Time for a Change

It has been nearly four months since I started The Reinvention Project. It seems like such a short amount of time, and in the grand scheme of what I'm trying to accomplish I suppose it is. Still, I can say quite confidently that, for all the potholes (and sometimes craters) I've encountered so far, I have made progress along the road I chose on New Year's Eve.

I want to take the opportunity to thank everyone who has come across this humble blog. When I began I wasn't sure if anyone besides a few friends would check it out, and I never cease to be amazed (and thrilled!) when yet another follower signs on, another comment hits my inbox, or another word of encouragement comes to me from across the country. I have solid evidence that the Project is doing exactly what I dared hope it would do: making a difference. It may be a small difference, and it may be a few people, but to hear even one person say they have been bolstered by my words makes me feel like everything I'm going through can be given a positive purpose. That feeling, for me, is its own form of therapy.

I have, as Robert Frost put so eloquently, "miles to go before I sleep." But thanks to this blog, and everyone who’s taken the time to share it with me, I no longer feel like I'm traveling that road alone.

Lesson of the Day: We’re never as alone as we think we are.

An Overabundance of Perspective

Just when I think I have all the life perspective I can possibly handle, the universe finds a way to shove some more down my throat.

I have spent the last month dealing with the unraveling of one of the few aspects of my life that has remained more or less stable through this mess: my physical health. I went to the doctor in early February to get an explanation for some highly unpleasant symptoms I was experiencing, and came away with the number of a specialist and the name of the very cancer that killed my grandfather a few years ago echoing in my ears.

The wait between that initial doctor’s appointment and my appointment with the specialist was awful. The wait between the specialist’s appointment and the procedure he wanted to do to rule out cancer was even worse. I had to make a very unpleasant call to beg for a halt to some of the other things going on in my life (things that necessitated The Reinvention Project in the first place, and things I just want to END, not drag out) so I wouldn’t lose my medical insurance. I had flashbacks to when my grandfather died. I had nightmares about having cancer, and all the things that could go wrong. I ran scenarios in my mind about whether I’d even be able to handle such a blow after all the blows I’ve already taken. If there was anything that would trump every other disaster in my life that I’ve been clawing my way through, it would be a cancer diagnosis.

This last Tuesday I found myself being checked in to the hospital, with a friend beside me who I will love forever for stepping in to fill the void left by the person who decided seven months ago that standing by my side was no longer a job description they wanted. This friend stayed with me until the second I was wheeled away for my procedure, suffering through my inevitable freak-out at being in the hospital and having an IV put into my arm (even typing the words makes my heart rate go up—I do not do well with hospitals, and have a phobia of needles that makes all things medical akin to psychological torture for me). She was also the first face I saw and the first voice I heard when I came out of anesthesia afterwards, and though I’ve forgotten the bulk of what happened between when they first gave me the anesthesia and when I was wheeled out of the hospital to my friend’s car due to the medication’s effects on my short-term memory, I will never, as long as I live, forget that her presence kept me calm and feeling not alone.

Feeling “not alone” while you’re waiting to hear if you have cancer is a very, very important thing.

And, as it turns out, I do NOT have cancer. I had something else, which has since healed, and I am as healthy as I ever was. But in that short amount of time when the possibility loomed, I gained yet more perspective on this life I’m trying to rebuild from the ground up. Hence today’s lesson…

Lesson of the Day: Living may sometimes suck, but the alternative is unacceptable.

I Get By With a Little Help from My Friends

Want to know who your real friends are? Place yourself in the middle of a life in utter ruins, and see who comes to help you pick up the pieces. You might be surprised.

I have been incredibly fortunate to have had a fantastic and unfailing support system throughout the various disasters in my life over the last several months. My family, of course, rallied immediately, doing that familial thing they’ve always done so well. Their loyalty and support was never even a question. Other, non-family people, however, have stepped gracefully into my life to help keep the few columns that remain from crashing down on top of me. This phenomenon is what I focus on daily, to remind myself that I have more people who think I’m worth supporting, worth befriending, worth including in their lives, than I ever knew.

Some of these saviors were already established in my life as co-workers, acquaintances, and friends who I saw “once in a while.” They heard about what was going on and took it upon themselves to become more than once-a-month friends, contacting me through various outlets to ask how I was doing, if there was anything they could do to help, if I needed to talk or wanted to hang out. These gestures were not a one-time occurrence; they began happening routinely and continue to this moment. These are busy, busy people, with families and lives and trials of their own, and I can’t imagine when they have the time to think of me—but they do.

Others are people who I was once friends with, perhaps even good friends, but time being what it is, we slipped away from each other. Ironically, the very events conspiring to cause such strife in my life were the same events that led me back to these once-and-future friends. Through the magic of 21st-century social media, they saw that I seemed to be having trouble and decided to reach out to me. As it turns out, several of them were having (or were just coming out of) similar troubles, and could not only sympathize, but empathize. They say pain shared is pain halved, and these wonderful people knew that, and endeavored to show me that I was not alone. These are the voices who stay up with me late into the night when I can’t sleep (which is often), companions to my chronic insomnia. The nights are the worst. These people get me through them.

Still others are good friends who have gone so far above and beyond that I can only hold them up as shining examples of what true friendship is—and hope that I have been as a good a presence in their lives as they have been in mine.

Words cannot express what these people mean to me, or what they’ve done for me. There have been days when a well-timed Facebook message or a random phone call has, quite seriously, been all that stood between my fragile psyche and a padded room. Being reminded that there are people in the world who don’t have to care about me but do anyway, just because I’m me, has done more to help me begin this journey to reinvention than all the inner strength I could ever conjure up. It’s true that most days I do this for myself, because I want to come out of this a better, stronger person, because I refuse to let anything get the best of me. But some days, the ones when I look at myself in the mirror and can’t conjure up the desire to try for myself alone—those are the days I remember all the people who’ve shown me that they think I’m worth keeping around. I lock their faces in my mind, stand up straight, and try anyway.

Lesson of the Day: Pick up the phone, log on to Facebook, send an e-mail, tweet away—the message you send may have more of an impact than you could possibly imagine.