Showing posts with label Authenticity. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Authenticity. Show all posts

Thursday, April 7, 2016

What Defines You? Problem or Possibility...


                                                                                                      Photo Credit, David Ralph Johnson



Not feeling the best today. It was one of those mornings when, rather than to fight against my reality, I decided to let go and just take care of myself. As I type those words, even to me, it seems like no big deal. When you’re feeling well, do things. When you’re not feeling well, don’t do things. Just rest. You’re disabled - you get to do that. But when living with “not well” every day of your life, it can be incredibly hard to make that decision. But... today I did. And after sleeping most of my day away, I woke up and decided to watch a little Netflix…and I am so glad that I did.

To my friends out there suffering with chronic illness, disability or any life changing health condition - there is a new, absolutely fantastic documentary out there called My Beautiful Broken Brain. It’s the self documented story of 34 year old Lotje Sodderlands’s struggles, set backs and eventual break through as she relearns to speak, read and write following a major brain hemorrhage.

Prior to having this very traumatic stroke, Lotje was, in her brother’s words, “extremely dynamic, extremely social, very impassioned” Highly intelligent, Lotje was a London based film maker who loved all things intellectual and had an intense passion for reading. After the stroke, she lost much of her ability to articulate words and all of her ability to read or write. She described it as if it was like becoming a baby again, yet, intellectually and on some deeper internal level, she was still “there”.

What captivated me first, as someone who has had a life changing medical condition and has spent a lot of time in hospitals, was her ability to describe through few words and self documented video, the fear she experienced with being separated from the “real world”. Stuck inside a body she no longer understood and having little to no control over what was happening to her. Yet, if you were to walk by her on the street, she looked completely normal.

As the film progresses you see how she begins to transform that fear into a slow letting go, and eventually into an acceptance of her own vulnerability. A journey all people with life changing health conditions go through, if one is lucky enough. And as old age will have it, eventually all are met with the challenge in some shape or form.

But I think that the most poignant part of the film is where she was addressing a conference room full of therapists at the end of the film. She was speaking to them about what has been most difficult for her in regards to working with doctors. She states,

“You [doctors] have to work with somebody who is being assessed and somebody who is being defined by their limitations because that’s the only way to figure out how to make them better. And I think just the experience of continually being defined by what you can no longer do or how you are sort of limited becomes, I think, devastating."

It is incredibly devastating. For me, even more so when I was constantly dealing with my long term disability insurance. Not a second of my day was hidden from their scrutiny, either literally or in the form of my own conscience. A constant “proving”…a constant defining. It’s inevitable, and takes tremendous daily work to combat. One cannot go to the doctor weekly for seven years without it having some sort of defining influence.

Without giving the best parts of the movie away, she has a statement at the end that resonated deeply with where I am at these days. A place that still does not come completely natural and takes daily thought and effort, but a place I am so glad that I am at. She says, “I don’t need to return to my old life. This is the new existence, the new dynamic where I am not defined by my limitations, but rather about endless possibilities.”

There’s a lot of grieving that has to go on between day one and the present moment. She made this statement at the end of year one. I’m well into year seven and I’m not completely there yet. I still have intense moments of sadness. I still have those days when I know my goal, consciously or unconsciously, is to feel like I felt before getting sick. Every time I go on some sort of “maybe I’ll try this diet or this supplement” kick, I know what’s behind it for me. A longing to cure myself, to be that person I once was. A dissatisfaction, to the point of not accepting my reality in the present moment. When in reality, no one ever returns to the past. We all move forward from this moment. And in this moment, we ALL have endless possibilities. The healthy, the sick, the old. Until this moment no longer exists for us, the truth is… the sky’s the limit.

Reality is what we take to be true.
What we take to be true is what we believe.
What we believe is based upon our perceptions.
What we perceive depends upon what we look for.
What we look for depends upon what we think.
What we think depends upon what we perceive.
What we perceive determines what we believe.
What we believe determines what we take to be true.
What we take to be true is our reality.”

~ Gary Zukav, Dancing Wu Li Masters: An Overview of the New Physics 
Peace,
Theresa 

Thursday, January 28, 2016

You Get What You Give


Photo by David Ralph Johnson
We don't want to believe it. But it's true. We don't want to believe it because life is hard. It's hard and it's generally not fair. So when someone throws out a platitude like, "You get what you give", we believe it with cautious hesitation at best. Or we don't believe it at all, because we try so damn hard and the bad stuff just keeps on happening. So why try at all?

It doesn't matter who you are or what your particular situation is, we have all had this feeling at some point in our lives. It could be a relationship issue, it could be a career issue, it could be a financial issue, it could be a health issue, it could be a self-esteem issue...however many unfortunate circumstances there are in the world, there are just as many people who can't seem to get a break from them, no matter how hard they try. In fact, some people seem to have no luck at all.

I'm not hear to disagree with the fact that life isn't fair. Because it isn't. Stuff just happens. What I'm here to write about is what we do with that unfair stuff. How do we process it and in the end, how do we react to it. Because, quite frankly, sometimes we forget. Sometimes I forget.

I'm on year seven of fighting Lupus, Sjogren's, RA and a host of other health problems that popped up and tacked on along the way. The beginning was extremely tough. Life threatening tough. The middle was full of ups and downs with lessons learned in between. Currently, I'm not in a good space health-wise at all. I had a flare last September that threw my body into a tailspin and I am fighting desperately to climb back up. Many complications, old and new. Some neurological symptoms that are quite frightening and we are still trying to figure out. Which means lots of trips to the hospital and lots of tests, many which are not very pleasant. And if you know anything about lupus, stress of any kind only exacerbates the problem.

How have I been handling this recent phase? Not very well at all. I feel as though this is probably the lowest I have ever been. And my doctors know it because each one of them has asked me if I think about suicide. Even the doctors in my most recent hospitalization questioned me. I just can't stop crying.

Let me stop the worrying here. I never, never think about suicide. Ever.

Would it be wrong for me to think about suicide. Well, it wouldn't be helpful...but I don't believe it would be wrong. It's a perfectly normal feeling like joy and sadness and worry and fear and all the rest. It just demands a very different action on the part of myself and of those around me. But I do think about not trying. I have a phrase that will get stuck in my head in times like these and it's, "I can't do this anymore." I find that when I'm crying, these are the words that I repeat over and over and over again. Sometimes out loud when my sweet husband holds me in his arms. This is how I felt when I went into the hospital last week. This is how I felt when I went to the hospital yesterday.

And then this happened...

I was a bit worried about my state of mental health the last time I visited my doctors. I knew I needed to kind of "get things under control". Not in a fake way. In a good way. For me and for them. Too much emotion can distract both me and the doctors from the real issues. And I was confident this needed to be about my diseases and not my mental health. So I decided to be as positive as I could and as pleasant as I could to everyone I came into contact with. It was odd, in a way. I felt a little bit like I had lost control of everything and the only thing I had left was to be kind. A bit like giving up in a good way. Maybe that doesn't make sense, but it did to me. So I just smiled.

At each one of my doctor appointments I was met with exceptionally thoughtful nurses. Each one of my doctors spent an unusually extended amount of time with me in which they were not only incredibly compassionate, but went overboard in accommodating me and making themselves available to me when I left their offices (giving me phone numbers and emails...) I even had a doctor walk me down the hall, take my coat and pull the chair out for me when I sat down to schedule my next appointment.

I had an hour or so to spare in between appointments so I visited the hospital gift shop. In there I had the most lovely conversation with three women. Found a great sweater that I bought for myself, tried it on and had everyone in the shop complimenting me. I left the store with the biggest smile on my face only to be greeted in the hallway by someone offering me free coffee - which I needed desperately. I walked down the hallway and toward the pharmacy, which is where I met this man...



Meet Thanh-Tran.

I first saw him as I was walking to get on the elevator. I could hear all this commotion down the hallway and I looked to make sure everything was okay. Noticing that people were all laughing and smiling, I proceeded into the elevator. Just as the doors were about to close, I saw a shadow coming toward me so I put my hand in between the doors to prevent them from closing. As they opened back up, there he stood. About a foot from me with the absolute hugest grin on his face. He was about to step in when he realized the elevator was full. Without hesitation, he put his fingers up to his lips and blew me a kiss and waved good-bye. Without hesitation, I blew him a kiss back and the doors closed. There I stood, my back to about five other people, wondering if anyone else noticed I just blew a kiss to a perfect stranger! All I could do was smile.

I got off the elevator, walked to the pharmacy and found my place in line. Within seconds the man in the bright red beret, red scarf and the American flag tie had entered the room. No, let me clarify. His high pitched, sing-songy, full of life and laughter, Vietnamese infused voice entered the room about ten seconds before he did. Not one person remained unaffected. He shook hands, gave kisses, did little dances, raised his arms in celebration, jiggled his tie and repeated, "America intelligent! Good people! Good doctors! Good life!" he pointed out those he knew across the room with a "Hey! Long time no see!", and those he didn't with a "Hey! You beautiful today!" and walked right over to me.

I got out of line and the two of us sat down together. I had no idea what I was doing.

Within moments I was talking to Thanh-Tran, Vietnam veteran, highly decorated, Vietnam lawyer ranked number one in a class of 3000, married to a retired nurse, father of four, grandfather of seventeen, disseminator of all things positive. In between his little bits of wisdom and snippets of life history, he would would turn his hand palm side up, gently place it under my chin and randomly interject, "You so beautiful. You so intelligent. You so lovely my daughter" and then pick up where he left off. Just like that.

I learned about his love for our country. I learned about his life in Vietnam. I learned about the importance of staying active every day (which was accompanied by a dance befitting some sort of Irish jig). I learned about how important it is to have good friends. I learned about how we have to be thankful for good doctors. I learned about what the pins and metals meant that decorated the front of his beret. I saw pictures of when he was young and living in Vietnam. I saw a picture of his wife and of the little plastic document that seemed to verify it all.

I wanted desperately to capture this moment so I asked him if I could take his picture. He immediately responded with, "You take picture. You. Me." I pulled my phone out of my bag, stood up next to this tiny little man and tried...yes tried to take our picture. Just when I would be ready to take the picture, he would turn his face away from the camera and kiss me on the cheek.


And just like that... He was gone.


But never from my heart. This man changed my world. In the blink of an eye, in the breath of a laugh, in the touch of a hand...he changed my world.

He taught me what I had seemed to forget. "You get what you give." And no one knows this more than Thanh-Tran. You see, you have to put it out there friends. When life isn't fair, when you absolutely need it most, you have to put it out there. You can't lock yourself in that little room of hopelessness and despair. You have to give up the fight. Yes, I said give up the fight. You have to realize you are not in control. Keeping the illusion of control only only keeps us armed and protected and or defenses up. We have to let go. Be vulnerable. Be authentic. And give.

If you're feeling hopeless, give hope to someone. If you're feeling scared, give comfort to someone. If you're feeling sad, give happiness to someone. If you're not feeling loved, love someone. If you're feeling angry, be kind to someone. If you're feeling frustrated, be patient with some one. If you're feeling too tired to care, give compassion to someone. Do something. No matter how small. Give it all up and be human with someone. Relate. Understand. Be vulnerable. You see, you get what you give - and you get it when you need it most.

I believe Thanh-Tran needed a kiss when that elevator started to close. And you know what. I gave it to him. Without thinking. Without hesitation, I blew a perfect stranger
a kiss.

Peace,

Theresa





Sunday, July 19, 2015

Just Another Everyday Hero


When I got sick back in 2008, there were a lot of things I didn’t know. I think we all are willing to say, on any given day, “Ya, I don’t know a lot of things.” I think what we are not so willing to admit, is that quite often, learning those “things” does not come easy. There’s the fun stuff we learn…how to build something new, how to make a new recipe, how to get somewhere we have never been. We know these things will be challenging, but because we make the choice to learn them - the challenge is sweet. But then there’s the stuff that doesn’t come so easy. The stuff we learn about ourselves and about the world that comes out of suffering, out of pain or even out of tragedy. If we stay the course long enough, if we see that anger and resentment and bitterness are but a passing guest, we find ourselves on another side of things. It’s the space where tragedy and loss blossom into something far greater. Beyond that which grasps to destroy us. Where walls fall down like silk off a wooden rail. Where vulnerability meets honestly and finds rest in the soft pillow of love. 
To list all that I have learned since 2008 - especially for the purpose of this small post - would be crazy. And I’m not even quite sure where to begin with the point I’m even trying to make right now because the magnitude of it seems too big for words. I write it and re-write it and each time it just seems like another Hallmark greeting card or sappy Facebook poster. But I’ll do it anyway; partly because without Facebook I wouldn’t even be able to say what I’m going to say. And also because without Facebook it would not reach even one tenth of the people that I hope it reaches. 
This is the big thing that I have learned. The life changer. The energy behind my life and the “thing” that I now base all that I believe in. It motivates me. It makes me compassionate. It changes my political view. I softens me. Ready? 
This world is filled - FILLED - bursting at the seams and overflowing - with absolutely beautiful people. Wonderful, creative, loving, humorous, compassionate, colorful, broken, lovely people. Who wake up every single day hoping for the exact same thing I do. To be loved. To be healthy. To be cared about and to be given the chance to care for others. They, like me, want to be celebrated, want to listened to, what to share their dreams and hopes and fears and to laugh the laughter of our common Joy. To find what binds us in the depths of our hearts - to know the commonality of our deepest fears and sadness and to run wild with our shared story of resilience, of courage…of hope. We long for these things. No matter our age, our race, our sexuality, our social status or the land on which we place our bare feet each morning. 
Since becoming sick I have gotten to know people from all over the world, thanks to the “world wide” web. From every state in our Nation to countries all over the world. I regularly communicate with people in Russia, in the Scandinavian countries, all throughout Europe, Asia and Africa. Some of these relationships have absolutely changed my life for the better. Have some of them not turned out so well? Yep, of course. Realizing all the good in the world does not somehow make all the bad go away. And it surely does not make you naive. It makes you compassionate…if you’re lucky enough to see it through. 
So why write about this today? To be honest, I contemplated not. Mainly because there are so many of “you” out there. You who have imprinted on my heart so significantly that you are part of my very fiber. I see your faces in all that I do and say. I hear your voice in my head, even though many of you have never even spoken to me - our relationships carried on the written word. And maybe I should just do this more often. Point you out. Show the world these everyday heroes in my life. Some of you are so quiet, so humble, so unassuming I fear offending you with my own willingness to be “public”. Yet, in a world so eager to make us all enemies, I want desperately to let them know about you. 
Philip Buttà, you are one such person in my life. Today I choose to celebrate you. I’m hoping you’re “okay” with this since you have been working so hard to promote your new CD and the causes you so passionately believe in. Phil came into my life just like many other of you - through the internet. To this day I’m not sure if it was I that was on his blog or he that was on mine! Either way, we met through words and it’s been words that have bound us together ever since. I’m pretty sure that if I actually meet Phil in person some day he’s going to look quite odd to me. I have this vision of a man whose heart is too big for his chest. That the enormity of his love for people and for the four legged of this world is just so colossal that it is impossible to hold within the frame of a normal man. I can honestly say, I have never known a person like him. And it’s this very passion that drives the words and the music behind his new CD. The minute he released it I could hardly wait to buy it. Separating the story from the man is impossible. And knowing some of Phil’s story as well as knowing what I know about his talent for music made this a complete no brainer for me. The fact that by purchasing it I also feeds a rescue horse a bale of hay…well, that not only is a perk, where Phil is concerned - it just makes sense. 
Thank you Phil for being my friend. Thank you for who you are, for saying it like it is, for taking risk and being vulnerable, for being one of those voices in my head that makes me a better person. Thank you for all of your inspiration, for being “out there” with your creativity and for sharing in the ups and downs of being an artist - as well as telling me when to get off my butt and get back to work. Thank you for keeping tabs on me when I’m sick, for giving me the dream of someday traveling to New York with Dave and surprising you at one of your gigs and for making my mouth water with your pictures of home baked bread! You are one of the heroes in my life and I am so privileged and honored to share your CD with my world. May we all have just a little bit of what you have in your heart. My, what a wonderful world it would be.

Please consider supporting Phil and his campaign for Lucky Orphans Horse Rescue

Peace,

Theresa

Tuesday, August 19, 2014

The Summer Day

My sunflowers!

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
~ Mary Oliver

“So, what do you do?”

I’ve never really liked that question. Even in my “un-sick” years, this question has always carried a sort of responsibility that made me uncomfortable. Even in those years when I loved what I was doing, when I was at “the top of my game”, when asked this question I felt the need to make the answer sound good. I had my spiel. What I did was a bit complicated to explain, so my sales pitch carried with it just the right amount of verbiage to make it understandable, yet sound like I had arrived. I always envied those who could get it over with in three words. “I’m a doctor.” “I’m the President.” I’m fairly certain my own personal baggage in regards to feeling not educated enough played a pretty strong role in my career quantephobia, but I do believe it’s a question that makes even a brain surgeon a bit edgy. It feels like a “set-up” question. We all have our preconceived notions (albeit more a reflection of our media sources than actual reality!) about the various professions. So there arises in us something in between a defensive guarding and the upholding of ego. For me, as I look back now, I think it was a little bit of both.

Why do we ask this question? And why do we ask it so quickly? If I think to what my conversations are like with people I have just been introduced to, I would say that it gets asked within the first five minutes, almost without fail. If we are truly trying to get to know someone, is asking them what they do for a living really one of the top questions? It makes me feel like I’m in the beginning stages of Milton Bradley’s Guess Who. Have kids, don’t have kids? Have a house, don’t have a house? Went to college, didn’t go to college? Married, not married? And the questions continue until we tuck one another tightly into convenient roles in our minds. Okay, it’s not always that bad. And I don’t mean to sound cynical, but just think about it for a bit. Why do we do what we do? Why do we ask what we ask? Why do we think what we think? It’s good to stop and “think about the thinker” sometimes. Like Socrates says, “the unexamined life is not worth living”. Why?

When I woke up this morning, for whatever reason, I felt extremely unsatisfied. This happens sometimes. What am I doing with my life? I’ve gotten much better at not letting this little demon have a voice in my head, but there are just those days. I think we all have them, but for the chronically ill, disabled, it’s a haunting question mixed with a heavy dose of grief and guilt. It sneaks into my mind when I least expect it. Especially when I’m tired or more sick than usual. And especially during the winter when I am more home bound. Its companions - judgement and comparison - usually tag along. Actually, when I think about it, they arrive first, quietly through the back door.

Gratitude is much friendlier visitor! 
I don’t think that this is what it’s all about. Life, I mean. When Mary Oliver asks, “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”, I don’t think she’s asking what our career choice is. I really don’t. I think it’s bigger than that. I think it’s much less tangible than that. I think it has far more to do with the size of our hearts than with the size of our bank accounts or the houses we live in. Discontentment is a relentless debt collector. As long as we continue to borrow our self esteem from others (or other things), discontentment will keep knocking at our door.

I had another lovely conversation with my health psychologist at the U of MN last week. I’ve been seeing her for the past four years and I have yet to walk out of her office without having become a stronger women for it. We were talking about our desire as human beings to find solid ground. We love security. The problem being that security is only an illusion, and that the key is being able to love the shakiness of it all. To learn to live with un-solid ground, for in fact, nothing stays the same. The essence of life itself being change. That got me thinking about my need for answers. Answers are the solid ground we hope to find. Whether it be in regards to ourselves or in regards to others. Answers give us the illusion of control. Can you see the problem here? The minute we think we own something, it’s loss creates a tremendous amount of suffering for us! From something as insignificant as “I finally spent a lot of money on sunglasses and now they’re gone!’ to “I thought I knew who you were and now you’re gone!”

I’m not saying that the key to life is to live so unaffected that we become numb. Quite the opposite! I just think that we are missing the boat if we think the answers are what bring us happiness. Think of all the great scientists and inventors throughout time. What inspired them? Think of all the great painters standing in front of blank canvases. It was the questions of what could be that moved that first stroke, that mixed that first color, that began that first journey. These days of unknowing, these spaces we desperately want to fill with something, can be beautiful, beautiful days. Don’t think for one second  that they are moments stuck in time. All things change. This moment you and I are in is moving us somewhere. The manner in which we move with it will greatly impact the direction we go. Rilke could not say it any more gracefully,
Towards all that is unsolved in your heart
Be patient
Try to love the questions
Do not seek the answers
which cannot be given
you would not be able to live them
Live everything
Live the questions now
you will then gradually,
without noticing it,
Live into the answers
Some distant day.
             ~Rilke

I think that when asked, “What is it that you do?”, I’m going to work at making my response a verb instead of a noun. I suppose, to get it over with, I’ll still have to say something like, “I’m currently disabled”, because, well, I currently am. But this disability has given me a tremendous opportunity. The opportunity to slow down, to learn every day how to “let go” and how to live beautifully on shaky ground.

I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?


Today I opened my door and walked out...


Green surrounded me.

Bee-ing okay with things just as they are. 

Thankful for another sunrise.

Laughing at the volunteer maple tree in my flower garden.

Enjoying the unconditional love of my four legged friend. 

Peace,



Friday, July 18, 2014

I Think I Have Something To Say




I think I have something to say.

My life, at 48, has been very full.  In my quiet times, I think about the steps I have taken and the moments that have filled the spaces in between.  Some of those moments have made walking easy, graceful. Some moments have created space so large I’ve not been able to take the next step on my own. Sometimes, I’ve simply had to jump.

Jumping was not easy to learn. I was in my thirties the first time I found myself standing on that edge.  Unable to hold onto anything because everything I knew had crumbled below me. Little did I know. So little. Yet, I knew enough to know that walking on rubble was painful and assured uncertainty and weakness.

So I jumped.

Jumping is the frightening thing you do when you finally give up control. It takes a tremendous amount of faith. And if your world has crumbled completely enough, if you truly are standing on that edge alone, then even faith finds itself hallow. Truth ambiguous and elusive leaves the ground soft and unpredictable. Hardly a place to jump from.  More a falling.

I think it’s the falling I have something to say about. That moment when your hand slips the rail, when your feet leave the ground and your eyes loose focus. That moment when things move too fast. That moment you will look back on for the rest of your life and reflect upon what it is that caused you to fall, what flashed before your eyes, and when finally stopping, what it was that caught you and where it was you landed.  

This is the stuff that makes us. It’s the very sinew that holds us together, keeps us on our feet, sustains and restores us, readies us for that next step. These are the stories I have to tell. They are my stories, they are your stories, they are the ancient stories passed down with a unique sort of repetitiveness. As if there is a finite number of moments, yet completely immeasurable in consequence.


Yes, I have something to say. Yes, yes, yes.

Peace,

Theresa



Friday, April 5, 2013

Dork Alert!


So, this is how life is...

There's something to be said about lupus fog...and the effects of multiple mind "affecting" medications. One of those somethings is that you can't remember anything. Or at least, anything you want to remember. So, here's a little story about my life.

About a year ago, during the height of my blogging, I was finding myself becoming involved with a number of what I would call, "professionals". People who have successfully written books and are now professional writers/bloggers. This is pretty much ego candy. Especially when you are housebound and no longer in the career world you loved so dearly. It feels good to be socializing with the bigwigs. I had found a new purpose in life.

During this ego frenzy I was having issue with one particular writer/blogger women. For whatever reason, I got the feeling like we were competing. And then the ultimate happened. She had written something that I felt very passionate and knowledgeable about. I spent a significant amount of time composing and re-composing a comment to this particular blog post. As I hit the "post" button I felt really "psyched" about what I had written. So much so that for the next couple of days I obsessively and compulsively checked her blog to see if she had reviewed my comment and written her response to it. In my head it went something like this,

"Dearest Theresa (of course, she would call me by name, unlike all the other anonymous, canned responses to other less educated responders).
Your comments have "resonated deeply within me" (this is a big one in the blog world) and I find myself changed forever by your words...." 

You get the picture.

Day one passed, no response. Day two, day three, and so on. And then I started to notice that people that had written days after me had been reviewed and made public for all the world to see. Yes, she had decided, for whatever obviously mistaken reason, to not "allow" my comment to be viewed.

Of course, I did not save a copy of my response to her (why, that would be extremely vain), so I went over and over in my mind what could have possibly disagreed with her. Had I been too cynical? Was I over emotional? Had I rambled on and appeared too self-edifying? I had I written too late at night and said something totally incomprehensible? Was my response so brilliant that she somehow felt threatened by me? Or was I so beneath her that it would have been too embarrassing for her to allow it to be seen? And on, and on, and on my brain went. Until my stories became so painful that I Unliked her professional page on facebook, Unfriended her personal page and took her blog off my Google Reader. So there!

I decided, out of sight, out of mind. And I moved on.

Until today. Months and months  and months later.

For some reason one of her posts showed up on my facebook feed. And it was really good. Before I read it (it was a link that directed me to her blog) I had an ever so brief quiver of "hey, I don't like this lady" but clicked anyway. And it was excellent. Just like before the separation (yes, I'm pretty sure that out of her 68K fan base she missed me terribly) I was completely moved by what she had to say. Poignant and beautiful. Straight to my heart....yes, it resonated deeply. I fell in love with her all over again.

And now for the kicker. I have no idea, no recollection, no memory whatsoever of any details other than I know I got my feelings hurt. None at all. Nada. Zip. Zero. I'm a blank slate.

So, I find this interesting (actually a little hilarious) on two levels. One, this is indeed one of the perks to having a severe case of lupus fog. I feel no pain. Two, what a great lesson to be learned here. Oh, how we create our own suffering! For all I know, she simply forgot to review mine. Or I somehow missed it. Or her computer crashed and she lost a few responses to the great black Internet void. Who knows?!?! Definitely NOT ME! Yet, look at all that I put myself through. Let me tell you, I went through ego hell for days on end. I practically felt like I had lost everything and was doomed to become a mush-mind, thrown into the depths of the forever unimportant and unproductive. It was harsh. And yet, here I am, back in love with this amazing writer, this beautiful women with whom I find I have a deep connection with on so many levels. Poof! Just like that.

The moral of the story is this: Don't let it take 365 days. We have the choice right in this very moment to wipe it from our slate. Poof! It's gone. Just like that. Because almost always, we don't know. And even if we do know, 100%, beyond the shadow of a doubt KNOW... we still have the choice to let it go and continue on loving.

It's our choice. Period.

Today, I choose love. How about you?