times it became stressful or overwhelming because it’s just such a huge day in so many ways and a strict schedule a million little logistical things to work out. Also doing anything in large groups is quite literally like herding cattle but harder. And it required some stealthy maneuvering taking photos at the hotel beforehand so that the groom wouldn’t run into the bride before seeing her walk down the aisle at Church. Things went quickly and the two hours before the ceremony became a little stressful just due to the number of things to do and timing and zippers that wouldn’t zip yada yada yada. (Not to mention that sad little Saints game we glanced between things)
One of my favorite moments of the night was when Kaitlin, her dad, and I snuck away and took five minutes to relax in the hotel suite before leaving for the ceremony. I forced food on Kaitlin because I’ve seen enough brides faint and I was not about to let that happen. We also watched a few minutes of the very unfortunate Saints game. Mostly we all just sort of caught our breath–Took in everything with some ease and some calm. There’s not a lot of calm on the day. I remember thinking I’d want to remember these five minutes we got to share. I knew it’d be the last of the night, not to mention, our last few moments with Kaitlin Pastorek the girl and not Kaitlin Pastorek Gambino the woman, the wife!
To me we are still kids playing mermaids in the pool. But in writing my speech the night before, I had to acknowledge that we were in fact growing up. And that doesn’t have to be sad. I love that our friendship has lasted and grown. I guess that’s a beautiful part of having a best friend–life is constant change, but together things feel solid, impervious to time. Maybe when we’re 80 I’ll still feel like we’re girls in our twenties jumping on the bed in our bath robes. Speaking of which..this was us in the hotel suite the night before the wedding.
See? Kids. But alas, kids get married too. And maybe just because people start referring to you as an adult and you start partaking in adult activities doesn’t mean you necessarily feel like one. Maybe that’s what everyone’s doing and just not talking about–playing the part, going through the motions. Or maybe some people actually feel like adults and I’m just really struggling to grow up here. Who knows. Life is funny. Weddings are fun. Best friends weddings are really fun. And as I’ve always said, New Orleans weddings are the best.