Capable

One word kept popping into my head tonight as I pondered this wonderful thing called life and the roller coaster of the past year:

capable (adjective)
- having the ability, fitness, or quality necessary to do or achieve a specified thing.
- open to or admitting of something.
- able to achieve efficiently whatever one has to do; competent.

I was capable. I am capable. I will be capable.
I endured. I lived. I prevailed.

The door on my first year as a widow will close in less than 2 weeks... and here I sit, cats at my side, happy dreams in my head, and a computer screen in front of me... totally and utterly capable.

Coffee Date

Here I sit in a hotel room again, and I'm so incredibly tired I think I'm just going to sleep instead of attempting to be profound tonight. 

But I will say this: tomorrow morning I have a date with the fresh air, the sun, some coffee, and maybe even a little shopping. Then it's wedding time!

There are about 7 places to get coffee within a 2 minute walk and the weather is supposed to be beautiful tomorrow. I'm deciding how to fill my time...

Full Circle

Tomorrow morning, I'll be on my way to Virginia Beach for my friend Lindy's wedding. Last June, just one month after Rick died, I spent a day at the beach with my three friends - Libes, Beth, and Lindy. I documented that day here on this blog.

"All three of my friends are getting married in the next year," I wrote that day. "I hear them talk about their plans and smile. All three of them deserve so much love and happiness. I am so excited to share in their joy and to see their lives unfold. It is a stark contrast to my own life, though, and it couldn't be clearer. They are starting their lives with the men they love and my life is just a blank page."

Well, Lindy is the last of the 3 getting married. The year of those 3 weddings, and simultaneously my first year post-death, is about to come to an end.

I remember that day at the beach and how I struggled to live in the now... turning off parts of my brain as needed in order to be able to smile, talk, and laugh. I have been lucky to have such good friends - those 3 among them - to punctuate this past year with many days of enjoyment and camaraderie.

Even back then, after that day at the beach, I wrote: "I don't have to think about my life pre-death or my life post-death. I don't have to draw a marker down the center of the timeline that is my life. I try to put a positive spin on the hand I've been dealt: I'm a writer, so a blank page has always appealed to me. I can do this. I have to live in the now, because there is no other way."

As a woman who is all about self-reflection, I love it when things come full circle. So here I am, kind of proud to say that for the most part I've learned to live in the now. And it's served me well! I still get impatient at times or find myself, like any normal person, letting my thoughts jump to the future, but I think that's healthy and only natural. I know, though, that I've learned to enjoy living in the moment. And I've been given the gift of so many great moments lately. I have been collecting so many moments of awesome, happy, special, and meaningful over the last few months. And as for how I feel about my life moving forward...I've discovered that living in the moment is actually the best way to begin to fill that blank page with the things that really matter...and the things I really want.

Expansion

The braver we become, the more we are rewarded. This is why we can experience such hardship, why we can face challenges, why we can endure great pain...AND STILL COME OUT ON TOP.

Perhaps come out better.

Perhaps come out happier.

There are times when I can feel my life expanding. I watch my future spread out before me, vast and beautiful. I know that courage brought me here, to this point. To this moment. I know that courage taught me, molded me, and propelled me forward. My past knows me. But my future is waiting, ready to receive me. 

Sleeping with Myself

When I was a little girl and I went to sleep at night, I lived with my parents, so they were in the house.

When I went away to college, I always had a room mate (or room mates) every year, so when I went to sleep at night, someone was asleep in the same room, in a bed just feet from my own.

When I finished college, I moved back home for almost a year. I lived with my parents, so when I went to sleep at night, they were in the house.

When Rick and I got engaged, I moved out of my parents' house and began living with Rick, so when I went to sleep at night, Rick was with me.

For the next 7 years, when I went to sleep at night, Rick was there.

Which means once Rick died, shockingly enough for the first time in my whole life, I was alone at night. I learned to sleep alone in a quiet house.

Until Rick's death, my life was comprised of transition after transition, where I had somehow moved through 29 years of...never living alone.

Like a little frog, I hopped from lily pad to lily pad...always sharing space with someone else. But for the last year, I've lived alone and I've slept alone at night. No parents. No room mates. No significant other. No kids of my own. Just me. And the nights.

And you know what I realized? It's not so much that I've learned to sleep alone. It's that I've learned to sleep with myself.

Every night, no extra stuff going on around me, no human interaction, no breathing somewhere else in the house... but the house isn't empty, because I'm there. Me. So much of me. Emotions to untangle. Words to write. Songs to sing. Thoughts to hear. Dreams to dream. Tears to cry. Lessons to learn. Me. So much of me.

Literally hundreds (320+ so far) of days of learning... of having the new experience... of sleeping with myself.

The Camera Never Lies

I think if I was still in graduate school, I would do a research study on selfies. I'm serious. I believe I could turn it into a social work issue. 

Long before "selfie" was even a term, taking photos of myself was part of my recovery from an eating disorder. 12 years ago, in an attempt to see the beauty I had a difficult time seeing, I began taking a lot of photos of myself. This was long before you posted stuff like that. Before Facebook. Before Instagram. Before you shared your face after you snapped a picture. 

I didn't take pictures of myself to look for bones and thinness. I took pictures of myself to look for beauty in them. The purpose was to try to like the photos I took of myself. Or at least to like something about them. 

Taking selfies (before the word "selfie" existed) was how I learned to smile at myself. How I learned to laugh at myself. It was how I learned to tell myself it was okay to have thoughts like, "Wow, I look really nice here" or "I like this picture of myself." It was how I learned that liking a photo of myself didn’t mean I was conceited. It was how I learned to perceive happiness in my face in a picture. It was how I learned to like my own appearance, even as the weight went on. 

Back when taking selfies would have been deemed ridiculous or unheard of or horribly self-centered, I used to just sit with myself, inside or outside, hair up or hair down, and snap photos of my own face and body with my old digital camera. I'd upload them to my computer and save them in a folder. Then, instead of picking them apart, which was the initial reaction my mind had, I did my best to admire them.

As time wore on and self-criticism was replaced with self-confidence, I took selfies more to chronicle feelings and changes in myself. Not to share, just to keep for my own personal reflection. And then lo and behold, selfies became a craze... First, selfies were mocked with zeal, then they were all the rage, and now, they are simply part of our new culture. 

If I could make a video montage of all my selfies from the last year, I know it would show a progression of great magnitude. A tale of grief and growth and change and strength and emotion. When I post a selfie, it's not to say, "Hey, look at me!" - it's to say, "Hey, look what's happened to me! Look what's changed in me! Look what's inside me!"

I mean, yes, selfies are a portrayal of the outward appearance. Obviously you can't ignore that or discount it. But I know damn well that every one of my selfies shows just as much of what's inside me as what's on the outside. And that's what I think is so cool.

You know what they say: a picture is worth a thousand words.

Happy

I didn't blog last night, and tonight I don't have too much to say. I've just been remembering all those posts I used to write about having sad eyes or some kind of difference in my face after Rick died, even if I was smiling and living life very well...like I could tell happiness/contentment was still not filling me all the way up. For the longest time.

So I wanted an excuse to take a photo with my brand new iPhone6 (yay!) and to say THIS is what a happy person looks like. A really happy person.

Embracing the Moment

Back when I was 22, I wrote this:


Life doesn't invite you to stop and think. It doesn't have time for that. Life continues at a rapid and steady pace without saying, "Hey - stop right here, right now...and reflect." So you're on your own. You have to remember to do this. It's vital...or you begin to take things for granted. You begin to get tired. You begin to feel ungrateful. You begin to worry. You leave no time for what you want or for the simple things in life. You leave no time for laughter or pondering or smiling for the mere sake of smiling. You forget to enjoy the truly great things that careen into your life and smack you in the face.

Life just is and it's up to you to wake yourself up for brief moments here and there. It's up to you to question things, to answer things, to dream, to be thankful, to breathe. Life is a film that never ends and you hold the remote; you can press the pause button. You can take a moment.

Life hardly ever comes in trickles...it almost always comes in downpours. So stop the car, clear off your windshield, and take a look. 

That's one of the best things about being a writer who keeps writing for years on end: messages from yourself.

Promises + Guarantees

It's always best to begin any day or venture with promises to yourself.

promise (noun):
-a statement that you will definitely do something or that something will definitely happen in the future
-an indication of future success or improvement
-a reason to expect that something will happen in the future

So I thought I'd write some down.

Promises:

I will not stop writing. 

I will not stop living life to the fullest.

I will not stop feeling.

I will not compromise myself. 

I will be authentic.

I will keep learning.

I will take risks.

I will remember the lessons I've learned. 

I will always forgive myself.

I will surround myself with people who make me happy.

I will seek laughter.

I will spread joy.

I will do good work. 

I will have no regrets. 

The difference between a promise and a guarantee is subtle, but it's there. 

guarantee (noun):

-a formal promise or assurance that certain conditions will be fulfilled
-something that gives a certainty of outcome
-a formal pledge

And so, if I uphold the promises I have made to myself, I guarantee that I will be happy.

Facts

Since becoming a widow, facts about me that are still true:

1) I am a hopeless romantic.

2) I look for the best in people, and that's why I find it.

3) One day I want to be a famous writer, so look for a cute photo of me on the backs of book jackets at Barnes & Noble in the future. 

4) Every day, I realize I am more and more like my mother...and I like it much more than I dislike it. 

5) My friends are extremely important to me. 

6) I am very affectionate. 

7) I am happy to wake up every morning.

8) I'm relentless.

9) I'm full of gratitude. 

10) I am extremely loyal - body, mind, and soul.

Since becoming a widow, NEW facts about me: 

1) I sometimes actually enjoy driving. 

2) I sleep with my phone in bed with me.

3) I think I've actually turned into a morning person - I seem to start my day earlier and earlier. 

4) I have realized some of the things I've been missing so far in life and I want to have them. 

5) I spend a lot of time deep in thought. 

6) I fantasize about the future, but live in the now. 

7) I surprise myself and I have less fear.

8) My life is less cluttered.

9) I have an ache that's just dying to be soothed with laughter, excitement, fun, and affection. 

10) Even though I have less fear, I am often afraid - no, terrified - to hope, because the pain of disappointment hurts so much more when you've been through the year I've been through. 

Fairy Tales

Life is not a fairy tale. I think there are times, in our heads, when we paint our lives as fairy tales. We make them seem like more than they are, sweeter than they are, more idealistic than they are. We tell all the good stories and leave out the bad. We try to convince ourselves of feelings we see in movies or in books. We cling to the hope that we can somehow mold and morph our lives into fairy tales. 

It's not that good lives aren't happy in a lot of ways. It's just that they aren't fairy tales. No matter how good our lives become, they will never be fairy tales. Because we are real. And because we are real, we hurt, we get angry, we become defensive, we are sometimes treated badly, we fight, we cry, we fail, we embarrass ourselves... 

Striving to live a fairy tale is an impossible goal. And pretending life is a fairy tale will only continue to impress upon you that you're not being honest with yourself.

There have been times in my life when I've painted a fairy tale. For myself. For others. Sometimes when I was feeling conflicted, I still clung to the fairy tale. 

And yet...now when I look back on the past year, I could make a list of all the bad things that have happened. All the terrible things. In fact, my list probably has on it some of the shittiest things that can happen to a person... but the strange thing is that now that I'm not painting a fairy tale, not ever...now that my every day is excruciatingly and awesomely authentic, I see so much fairy tale material everywhere. At work. Here. In my own life. 

Isn't that ironic?

A Hundred Years

The night gets away from me around the same time each night. My mind begins to wander. My thoughts begin to form worries and wishes. My memory becomes foggy. My sense of self becomes confused.

I feel like I live a hundred years each night as I go through different scenarios, fears, dreams, plans, memories, and questions. I lie in bed, living out my life - a long life - with tears and smiles and excitement and worry. I play out happy experiences and snatch them away, crying for myself, wondering how it will all really work out.

It's so tiring to live a hundred years every night. Every night. Every night.

I have a longing to feel safe. Secure. Comfortable. Comforted. 

I can wait. But I hope I won't have to wait too long.