hard

Some people I like have recently noted that January is hard. January is birth, and cold, and ice, and beginnings. January is planning, learning how to breath, learning how to walk and learning where to go next. I agree. 


Halfway thought January, I can’t say it’s much easier yet, but I can hear a beat in the distance and my feet are marching forward, with one foot finding solid ground and challenging the other to follow.  Momentum counts for something in the cold recesses of January. I’ve always thought that movement through something hard is a victory in and of itself.

Since January 2nd, with one exception, I have not ingested any dairy, grain, sugar or alcohol. I started a 30-day challenge to start the new year and I am currently on day 16.  Joining the challenge wasn’t conceived as a Master Plan nor was it extensively debated, but rather, it was a timely discovery of a group of peers also taking this same leap. It was knowing that I’ll either learn to fly, or find that there is in fact ground to catch me after the fall. In short, I didn’t have much to lose by trying out something radically different. Learning how to redefine my relationship to food is not risky….it’s just hard.

The results have been staggering so far. My skin is clear and blemish free. I am sleeping soundly and waking up replenished after fewer hours. I have begun to feel more clear-headed than I have in months …almost to the point of feeling a slight buzz throughout most of the day. I have stopped feeling intense hunger in the late afternoon or first thing in the morning. I simply notice ups and downs and try to eat accordingly. The roller coaster has mellowed out. Finally, I have shed ALL of the excess weight I put on this Fall….in 2 weeks. Nothing short of staggering.

The beginning of any process is hard. I won’t lie. The beginning of this challenge was grueling. I was grumpy. I felt sorry for myself. I was angry at myself for having allowed my addictions to sugar and grain to take such a firm control over my emotional well being. 

But I remember other things that were hard that are now part of my new normal. I remember signing my name on my first memo at work and losing sleep over the fact that I had to be responsible for advice on how to solve someone's problems. I remember buying a car and a house was hard, knowing that the Bank could come and take it all away if I made bad choices and that these choices could form black marks on my credit rating and change my future plans. I remember becoming a parent was hard, knowing that I had to be the bigger person, every day, even on the days that I didn’t think it was possible or what I wanted out of life.

Those things are still hard.  Almost every day.  But they don't keep me up at night and they are part of my normal. 

Hard doesn’t make something not worth pursuing. Hard doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try. Hard doesn’t mean that it can’t be overcome.  Hard just meanst that it's a fight.  Sometimes the fight is a sprint  Sometimes it's an ultra marathon.

Changing my eating habits will be hard. After two weeks, I am nowhere near the end of this journey.  I'm just figuring out the full extent of what needs to be corrected. After 15 full days of thinking about food, planning food, carefully preparing food and wondering about my relationship to food….I have decided that I'm signing up for the longest marathon I'll ever run.

Here Comes the Sun

*Got no time to take a picture 
I'll remember someday 
all the chances we took 


We're so close to something
better left unknown 

But I knew this would be hard. A process of disentangling two lives, lived side by side, for over thirteen years. I knew it would be emotional, and complicated, and frustrating and unsettling. I knew that the beginning would be lonely. I knew that my compass would have a hard time finding its true north.  I knew that it would be strange to shop for groceries alone, pay bills alone, plan for weekends alone and make everyday decisions with no accountability yet also, no safety net.

I anticipated a squeezing of the heart. I expected tightness in my chest and a lump in my throat. What I did not expect was the long lasting fog taking up residence in my head. The days of wondering, remembering and questioning. Hours, minutes and seconds lost to memories that I can't yet categorize as good or bad...only just important enough to archive for another day. I simply didn't expect this haze permeating most of my days, coloring all of the music and flavoring most of my meals and conversations.  It is exhausting and hard.

I can feel it in my bones  
Gimme sympathy



After all of this is gone  
Who'd you rather be?  
The Beatles or the Rolling Stones?

But despite the density of the fog, some things are easier. Waking up in a soft warm bed to crisp morning air, slowly stretching, opening eyes only for coffee or a toothbrush...is a gentler transition into any morning than even the loveliest of conversations.  There is a new comforting silence and healing space involved in having one's own space at the beginning of each day.  I feel like I am getting to know an old friend that I didn't even realize I was missing. 

There are alot of purposeful decisions.  Obligation falling by the wayside, plans magically working out, schedules easily matching up.  And very few things falling between the cracks, very few.  I start to wonder about the science and art of being alone.  I wonder about cosmic timing and whether the universe has a plan.  I ponder alot of things over morning coffee.
 

You're gonna make mistakes, 
you're young 

Come on, baby, 
play me a song 
Like, "Here Comes the Sun"

But there is relief.  A glass of Baileys over ice late at night.  A calendar agreed to without tears, frustration or any misunderstandings.  Favors of fresh laundry, drives to the grocery store or extended afternoons of childcare.  Gratitude and grace have slowly started to replace pain and nostalgia. I have had such a full life.  There is so much good to be thankful for despite the current chaos.  The immediate future suggests progress and tentative confidence.

Today, a table full of gifts, plans for a graciously shared Christmas weekend with new tenderness and respect.  Words spoken a bit more softly, feelings shared a bit more openly;  a joint anticipation of a boy's first remembered Christmas.  A feeling of relief over knowing that this is in fact the right decision for so many people.

Here comes the sun.


*Song: Gimme Sympathy
Artist: Metric
Lyrics: http://www.metrolyrics.com/gimme-sympathy-lyrics-metric.html
Used without Permission

walking wounded

I might take this post down....I'm not sure....I might not.

************

I drive up my leaf strewn street with 2 Diet Pepsi and 2 lukewarm burgers. I have a flashback to driving up the street for the first time, 10 years ago, at about this time of the year. There is nothing I don't love about this street. Large lots, older homes, mature trees...it has always felt like the universe gave me a gift at a very young age. I think to myself that I will miss the welcome offered by this street on a daily basis.

At this point, I have been gone for about 24 hours. I left with a toddler in the back seat and a fake facade of happy, put on just for him. I return with an empty car seat, a mild hangover and some much needed time to clear my head. While last night was filled with steak, beer, jeans and high heels today is filed with tears spilled onto a cold steering wheel. I know this is the right thing to do, yet I wonder why it's so hard. The warm comforting words of my closest friends helped buffer the pain of yesterday but today I drive alone and I am the walking wounded.

I numbly sit down at the kitchen counter and eat a lukewarm burger, swallowing but not really tasting. I look around at various pieces of my life, a picture of our wedding day, a vase containing flowers I got the day Felix was born, a painting bought during a trip to Russia.... a life that has been carefully collected and accumulated for over 13 years. I start to have a hard time breathing. I close my eyes and watch tears spill onto a slab of wooden counter top that I picked out and I wonder... Am I making a mistake?

I climb the stairs and find an old suitcase and pick out a few days worth of clothes and toiletries. I have always been a person who needs "stuff" and there's so much I want to bring, yet i cannot remove anything from this house, not yet... it feels like removing candles from the alter.

My things belong here but I'm not sure I do, not right now.

I settle on a collection of mostly new clothes; things that have never been hung in the closet, things that have not yet known the warmth of this house. It feels like an acceptable solution, in an unacceptably difficult situation.

I struggle to carry the suitcase down the stairs. It feels too heavy under my arms, it feels like too much to bear. I do the impossible and I ask him for help, to carry my things down the stairs. It seems like a cruel joke to have to ask for his help do to this very thing that hurts him so much.

I roll the suitcase outside and lift it into the back of the jeep and start to breath again. It feels lighter than it did upstairs. Am I really doing this? I think I am.

I drive 2 kms down the road to the open arms of a friend. She greets my tears and makes me laugh. I bemoan my awful day, my birthday, and know that it could be so much worse but allow myself to feel pain and to marinate in the sadness. We drink beer and go out to eat and the tears finally subside but not the melancholy.

Someone asks me how I am holding up and I tell them that there aren't many sadder things than packing a suitcase, on your 36th birthday, to move out of your own house. They nod, silently and drink their beer. Someone else suggests that this would make a great start to a movie...I initially laugh and then stop. I can't breath. I briefly consider leaving in the middle of my beer. But something makes me stay. I take a drink. I begin to breath again. I realize that the coming months are going to be a series of heartbreaking moments, each harder and easier than the last.

*************

I have now been gone 13 days and my day to day life is both easier and harder. I am more confident in my decision to make this change, but my heart has taken a beating. It feels like my chest has been pummeled and squeezed and is still beating...only because the days require it to do so.

By now, Felix has spent time away from the house, with me, in new unfamiliar surroundings. We are relying on the kindness of others. I have never felt more appreciative of my friends. In their kitchens, we have baked and cooked, and in their yards, we have played and jumped in leaves. We haven't sat still for very long, being busy helps alot these days. People tell me this is normal but it doesn't help. Not one bit.

Felix has been told that he will soon get a new room, a space for more toys, and many opportunities for sleepovers. He seems to be weathering the storm as expected, but clings to my neck for a bit too long, every time we say goodbye.

He tells me he misses me, every time we part. So we make plans for things like lunchdates and sleepovers. Plans always seem to calm him down. I marvel at how similarly we function. His 3.5 years to my 36, shared blood and DNA. I sometimes don't understand what makes him tick, but other times, it feels like a part of me lives outside of my own body. This is one of those time. His tears always make me second-guess my decision. That feeling never goes away. I plead with the universe to not allow his heart to get hurt any more than necessary. But I know that the universe has nothing to do with it, and, that my choices play the larger role. I breath. I blink. I try to swallow with a lump in my throat.


***************

I signed a lease late last night.

As my hand hovers over the paper, I feel breathless and terrified. Can I do this alone? What will happen the first time I got sick? Will I remember to buy groceries on time? Will I pay bills on the right day? Will my heart ever stop aching? What if Felix doesn't like his new room?

I don't find any answers only the smile of a stranger, as she hands me my copy of a signed lease. I walk outside, on a warm November night, get in the car, turn on the radio and put a crisp new document into the side of my purse. Apartment 101. That's me. More tears are spilled onto the steering wheel. I feel relieved and nauseated.

I drive back to my temporary lodging, I kiss my son goodbye for the night, make plans with his father for pick ups and deliveries and pour myself a glass of beer. I turn on the TV for distraction and share a few half-hearted jokes with my good friend, and hope, to god, or whoever else is listening, that I am making the right choice. Then I drink more beer and go to bed.

about orchids....

She is lit with warm colors
and is drawn towards everything that breaths
whether it's a smell a sound or a touch.

She wants to be understood
but frequently lacks the patience
to properly explain what makes her tick.

She will embrace you despite your faults
but will require that you return the favor
and extend this same kindness to those around you.

She longs for you to deem her smart
as she has long ago accepted that physical beauty
while initially alluring, is fleeting.

She arches her life towards the light
and at every chance she gets
looks up to the sky for signs from the Universe.

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