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.

I’m happy.


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).


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