health | Playing for Time

Taking account…

30 Apr 2023 2 Comments

***

Since you’re all so kind, I can’t get anyone here to hold me accountable to reach my goals; therefore, I’ve had to exercise over-the-top discipline in order to avoid making a liar of myself. Those projects I’ve mentioned? I have good news…

You remember my nemesis, the 12′ x 7′ x 14′ high closet lined with shelves on three sides, which has been the repository for a wide assortment of belongings since about 2015 when I started losing mobility… you recall my brave words, right? I’m thrilled to report that it now looks like springtime in that space – a breath of fresh air – and life in general, just like that, holds more promise and feels absolutely doable. It’s like turning on a floodlight in a dark cavern, except that the surroundings revealed are entirely friendly. As I stood back admiring my work yesterday I said a mental “up yours” to the Senior Surgeon who told me there was nothing that could be done about my back, so… I guess just go home and give up, which my brain did without informing me in advance, thus putting life on hold. That haphazardly-packed closet represents the biggest win I can think of in about that many years and I’m savoring it. There’s also this: over a ten-year period I helped empty six longtime homes of loved ones, and I made a solemn vow not to put John through that. It’s an educational, revelatory, emotional, gut-ripping experience, which he’s already done once singlehandedly, so the less Kim and I leave behind, the better. Best-case scenario would be to close things out like saints, with a fork apiece and some clean underwear, but simple living and a love for open spaces will at least keep us moving in that direction.

The biggest win of all is that now, in 2023, the more I move the better I feel. That’s worth sticking around for.

And now I’m ready to focus on something I love even more than re-homing things, which is to finish editing a friend’s manuscript. I’m fairly certain it’s the calling I missed in life, that of helping to fine-tune good writing while consuming it at the same time. Bossy, nitpicking girl loves books, win/win.

A glance up the page affirms that this year has been more about gains than losses, more about the wins in spite of how dark so many days have felt in their endless passage. That’s a good thing to know because of how it colors the rest of life… sometimes the wins are so hard-won we feel beat up by them instead of validated and encouraged. At this late date, I might be finally starting to understand the process through which we come to know and love ourselves. It’s never too late.

Take your innate kindness and human understanding with you all week and spread that stuff all over everything. The world needs it so much.

Image by Judy Smith

How DID it get so late, anyway?

23 Apr 2023 2 Comments

***

I gave the blog a rest last week, it was time. Full disclosure, my muse is on indefinite vacay in South America and I’m fairly lost on my own. I’ve also been trying to cultivate the shockingly unAmerican habit of declining to speak in the absence of anything to say. Concurrently, I’ve been working my way through seasonal depression and I try to apply extra caution during those times, lest my “mouth” cancel my regular brain activity and add to the load of woe. But hey, it’s spring, it’s time to break out of the trap and feel ALL of life. If you deal with the sadz you know it isn’t so much ABOUT anything, it’s more of a hormonal/chemical shift that imposes a life of its own over how you’d rather feel, and it’s always a relief to emerge into real sunshine again. Sort of like…

In actively working to move the Mood Meter to the plus side, I’ve saved things written by people who know, because somebody else’s experience and affirmation are always encouraging to me. Numero uno…

Having to be phony around other people is what feels genuinely weird to me. Can’t do it anymore.

On the accountability front, I’ve been putting my list of Anxiety Reducers in practice and can report that taken together they’re making a difference. They’re in the post preceding this one if you want to try a few.

Hang on, kids, we’re making a 90-degree turn here because I became aware last night of a pattern in our house, likely one of the biggest tip-offs that we aren’t young anymore. Kim has a sixth sense for picking random movies that we end up totally engaged in, and at some point or several during every film, one of us has to grab an iPad and find out WHO THAT ACTOR IS!! Remember, he was in that movie about, oh you know, and that blonde was in it, too, and… we learn a lot, like who’s still breathing and who isn’t. This morning I learned that this is 84-year-old Lee Majors, remember him? Boy hero, sorta? Wow, is it getting late in here or what.

Or maybe it’s just me since I hold no firm concepts regarding the connections between people and time. It’s all of a piece somehow, and this could just as easily be 1970 as 2023. Absolutely everything has changed, while absolutely everything remains the same.

No worries, I still retain a firm connection to reality… on the good days.

Image by Judy Smith

Sorting fact from fiction…

13 Apr 2023 Leave a comment

***

Tell me if this happens to you sometimes… it’s only 8am and I’m already through with today, what’s up with that? I dipped my toe in the news pool and instantly regretted it. I looked for humor on social media and found snark. I sat here too long and started remembering every stupid regrettable thing I’ve ever said or done, an endless parade of self-accusation, and it’s ridiculous.

Okay, false alarm… turns out I just needed to eat something. And thus am I reminded, again, that we can complicate life beyond all reason just by examining it to death.

We add difficulty to life by expecting it to conform to our plans and hopes, forgetting that it takes no notice of our existence at all. Plans? Hopes? Get real, little human, we’re rolling ON and you’re about to get flattened, better luck next round.

Here’s a thing to know: Returning to life after long absence is anything but seamless. There’s a lot of catching up to do, and you begin to realize how much has changed since your whole world went off the rails. There are days when it’s a lot, and others when I make it a mountain on my own. These are affirmations that are helpful to me:

I will always remember my mother-in-law, when I broached the subject of a move to the nursing home, pointing her finger and declaring adamantly “I need a MAN, RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW!” She knew that if my father-in-law or either of her two sons were still living she would have an advocate, but alas, here was her daughter-in-law of 35 years trying to tell her what to do. I understood her angst then and have experienced it many times for myself because we simply don’t tell life what’s going to happen. We persist in trying, but we eventually register the success rate and back off a little to keep our lack of power from becoming too overwhelming.

I do what I want. Right, life?

Turns out what I want to do today is to start getting a true handle on my closet-cleaning project. So far, there are a dozen empty tubs and containers stacked in a tower to show for my sorting and tossing, and I’m ready to add to that total. Kim found a perfect six-drawer chest that should go far in solving various “Where do I put THIS?” quandaries, thus letting me move forward. A goal. A purpose. My kingdom for a horse…

Yesterday I made a list of Anxiety Reducers which is now taped at the side of my monitor, and if followed it’s bound to help eventually:

Drink far less coffee
MOVE the body
Less alcohol, so, you know, 2 or 3 evening Tequila shots instead of 4
Cut obvious sugar
Cut the clutter, which resides mostly on my desk and in the ever-looming closet
Drink more water
Get outside
Spend a skosh less online time

Could work. Wish me luck. I hope the sun’s shining where you are as full-on as it is here, and I hope your Thursday will be all good stuff.

Image by Judy Smith

Still springing…

06 Apr 2023 Leave a comment

***

As usual, fickle spring can’t make up her mind, and she will have it her way regardless. It looks perfectly lovely outside but when I opened the balcony door after sunrise, I was instantly made aware of the real-feel temp. Doesn’t matter, it’s just weather and we haven’t a particle of power to change it day to day, which would be easier to take if we had even a smidgen of influence on the rest of life. It’s part of my job to warn you that the aging process inevitably brings loss in most every direction, and far sooner than we’re led to believe: loss of influence, loss of credibility, of independence, of energy, strength, and power, among other attributes we formerly took for granted. Sooner than we could possibly anticipate, we start to sense that we’re next-in-line for increased outside input concerning our well-being and security. Lord, I was just there with six older family members! Facts say it’s been more than twenty years since I played the caregiver role, but in my economy it was only yesterday… and although we’re not there yet, I can feel it creeping up to scope us out. Oh, the places we’ll go, the realizations we’ll make along the way. Life is… weird. And a little anticlimactic. Is this all there is? Send in the clowns…

In retrospect, 2022 was a daunting challenge every day, and 2023 isn’t proving to be very inventive on its own because it’s more of the same. A person could worry.

Nevertheless, we press on…

I know this much is true:

We’re all pedaling as fast as we can.
As soon as we know better, we try to do better.

My old-lady gripe is that life moves a pinch too fast from womb to tomb. It never slows for us, and by the time we figure a couple of things out we’re, as my grandma said, “too soon old, too late shmart.” Pisses me off, that sense of powerlessness. But as a Teutonic realist, I see the dilemma for what it is… life’s current and coming challenge is to hang in and get better because the alternative creates even more righteous rage within. And silent rage is treacherous because it’s a gateway drug to depression, which is the opposite of living. We don’t wanna go there.

Image by Judy Smith

Time to ante up…

31 Mar 2023 3 Comments

***

Last day of March, boys and girls, and the Bradford Pear and Red Maple trees in our neighborhood are blooming and leafing and already showing off because they can. When Kim walked Mass Street this morning before sunup it was a balmy 65° and humid, so maybe spring’s sticking around a while this time. Hope so, I’m overdue for the attitude adjustment and everyone will benefit. Ready for the early mornings when you can pull on a minimum of clothing, lace up your Tevas, and get outside. Hmm. Guess this morning would have been one of those, huh. Oh well, my dance card is already punched twice for this 24-hour segment, so we’re good. Nice, though, to feel the friendly air that smells like rain.

WARNING: 90-degree left turn…

Do you have sensory input/overload issues? Have you ever tried to explain what that’s like to someone who cruises through life as if they own it? How’d that go for ya’? It makes me think of the game Ransom Notes, wherein players have to describe a given situation in abbreviated form. Clear as mud? My version would go something like this:

Assignment: DESCRIBE SENSORY OVERLOAD AND ITS ATTENDANT FEELINGS TO A NOVICE

Ransom Note:

ROAR

PIERCES

PORES AND ORIFICES

MAKES BRAIN CELLS WEEP

Anxiety and excess sensory input are ever-present, as you’re well aware if you aren’t immune to such. And nobody outside it can feel it. Most people march entirely to their own drummer so they can’t imagine, for instance, what it’s like to hear and register every sound equally and be unable to instantly sort, assign, and selectively dampen the individual input in order to translate on the fly, keep sweet and quiet, and deal. All day, every day, until the hearing aids can be put to bed and the lights go out, the brain gets to rest (except for dreams, but that’s another day), and the tension drains from the body’s cells overnight. Being able to hear isn’t a bad thing, in fact it’s crucial, but when you add all the other input a day holds, keeping it together can get dicey, a big muddy mess. There’s interaction with other people, weather, the abominable state of human existence in general, the ouchies of age, and being hangry, among an endless list of possible angst generators.

People with raging anxiety are ridiculous and we know it, but the harder we try to stay quiet and peaceful on the inside the worse it gets. Like… any day that contains an appointment outside the house (or ONLINE, for lort’s sake!) guarantees that I won’t forget it for a second until it’s over. Okay, it’s how many hours away? So that means I have time for… well, no, don’t want to start that NOW, I’m too distracted by these never-ending deadlines. If the appointment is for a pedi or massage, that means I have to leave enough time to shave my legs, and shampooing this silver thicket on top of my head takes another three minutes. And SO MUCH PEEING, ALL DAY, OMIGOD!! All of that, hour after hour, within the brain of a lifetime perfectionist who has likely never once actually gotten it right, isn’t that the shits? Ransom notes indeed… somebody should rescue me from myself before time’s up, maybe.

Anxiety feels mostly like fear of loss… loss of security, safety, competence, choice, independence, respect, love, credibility, control, connection, relationship, anything and everything we value. And bless the people who question none of it, live life on their terms, and go on winning. We hope they know how lucky they are, amirite?

I know this much is true…

For the perpetually anxious, peace is all that matters finally.

And because I always like to leave us smiling, if possible…

Image by Judy Smith

As the world turns…

21 Mar 2023 4 Comments

***

We have crossed the spring equinox and claimed the far banks of the Rubicon, so there’s no going back now, right? Winter’s finished, right? This morning’s rain is entirely made of springtime, am.I.right? Just say yes, I’m ready for the great outdoors in all its friendliness, aren’t you?

The first day of spring was also first day of school for this girl. I registered for two KU Osher Institute classes for seniors, one of which meets two blocks away, the other on campus, and the first 2-hour session was yesterday. I think there were thirteen of us boomers in the room, including the retired professor teaching the class, and the atmosphere was lovely. This one is called “An Invitation to Poetry” and seems to be everything I’d hoped it would be… comfy room, congenial people, teacher who knows his stuff in all the best ways. Twice he made tears pop into my eyes when he read lines from poems I didn’t know but want to, and he doesn’t even seem the type. I’d have guessed he taught history or the sciences, not the arts… and possibly the best part of all is the genuine love of subject that immediately comes through.

It was a happy start, and this morning I’ll begin a class called “Pioneering Stories from the Settling of Emporia and Lyon County, Kansas.” I chose this one because that’s where my grandma grew up, in a dugout/soddy/clay/stone challenge of a dwelling that included space for the livestock. She was born in 1889 and hard times accompanied most everything in her life, but she survived and thrived to the age of 96, a personal goal of mine. I’d never knock the living conditions, but neither do I want to try that mode at this point… it wasn’t for sissies:

Photo taken during a visit by family in the 1950s or so, the homestead having been abandoned long before.

So for three consecutive Mondays and Tuesdays I get to be a student again, and it feels excellent to be back in that quietly invigorating atmosphere. And yes, I’m scouring the course listings for anything else that might spark new synapses because this morning’s dose of NE Kansas history was intriguing and I’m ready for more. In two hours we covered the years from when Kansas was still a territory, to Quantrill’s reign of terror, including the (at least) thrice burning of the town of Lawrence. We aren’t Bleeding Kansas for nothing… it bought us the privilege of being Free Kansas, a heritage worth fighting for.

I saw the following piece of advice yesterday, have made a similar folder, and will tuck this graphic inside along with any and all encouragement that shows up in my life in coming days. That stuff’s precious and should be kept in a warm dry place at all times.

Now that spring’s officially here, it’s time to get back to making each consecutive day just a little better than the one before, so…

Image by Judy Smith

OMG, look at the time!

11 Mar 2023 Leave a comment

***

We’re nine days from spring and the rain we need for the greening of NE Kansas has been showing up. So sweet and benign, all the soft water from the sky, and we hope it stays this friendly since Kansas weather is nothing if not unpredictable.

Of course, tonight’s the big night… it’s time to spring forward an entire hour and spend the rest of the year searching for that lost jigger of salt. Don’t forget.

The lost hour symbolizes every trauma, whether infinitesimal or overwhelming, we’ve sustained over the past however-many years now. We’ve lived through scary illnesses that had to be handled on our own because PANDEMIC. We lived through said pandemic… so far. We’ve survived cockamamie politics; over-the-top injustice; incomprehensible cruelty; the abject hatred of our fellow man; and every other thing that’s part of the human experience. Here we stand, damaged, wounded, but ever hopeful for better days. We’re pitiful but we’re all we’ve got, boys and girls, so hold hands and keep taking new territory. Trauma’s most powerful enemy is truth – use it at every opportunity.

Speaking of trauma… my new friend Erica and I worked on rooting out some more of it yesterday in my second hour-long massage. Her amazing hands know where pain lurks and she’s fairly merciless already… hurts so good, can’t wait to go back.

Small psychic traumas are gradually resolving as well, including a sense of rootlessness and lack of purpose. At some point after the lifelong nerve pain disappeared, my brain started working on the problem of “Okay, who am I NOW? I can finally do pretty much what I want… what’s that going to look like?” After a few months’ rumination on that question, it came to me one day not long ago that at 75 I don’t have to go out and reinvent myself in order to pay my dues as a resident of the planet. I already HAVE a life, here in this smallish space, that requires my involvement and TLC, and could take up most of my time if I wanted it to. This is good. I’m home. Having said that, I’ll be branching out a teensy bit in a couple of weeks, so stay tuned.

Everything that happens to us feels like such a big deal at the time because we’re hothouse flowers with intense feelings, so it takes time and perspective for our personal traumas to start turning loose of us. Sometimes we like them too much, which complicates the whole thing. Those hurts and slights and terrifying wounds tend to validate our existence, so they feel like our buddies rather than the thoughts and memories that will eventually paralyze us and shorten our lucid days.

I take Sir Winston to heart…

“This is the lesson: never give in, never give in, never, never, never—in nothing, great or small, large or petty—never give in except to convictions of honor and good sense. Never yield to force; never yield to the apparently overwhelming might of the enemy.” (whomever/whatever you perceive that enemy to be)

Above all, never lose sight of this befuddled truth, brought to you by the Society for the Proliferation of Crap Platitudes.

Image by Judy Smith

Feeling the love…

06 Mar 2023 8 Comments

***

For humans who feel everything, every tiniest thing, there are days on end too dark for words. And then the sun breaks out again and some of those humans feel a little sheepish about all the inner angst. Oh well. That’s just how it is, and hello sunshine. I’ll play nice if you will, world.

Things you learn along the way:

Staying childlike, that’s the trick…

I rolled up on this during my coffee reflections this morning, and felt it deep. Just one would lend legitimacy to this steady stream-of-consciousness…

Image by Judy Smith

Of weather, moods, and change…

16 Feb 2023 2 Comments

Photo by Kim Smith 02/14/2023

***

Our forecast was for overnight snow, but what we have is frozen fog on the streets and sidewalks, curtailing most outdoor activity until the sun arrives, which may not be anytime soon. Kim canceled his morning walk after skating to the trash building and back, and people are navigating our intersection at Granny speed. No walkers below my windows, which is slightly eery… but the mood all up in here is sanguine and patient, waiting for what will be. Kim’s making oatmeal to get us started, and as long as I fold and store a stack of laundry, and make it to a haircut after lunch, I will have justified my existence for another day. I half hope my hairdresser is staying tucked in today, as there’s hardly a safe surface for man nor beast. A friend posted this about the current situation at our hospital complex:

He added that there are slide-offs and vehicle pileups all over town. Our balcony is now strewn with what look like pellets of dry ice, the streets are slick with black ice, and today’s high temp will remain below freezing, so yeah, good day to hide by the fire if you have one.

If everything shuts down for the day, that leaves lots of time for thinking, likely the riskiest thing I engage in now. How many of us thought we’d either be a completed work by 75, or dead, and here I am still trying to know myself before the ride stops. Things happen for which I realize too late I’m woefully unprepared… but how can this be? I’ve been there done that, but the capacity to ignore reality persists. Observing my grandmothers, who all seemed sort of “old” by the time I was fully aware of them, led me to believe that after a certain age serenity sets in and nothing can ruffle all that accumulated knowledge and experience. Not so much, sorry to say. Here’s the piece that matters: We stay approximately the same age inside for our entire lives, merely adjusting to the times as we go along… or not.

Something I’m newly grateful for… after living here for almost ten years, I finally have my own personal care team in place and it’s making all the difference. Keri owns my hair, Jourdan keeps my piggies looking presentable, and Erica provides TLC for my achy body. Wonderful women who express themselves through giving. It matters.

And now last night’s snow has arrived and is falling thick and heavy. Kim delivered me to my haircut and back, across two city blocks and several feet of treacherous sidewalk, and we lived to tell about it. The fireplace will see us through. You stay safe, and enjoy what winter has to offer!

Image by Judy Smith

Promises kept…

11 Feb 2023 2 Comments

***

In the predawn hours of December 22, 2021, as I checked into KU Med Center for spinal surgery, I promised myself a reward: “Get through this in style and you win a nice therapeutic massage after your one-year assessment.” Yesterday, six weeks late but right on time, was finally that day – an entire uninterrupted hour of TLC for the stuff that made recovery happen – and I’m still thanking me for it as we speak. It’s gratifying when people listen to their inner voice and do what they’re born to do. Erica was born to give the gift of therapeutic massage… her voice and demeanor are calm, she exudes peace, and her hands find all the pockets of pain in the muscles and tissue, encouraging discomfort to leave the body. She asked why I waited a year to come to her and I didn’t really have an answer except that I somehow thought I should let the official healing period expire before I struck out on my own. Pollyannas are like that, sigh. She gently let me know that if I ever have invasive surgery again, as soon as the incision(s) are healed come see her in order for the ACTUAL healing to start. She’s clearly right – I had volumes of stress and pain stored in my cells that needed to be disturbed enough to go away. We’ll wake some more up next time.

Trained or not, there’s no substitute for the human touch, so this massage is a place-marker and an admonition to treat myself well in all the ways available to me. Life is entirely too brief to voluntarily miss out on things like music, sunshine, kittens, and the skilled hands of a healer, and they do walk among us.

So here we are on a crisp winter morning, with that faithful orange glow starting to illuminate the horizon. It’s 16º and Kim’s walking Mass Street, letting his hands get Just.Cold.Enough. to be entertaining. It’s Saturday, so it’ll be all the usual plus Jayhawk B-ball at noon. And then we’re hearing rumors of shenanigans in the works for tomorrow, so… wotta weekend, boys and girls! Hope it’s SUPER!

Image by Judy Smith

Owning what’s inside…

04 Feb 2023 1 Comment

***

Sitting here in a zone of my own after another Saturday breakfast that outdid last week’s, wondering what my muse(s) might have to say on a sunny winter morning. After days of single-digit pre-dawns, the temp was above freezing this morning so Kim was out early making his Mass Street foray, and upon arrival back home gave me the benefit of his well-chilled hands, a cheap thrill for both of us.

Our Jayhawks have a B-ball game at 11am, so Kim’s brewing a second pot of coffee and our brains are on sportsing high-alert. It’s shaping up to be a Saturday worth hanging around for, with things lying in wait that we don’t even know about yet. Meanwhile, my brain is already off on tangents while it has some free time. I’m remembering that someone who knows me pretty well told me recently that I terrify them. Really? Me? Have you seen me in this decade? I don’t have it in me to harm the creatures of the earth, so they must have been referring to whatever comprises my core, a place I’m just now really exploring at this late date. I must make them feel a little like this:

Jeez, lady, wha’d I do??

***

Let me just say that Mary Shelley got it.

***

It’s simply that when someone of the female persuasion finally gets to what Stephanie’s talking about, it comes out fierce and a little terrifying. Good.

***

💙💙💙

Image by Judy Smith

Accountability…

28 Jan 2023 Leave a comment

***

It’s been a good week all up in here, with visible progress to show for it. On Monday I organized email folders, dumping over 5,000 messages in the process, taking the time to unsubscribe as I went along. This situation exists because I don’t really USE email anymore, therefore it slides off my cracker on a regular basis and clogs all the pipes and drains in the communication system. These entities are doing their darnedest to impart urgent information to me, the least I can do is give them a decent burial in the far reaches of space. So that was Day One. On Tuesday I made actual phone calls (GASP!!) to schedule overdue medical appointments, three of them, and lived to tell about it. The problem with procrastination is that it’s entirely self-sustaining — once set in motion it’s good to go forever.

So it’s like this…

***

Since Wednesday I’ve been sitting at the piano for about an hour every morning, which is just now possible again thanks to the spinal surgery. My sweet little concert grand needs a careful tuning, and the neighbors might be suffering since all the steel, concrete, and glass in our building conduct sound fairly efficiently, but it’s heaven to be playing again. Yesterday I combed through a book of show tunes, including some stuff from the 40s that my dad used to play, and it was a party of one, with people I remember well listening in.

Whatever hurts you, feel it and let it go. Music helps with that process. Especially if you’re lucky enough to love music.

***

My recently-adopted motto for 2023:

***

***

***

Having survived it for a while, I tend to yammer on about life, but here’s how it really is and you can take this to whatever bank you trust:

“Life is like arriving late for a movie, having to figure out what was going on without bothering everybody with a lot of questions, and then being unexpectedly called away before you find out how it ends.” ~Joseph Campbell

***

For me, it continues to be about perspective in all things. And this makes me giggle:

***

This week, barring the unforeseen, I shall dispense with a short stack of unsorted mail and empty a couple of in/out baskets, so there’s no lack of inspiration or fodder on the horizon yet and nothing in this house is safe from the urge to purge.

Happy January. It’s almost over.

Image by Judy Smith

Eat the bear, lest he eat YOU…

16 Jan 2023 Leave a comment

A thing about life is that it stays unfailingly real, provided we aren’t in the business of lying to ourselves. It comes to us hour by hour, laden with the dull and the unexpected, and every day’s “BEST” on our part will look different from the day before. I see myself these days as far less Pollyanna and more Pragmatic Optimist. Life will do that to us… so each day has to be a stand against cynicism and discouragement.

I know I’m not alone in feeling a little beat up by recent and current events, so here are a few tips for dealing with the effects, the aftermath, and the immediate future.

In pain? Keep going. Fall down? Get up, keep going. Get sick? Get well, keep going.

When the world feels unfriendly and all indicators point to a negative outcome, our self-talk can turn ugly and destructive. A good thing to do in 2023 is NOT THAT.

Word on the street is that, like all of life, it does get better.

Don’t we get so tired of crying sometimes, though? Don’t we just finally think “ENOUGH!” ??

End of story.

Girls, women, friends, it’s my responsibility to let you in on an important secret to the working out of any and all angst in life, no matter what you’re going through… when you’re desperately in need of an ear, a shoulder, positive therapy…

HAPPY 2023 to us all.

Image by Judy Smith

Doing a Vitals Assessment…

11 Jan 2023 Leave a comment

Here we are, boys and girls, middle of Week Two, HumpDay, also known as “just make it up, nobody will notice.” How’s your YEAR looking? Yesterday, mine hosted a milestone when I saw my spine surgeon for my one-month-overdue one-year checkup and received my walking papers, signed, sealed, delivered, they’re mine. “Go your way and be well, my child, if pain intrudes again, call us.” I’ll miss seeing him, this kind, young, very tall, very skinny man who almost-casually handed my life back to me. In giving him shit yesterday about his weight, I learned that it’s the same number on the scale as when he left high school. Big deal, I can still wear all the earrings I had back then.

Last year, for all the reasons, will live in infamy in my head until memory fades. 2022 began in a complete fog of pain and opioids, followed by months of hard work. Somewhere along the way I had a second MOHS surgery for basal cell carcinoma, precisely in the middle of my forehead, thank you Ruth Buzzi for the shining example. Fortunately I had a beautiful Middle Eastern surgeon who uses her skills to safeguard women and our spirits, and I’m no scarier-looking than before. In October I fell, destroying my glasses and nearly breaking my orbital socket. The right side of my face and neck were rainbow-hued for too long, and three front teeth are still numb from that little oops. On December 23rd I tested positive for COVID for a second time (first was before all the vaccines), so 2022 ended in much the same way it started… in a fog of pain but minus the opioids, which I really could have used.

So MERRY CHRISTMAS, everyone, hope it was swell. Having totally missed it two years in a row now, I know it all happens whether we’re here for it or not. It’s the days ahead of us that count now, and I’m happy and relieved to have a fresh year to work with. Clearly, time is of the essence as I have a ten-year window to reach this goal:

Goal #2. I’ve already impressed the hell outta 5-year-old me.

That little farm girl is proud of me for growing a backbone over these years of existence, with their never-ending onslaught of real stuff hitting the fan. She’s impressed that I finally found my voice and that I no longer silence it under pressure. She’s living vicariously in the freedom I give myself to be me, and she’s a far happier child than I remember being the first time through.

If you don’t give in, life will try to kick you to the curb, teach you a lesson “once and for all,” and wash its hands of you, so all you can do is hang in and work toward better days, because sometimes life doesn’t know beans. 2022 taught me crucial lessons that will be helpful to have on board going forward, one being that, sometimes, briefly being selfish is the answer. It’s an effective shield if wielded judiciously.

Guard the pieces that comprise the real YOU. Don’t give those away indiscriminately.

I’m taking at least two solid truths forward into 2023. First of all, this… I hope to never lose sight of it:

And its corollary:

I hope 2023 finds me doing the things that make the process of staying alive a better proposition for everyone around me. Happy New Year to you, I missed the last two celebrations but I’m here for it all now. Let’s hold hands and do this thing…

Image by Judy Smith

Standing on solemn ceremony…

29 Dec 2022 2 Comments

***

Three mornings from now it will be a new year. We make such a thing about restarts and clean slates that it tends to crank up the pressure right off the top, making the crispy-clean observance something less than joyful, so this time I’m proceeding on the basis that 2023 is NOBODY’S year, we’re all simply going to stroll nonchalantly to the door, peek through the peephole, open the barrier a crack, read the room, and hang around the coffee machine until the convo starts to sort itself out.

For me, 2023 says less is more. My plan, goal, thought, intent is that if and when the year 2024 shows its face, every drawer, shelf, cabinet, closet, space will have been scrutinized severely and lightened of its load. I feel guilty and heavy-laden if I’m harboring goods of the world for which I have no legit use, especially when I can envision others getting the benefit instead. Excess only adds to my anxiety, and one place that’s due for a purge is the desktop I’m typing on at the moment. Thousands of images, files, and folders must go in the name of mental health. It could happen… bit by bit, step by step.

Random thoughts and admonishments, curated to take us into the immediate future…

Alternatively, I might assign myself the task of adopting more freedom and flexibility.

Worth keeping in mind during the months ahead…

Image by Judy Smith

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