sometimes, you forget
Today was a really good day. I woke up a little bit on the wrong side of the bed, but people quickly helped me shift back to optimism and positivity.
In my line of work, there are a bunch of types of days.
- The extremely busy, I can’t even take a break to pee–crossing eyes tired day–where everyone hates you and you hate everyone. I did that every day at my last job.
- The extremely busy, I did my job day where you just want to collapse in a heap at the end of it.
- The bored as Hell, someone please talk to me day where you’re like a puppy waiting at the door for Mama.
- The hurry up and wait day where you have so much to do, but NO ONE will do what they’re supposed to do, so you can’t do anything day.
I had a different day. One I don’t think I’ve ever actually had while working this job. I want more of them. Can every day please be this?
- People told me I’m brilliant. People thanked me for my hard work. People saw me.
- People smiled when they talked to me, and I could hear it–feel it–all the way from NYC to Denver.
- I smiled and laughed. I felt like me.
- People called me to laugh and to vent. They let me support them. They let me care about them. They respected me.
- Everyone was on-time. Everyone did what they said they’d do.
- People told me how I treated them meant something to them.
- I met my weekly goal in one day.
- Though I didn’t eat breakfast on time, I had an early, large lunch. And I drank my water and took my meds.
- And now, I qualify for health insurance again. Through my employer. I may do Obamacare, though. We will see. It would be nice not to depend on that for a safety net.
All I could be was grateful.
Upon hitting my goal, I actually stopped what I was doing and thanked the Universe for today.
Since my surgery, I’ve had a hard time hitting my sweet spot. I found myself in an unexpectedly vulnerable place then, and right after, I was in a situation where I was forced to do a lot of the stuff I did when I was younger. Namely, taking a lot of crap from people; hiding my emotions; and working through my humanity. For very different reasons. I struggled a lot this year because of it. I felt like I erected walls and did a bad job coping. I wanted to be braver than I was, but I didn’t have it in me. I judged myself really harshly, and it made me quite defensive. It made me–that firing on all cylinders, in love with the world me–kind of hide. I was afraid to live, but also very protective of the life I wasn’t quite living.
This past summer, until now, I’ve made some scary decisions. I’ve put my neck out and trusted the Universe. I was terrified. This kind of thing happened to me before, and it ended badly. But I did it anyway. Mostly because I was so incredibly miserable. I was so negative and so defensive and so…everything I’m not.
I worked through it, and inch by inch, I started opening up. My naturopath saw it first–recognized before I ever did that I was ready for bigger things. That I had so much in me, and I could do this. I could change everything and be everything.
That was in August. Right after my birthday. A few weeks later, doors started opening. My heart started opening.
When people I’ve loved hurt, I reached out–even if I hadn’t spoken to them in a year and a half. When people ignored me, I gave them the benefit of the doubt and didn’t take it personally…and then tried again. When I felt impatient, I took a breath and waited. I found a weird Buddharific thing inside me. Suddenly, lovingkindness just sat there. I loved a lot more and trusted more. I didn’t expect anything.
I’ve actually mended a few fences I never thought I’d mend. Mostly because I let go of the analysis and just accepted that we are who we are. I haven’t apologized for being me. I haven’t let people off the hook. But I have no desire to skewer them either. I find it easy to just be myself and not put up barriers like I have been all year. It shows.
I’m in a good place. I’m with good people. I’m ready. I’m changing. I’m going for it.
After I said “thank you,” I immediately thought of my father. It was mid-afternoon, and I realized it was his birthday. October. My favorite month, in spite of everything. The month when it begins. The month when it began. My grief season, I call it.
My father’s birthday is usually a gut punch. Maybe it’s why waking up was hard today, but I didn’t remember–wasn’t cognizant–until I stopped to be grateful.
We bought a cake the other day for it. We opted for pumpkin. With nuts and caramel. I didn’t bake it. My father loved chocolate on chocolate. Mama always baked a cake for him, even after his death–29 years ago this December. I normally do, too. But I don’t really love chocolate on chocolate. It’s too much. And so, I honored myself instead. Because he’d want me to love what I love.
I felt sort of guilty when I remembered. Sometimes, I forget them.
I forget how they talked and how they smiled. How they laughed and how they looked at me. And I see myself in those pictures, as a child, in love with everything they were. And I see them in love with me.
And I can’t fathom how I can forget them.
But today, it was okay. Because today–I forgot them because I remembered me. And that’s really the same thing.
(Happy birthday, Daddy. I love you).