I guess it's 9/11.

I work with people who are hurting, and oftentimes within that hurt are questions of forgiveness. What is forgiveness? How does a person forgive? What does forgiveness mean? And I never answer those questions for another person, because those are deep questions about faith and belief, and it's incredibly important for a person to be able to make decisions about forgiveness autonomously, without the interests of other people getting in the way.

Larger issues of peace are incredibly complex. Forgiveness and peace may be inextricably linked, but how one goes about finding peace is also a deeply personal issue. Sometimes we get very sidetracked with blame, and wanting answers. Sometimes there are no answers. Sometimes life sucks and we just have to keep going.

In Bikram last night, the teacher (or supreme yogi, or whatever they're called) reminded us that Bikram helps us to find stillness, or forces us to be still. All I know is that at the end of the class, I want to jump up and run out the door. I want the hot to go away. I want to breathe cool air. But I heed those words (because what am I there for if I don't listen?), and I lie as still as I can, for as long as I can (probably less than the recommended three minutes), before I hurry to test my sugar and get some fresher air.

When I lived in the jungle, I had few moments of cool crisp air to breathe. When I came off the plane, I thought I would die. It felt like an oven (it was the equator, after all). And my body suffered in the heat, and my soul suffered with loneliness, but I survived. Sometimes all we can do is survive, and hope that God really is there and real, or else none of it means anything anyway and there is no point.

So breathe the hot air, because it's all you have. Be mad if you want, because it won't make the hot air go away. I like to be mad at God. God can handle it.

Belt buckles - Booyah.

Mim Di N (what does that even mean?!) belt buckle

This afternoon, my nurse practitioner, who is in charge of my diabetic care (obviously second in command), told me that something has happened to me that is so interesting, she is going to bring it up in her next case conference! How cool is that?! She said that one of the doctors at the practice is a diabetes nerd. I said, "I'm a psychopath nerd". She laughed. She got it. We had a moment of shared understanding. It's weird to have to be in school so long just to do what I want to do, the thing that my soul knows how to do.

Solid Brass-Made in Israel.

I made a thrift stop on the way home and have already listed everything I bought! How awesome is that? I was so productive today. I cleaned the yard for my party. I had help. We were amazing. Me and my tall friend made that yard our bitch. I was so proud, I had to keep going outside to look at it. There was so much dust, I kept blowing my snot all over the place. Disgusting. I was sneezing like a mofo.

Just to emphasize the awesomeness of this feat, I did not, as a rule, do yardwork until about a year ago when I found that it was cathartic. So me, doing yardwork, and getting injured (I got a palm thorn stuck in my hand) was some kind of proof to the world (and my parents, who am I kidding) that I'm not a loser. I'm a grown-up who does yardwork.

Booyah.

We are not cylons.

 

I'm starting to hope that somehow, some way, I can overcome the monstrosity of my childhood and manage to eek out a healthy, long-term relationship. Most of the time, it feels hopeless. People who don't really know me assume I'm attached, because for all appearances, I look like someone who has a stable person in her life.

I'm not trying to be coupled to meet anyone else's expectations. I don't even know if I could manage a long-term relationship under one roof. I don't know because I've never done it. I don't know, because in my life, it has not yet proven possible. It is a very difficult thing to hold two things in constant balance: the desire to be with another person along with the need to be comfortable in my own skin and content with my own life, as it is, today.

Somehow, I have to hold on to both of these parts of myself, and continue to move forward. I have to choose to be the person whose life I have lived, whose full life I have lived, and still hope for something different to be created in the future. That person has suffered. That person hurts. But that person is only a person, a human being, if all of those things are true. To be human is to feel pain, and not be able to turn it off, or successfully wish it away. To be human is to be imperfect and my imperfection happens to be highlighted in this one particular area.

We are not cylons (tee-hee -- I am currently hooked on Battlestar Galactica).

Part II: Scars and Clumsiness

Define yourself radically as one beloved by God.

-Brennan Manning

So I'm lying on the canal trail, bleeding, with asphalt in my wounds and the terrible bad luck to have twisted one ankle, but fallen on the opposite side. Both sides were inoperable, and even though I lived a quarter mile away, there was no way I could get there on my own. So I figured I'd wait it out, lie on the pavement and wait for a car to drive by. I was close enough to a street lamp that I was covered in a dull yellow light.

Several minutes later, a kind, caring couple stopped in their car. They put me in their Volvo and drove me home (so close, yet so far). We'd never met, and in that delirious moment, I wasn't sure they were real (again, low blood sugar + runner's high + serious injury = delirium).

I ended up being in crutches for a week. I couldn't work because of the terrain of the job, so I lived on my couch with my legs in the air, hoping I hadn't done permanent damage that would lead to a foot amputation (I was an uninsured diabetic with a foot injury; my mind wouldn't stop swirling with worry).

When my wounds healed, which they all eventually did, I had a bright red heart-shaped scar on my knee. And for some reason, I felt like it meant something. I felt loved and protected, and today, that scar reminds me of that feeling. I don't feel foolish for running at night, or for running alone. I don't feel silly for getting hurt at the beginning of a new job. I don't feel those things, because of that little heart, reminding me that I am loved unconditionally, even radically.

Many more times in the next few years, I would experience similar reminders, none of them visible scars, but all of them tattooed on my memory forever.

Scars and clumsiness

This morning I saw this collection of photos on The Huffington Post. Scars are often jarring, disconcerting things when seen from the perspective of onlookers. But by-and-large, people seem to be proud of their scars. This surprised me; I'm not sure why (Obviously, this is not an unbiased sample, though).

I have huge scars on both knees and I don't feel entirely fond of them. They're only a reminder of my clumsiness. In my crazed long-distance running days, I fell a lot, always on asphalt. One of these injuries was particularly bad. I'd just started a new job, and the human resources manager asked me to stay after my shift to work an employment fair with her. At the time, I had even less of an ability to say "No" than I do now, so even though I was exhausted, I went.

By the time I got home, it was dark, and I had to run out my stress. There was a mile-long paved trail right by my house, lit at night, and I ran laps. By the end, I had that runner's high combined with low blood sugar and maybe some dizziness. I tripped, and fell, sprained an ankle and a foot, and busted my knee. I couldn't get up and was bleeding all over myself. It was dark outside and there was no one around.

I'll finish the story tomorrow. Oo! A cliffhanger!

Vulnerability...the true monster

Love with your whole heart, even when there is no guarantee. Be grateful; to feel vulnerable is to feel alive. And always remember, you're enough.

Those are not easy things to do, so read that list through a few times before you walk away.

Bootstraps, anyone?

 

This story kills me.

People offer us love, and we deny it. People offer us help, aid, and we throw it away, saying we'd rather find it ourselves. I have an image of a toddler in my head, practicing the art of independence-"Do it myself!"

There's a TED talk on vulnerability I'd like to watch today and perhaps respond to tomorrow.

Sometimes I say "yes", when I want to say "no", not because "no" is the right answer, but because I know that I am resisting the love of another person, wanting to avoid attachment. Sometimes we need to accept the love that is offered to us, even if it comes in a form that is unpleasant (e.g. I give my neighbors meat even though I don't believe I should; I buy Hershey chocolate because the man that put up my shelves asked for it, even though I believe that they practice slavery). Sometimes I think we need to take more time to make decisions. Sometimes those decisions will end up bringing us closer together.

And we need eachother. Life is tough, remember?

The pain can't last forever.

Have you ever felt debilitating emotional pain? Have you ever done everything in your power to then cover up or numb that awful feeling(s)? If so, you are not alone. And I am here to tell you that that numbing that you seek is perfectly understandable. Those terrible feelings are oftentimes the reason people attempt suicide. Sometimes those feelings do indeed feel worse than one imagines death could ever possibly feel. "Hell? This is hell."

So this is a shout out to all those who have felt those debilitating feelings of awful, unspeakable pain. You are not alone. Ride it out.

Someday the pain will end. It has to. It really must end at some point. I'm beginning to think that if I equate emotional pain with physical pain, I can begin to imagine that this awful feeling in my chest that makes me want to die is actually my heart healing from a horrific injury. It has been blasted, and now it is doing the difficult work of putting itself back together. I'm not going to pour salt into it by sleeping around and making it worse. I'm not going to start drinking excessively. Alcohol will only make it worse.

All of things we do to ease the pain only prolong the feeling(s). And in order to get over those feelings, we must FEEL them. We must do the awful, heartbreaking work of sitting with those feelings and waiting.

So wait, dearies. It will end. Someday, somehow, it will end.

Looking ahead, somehow...

"If we really think that home is elsewhere and that this life is a 'wandering to find home', why should we not look forward to the arrival?"

 C.S. Lewis

How can there be punishment for life on earth, when life on earth is so hard, every day? It never ends. There is no rest, no peace; there is only more pain, and suffering, and death, and sickness. Even at our very best, we are imperfect, flawed, and broken. We walk around in weakened bodies and poisoned minds. We may hope for better, but no one knows what "better" even is. We're told to be happy, but we aren't. We're told to be strong, but we aren't.

I am an extravagant hoper, yet I still fail. You read it here, as I hash out my own life on this blog. I talk big, and act small. I strive for the best. I want so much, and end up with so little. I am human, and impatient, and these past five days, although I have tried desperately to put a brave face forward, have been so very painful for me.

Please hug your dog for me, or your cat, or someone else's dog. If I could somehow spread a little dog love with this post, I think I could stop crying and eat some dinner.

Thank you :)