Ruby Fitzgerald's Blog, page 5
October 5, 2019
Boston
I bought a plane ticket Monday night around 9pm, for a flight the next morning at 10am. It was an impulse buy that I do not regret in the slightest.
I went to Boston.
I booked an Airbnb while at the airport. And I googled the must-visit sights of Boston while waiting for the plane to take off. In general, I am not that bold, not that impulsive, and certainly not outgoing/confident enough to chat with fellow flyers, bus riders, and bar-goers. But going to Boston 'blind' forced me outside my comfort zone. And I was pleasantly surprised at how much fun I had, how welcoming and friendly people were. I walked the entire city, stopping at coffee shops and breweries as well as historical landmarks, and no matter where I went, people were kind to me. Boston isn't exactly know for pleasantries and charming persons, but it was if the city felt my vibe of curiosity and joy de vivre and rode it with me. I got directions, suggestions, and well-wishes non stop. I saw all I wanted to see, ate, drank, and rode a ferry!
And it renewed my faith in humanity and in life.
My last evening there, I got rained on. I was wet, cold, and miserable when I boarded the plane for my return flight. But when I awoke -- having slept through the whole flight (and even the landing), I was much refreshed and thoughts of my misery disappeared... replaced instead with the happiness of returning home and the satisfied memories of a trip well done.
Life - every experience - has its good and its bad. Even in a single day there can be a marvelous moment and a retched one. I used to get really stuck on the negative, obsess upon the sadness and the frustrating. Sometimes, I still do. But my focus, my goal now, is to live for the good times and not forget, but rather learn the lessons supplied by bad times and then let them roll by.
I went to Boston.
I booked an Airbnb while at the airport. And I googled the must-visit sights of Boston while waiting for the plane to take off. In general, I am not that bold, not that impulsive, and certainly not outgoing/confident enough to chat with fellow flyers, bus riders, and bar-goers. But going to Boston 'blind' forced me outside my comfort zone. And I was pleasantly surprised at how much fun I had, how welcoming and friendly people were. I walked the entire city, stopping at coffee shops and breweries as well as historical landmarks, and no matter where I went, people were kind to me. Boston isn't exactly know for pleasantries and charming persons, but it was if the city felt my vibe of curiosity and joy de vivre and rode it with me. I got directions, suggestions, and well-wishes non stop. I saw all I wanted to see, ate, drank, and rode a ferry!
And it renewed my faith in humanity and in life.
My last evening there, I got rained on. I was wet, cold, and miserable when I boarded the plane for my return flight. But when I awoke -- having slept through the whole flight (and even the landing), I was much refreshed and thoughts of my misery disappeared... replaced instead with the happiness of returning home and the satisfied memories of a trip well done.
Life - every experience - has its good and its bad. Even in a single day there can be a marvelous moment and a retched one. I used to get really stuck on the negative, obsess upon the sadness and the frustrating. Sometimes, I still do. But my focus, my goal now, is to live for the good times and not forget, but rather learn the lessons supplied by bad times and then let them roll by.
September 28, 2019
Up I Went
I’m done with doing things just for the sake of saying I’ve done them. If I’m going to commit time, energy, and money to something, I’m going to make sure it’s something I truly want to do, something that I’ll truly enjoy experiencing. I’m done with going through the motions.
Tuesday before last I went up the 103 floors to the top of the Willis (Sears) Tower in Chicago... the world’s 2nd tallest building. It was a cloudy morning, likely to have no visibility. But at those heights, I knew I’d see sun, I’d see planes crisscrossing the skies high above the fog hovering over the lake. I knew, that if I waited patiently, sat peaceful in the corner of the glass room - within the crisp walling of modern architecture - willing to bide my time, willing to be in the company of my own mind, I would be rewarded with a glimmer of the city of the world below. I would get my bird’s eye view. I would be above the hustle and stress of the every day. Even if it was only for a moment, I knew that the clouds would part, and that I would be rewarded with a great sigh of relief. I was stubbornly optimistic that being up in the sky - with or without the advertised view - would satisfy my urge to rise above, to do something I had not done before, to be in the moment, for one moment, undistracted by phone or friend, duty, or appointment. I was certain I would ‘make a memory’ so-to-speak. A memory just for me.
I was tempted to invite someone to come up with me. But I did not want to risk someone else’s disappointment, impatience, or even just chatter. I was quite content to sit in the skies, to watch the cloudy roll by. Alone. I simply wanted that experience for myself. For my own pleasure.
And so up I went.
Yes, I took pictures; I did the ‘tourist’ parts of the experience by wandering the gift shop, posting on Instagram a photo of my feet out over the sky deck... but that was in addition, an extra detail, to the real experience that I had sought out — and ultimately succeeded in having.
And it was beautiful.
Tuesday before last I went up the 103 floors to the top of the Willis (Sears) Tower in Chicago... the world’s 2nd tallest building. It was a cloudy morning, likely to have no visibility. But at those heights, I knew I’d see sun, I’d see planes crisscrossing the skies high above the fog hovering over the lake. I knew, that if I waited patiently, sat peaceful in the corner of the glass room - within the crisp walling of modern architecture - willing to bide my time, willing to be in the company of my own mind, I would be rewarded with a glimmer of the city of the world below. I would get my bird’s eye view. I would be above the hustle and stress of the every day. Even if it was only for a moment, I knew that the clouds would part, and that I would be rewarded with a great sigh of relief. I was stubbornly optimistic that being up in the sky - with or without the advertised view - would satisfy my urge to rise above, to do something I had not done before, to be in the moment, for one moment, undistracted by phone or friend, duty, or appointment. I was certain I would ‘make a memory’ so-to-speak. A memory just for me.
I was tempted to invite someone to come up with me. But I did not want to risk someone else’s disappointment, impatience, or even just chatter. I was quite content to sit in the skies, to watch the cloudy roll by. Alone. I simply wanted that experience for myself. For my own pleasure.
And so up I went.
Yes, I took pictures; I did the ‘tourist’ parts of the experience by wandering the gift shop, posting on Instagram a photo of my feet out over the sky deck... but that was in addition, an extra detail, to the real experience that I had sought out — and ultimately succeeded in having.
And it was beautiful.
September 14, 2019
They're No Longer Secrets
Yesterday was Friday the 13th. Which apparently means tattoo shops run $13 tattoo specials. Unbeknownst to me, it's a thing as commonly known, accepted, and looked forward to as 7-11's free slurpee day on July 11th. I think it's hilarious. I think it's weird. And I love it.
Although I don't have any tattoos (nor do I want any) I sincerely appreciate the sentimentality, creativity, and dedication tied to tattoos. Tattoos have become the base similarity between strangers that forms a community. A community of the type of people who are happy to sit out on a sidewalk, waiting in line for hours, for a $13 piece of body art, playing cards, having a drink, and swapping stories... These are people whose sories have such meaning, such memory, that they want to permenantly display symbolism of them on their bodies. These are people willing to endure some pain for the sake of art. People willing to tell the whole world a piece of who they are and what they've been through without saying a word. These are brave, open, expressive people.
Think about it. You sit across the bus aisle from a woman... She has the name 'Jonah' tattooed beneath her collarbone. She has a pair of scissors and a bobby pin tattooed on her right wrist. And she has a semicolon tattooed on her left ring finger. She's letting you know details of her personal life, without ever having spoken to her, without even knowing her name or having any interaction whatsoever with her. Does she have a son named Jonah? Perhaps an ex lover. She's a seamstress, hairstylist, or perhaps a designer? She's struggled with a mental health issue or perhaps even thought about suicide. And you knew all this in just a single look. Because of her tattoos. Her "secrets" are on full display, they are no longer secrets. For me...? No way. I'm not that open and willing for people to simply know things about me just because they looked at me. No way, no huh. No tattoos for me.
I have a lot of respect for people willing, eager, happy to to use their skin as a canvas to the likes, loves, hurts, ambitions, and experiences of their life. I think it's crazy. I think it's incredibly bold. And I think it's beautiful. I'm a little late to the game, guys, but happy Friday the 13th; I hope you're pleased with your new ink and that it isn't too sore this morning.
Although I don't have any tattoos (nor do I want any) I sincerely appreciate the sentimentality, creativity, and dedication tied to tattoos. Tattoos have become the base similarity between strangers that forms a community. A community of the type of people who are happy to sit out on a sidewalk, waiting in line for hours, for a $13 piece of body art, playing cards, having a drink, and swapping stories... These are people whose sories have such meaning, such memory, that they want to permenantly display symbolism of them on their bodies. These are people willing to endure some pain for the sake of art. People willing to tell the whole world a piece of who they are and what they've been through without saying a word. These are brave, open, expressive people.
Think about it. You sit across the bus aisle from a woman... She has the name 'Jonah' tattooed beneath her collarbone. She has a pair of scissors and a bobby pin tattooed on her right wrist. And she has a semicolon tattooed on her left ring finger. She's letting you know details of her personal life, without ever having spoken to her, without even knowing her name or having any interaction whatsoever with her. Does she have a son named Jonah? Perhaps an ex lover. She's a seamstress, hairstylist, or perhaps a designer? She's struggled with a mental health issue or perhaps even thought about suicide. And you knew all this in just a single look. Because of her tattoos. Her "secrets" are on full display, they are no longer secrets. For me...? No way. I'm not that open and willing for people to simply know things about me just because they looked at me. No way, no huh. No tattoos for me.
I have a lot of respect for people willing, eager, happy to to use their skin as a canvas to the likes, loves, hurts, ambitions, and experiences of their life. I think it's crazy. I think it's incredibly bold. And I think it's beautiful. I'm a little late to the game, guys, but happy Friday the 13th; I hope you're pleased with your new ink and that it isn't too sore this morning.
September 8, 2019
Friends
As an adult, I've found little success in making friends outside of a workplace. I used to get angry about that fact. Used to wish that work and pleasure weren't so tightly reliant upon each other. But then I realized that the few friends that I'd made - from work - that have lasted, have turned into truly deep bonds. Because those are the friendships based in honesty, in realness.
Why? Well, because you can't be false about your temperament, your opinions, your capabilities, or your generosity to someone that you spent 40 hours a week with.
Your coworkers, at least with occupations where you aren't isolated into individual cubicles, are the people we spent the most of our waking hours with. Oftentimes people even spend more time with coworkers than they do with family or a significant other! Coworkers see you day in and day out, through colds and hangovers, through personal celebrations, through the ups and downs of mood throughout a workday. They know things about you-- because you can't change who you are and how you function in front of them... not for eight hours a day, five days a week, every day of the year. No, in an occupation that requires ongoing interaction between coworkers, everyone knows everyone's business.
To be honest, I hate that. And yet, I've accepted that it means that I don't have to second guess whether or not a friend I make at work truly likes me. And that, I love.
As a person who struggles with social anxiety and a lot of insecurities, knowing that the people I've worked with who chose to hang out with me after hours (especially after years of knowing one another) based their interest in me off of a true picture, a true understanding of me is so reassuring. It means they saw me through frustrations, through mistakes, though awkwardness and still subconsciously said to themselves, "Yes, this lady is cool. This lady is friend material". And that, that's real. That's real friendship.
I'm not mad anymore that all my adult friendships have stemmed from employment. It makes sense. And it's honest. And, I mean after all, all our childhood friendships just came from being the same age, stuck in the same homeroom class. At least the job is something we choose. In the end, our job is something we should love. And I say that means we should love the people we work with too. They SHOULD become our friends.
Why? Well, because you can't be false about your temperament, your opinions, your capabilities, or your generosity to someone that you spent 40 hours a week with.
Your coworkers, at least with occupations where you aren't isolated into individual cubicles, are the people we spent the most of our waking hours with. Oftentimes people even spend more time with coworkers than they do with family or a significant other! Coworkers see you day in and day out, through colds and hangovers, through personal celebrations, through the ups and downs of mood throughout a workday. They know things about you-- because you can't change who you are and how you function in front of them... not for eight hours a day, five days a week, every day of the year. No, in an occupation that requires ongoing interaction between coworkers, everyone knows everyone's business.
To be honest, I hate that. And yet, I've accepted that it means that I don't have to second guess whether or not a friend I make at work truly likes me. And that, I love.
As a person who struggles with social anxiety and a lot of insecurities, knowing that the people I've worked with who chose to hang out with me after hours (especially after years of knowing one another) based their interest in me off of a true picture, a true understanding of me is so reassuring. It means they saw me through frustrations, through mistakes, though awkwardness and still subconsciously said to themselves, "Yes, this lady is cool. This lady is friend material". And that, that's real. That's real friendship.
I'm not mad anymore that all my adult friendships have stemmed from employment. It makes sense. And it's honest. And, I mean after all, all our childhood friendships just came from being the same age, stuck in the same homeroom class. At least the job is something we choose. In the end, our job is something we should love. And I say that means we should love the people we work with too. They SHOULD become our friends.
August 31, 2019
Override
Do you ever find that you give yourself less credit than you should, or remembering fewer positive things than you do negative? I do. And it frustrates me to no end.
For instance, I've had a pretty good summer. I did a lot of activities and had outings that, in past summers, haven't happened. I was committed to doing the 'Chicago Summer' this year, and to be honest, I did pretty well. However, this morning, still laying in bed and yet feeling a cold breeze blowing in from outside, I couldn't help myself from being sad that autumn seems to be upon us. And, I started being grumpy at myself that I'd "wasted my summer". Thing is... I didn't!
I went to the beach, played frisbee out in the sun, went to Taste of Chicago, street fests, Pride Fest, rooftop bars, and a concert. I ate good food and listened to great music. I went dancing, went roller blading, went running, even once went swimming. I hung out with friends, admired the stars, and sat out on patios. Summer and I got along just fine. So why did I instantly think that I'd failed at my intention?
It's easy to forget happy. To forget good. We somehow settle into comfortable and nice, and then get complacent. Bad things, sad things, those however stick with us. They taint the good, overwhelm our memories, and make us doubt our life enjoyment. I get that that is our nature, the way our emotional functions tend toward working. But, at least for today, I'm going to override that tendency-- and focus on everything wonderful about my summer.
I would have liked to go to the beach a few more times, maybe taken a vacation, gone to a couple more get-togethers, it's true. Not going to lie that I definitely could have done more. But you know what? What I did do, is make myself happy. For one, lovely, active summer. And that's what matters, more than anything.
What I did and who I hung out with, made good memories. Made me happy. And happy isn't the easiest thing for me to master. So I'm going to give myself credit for taking care of myself, and revel in the happy memories.
And I suggest you do the same. Smile today, you deserve it.
For instance, I've had a pretty good summer. I did a lot of activities and had outings that, in past summers, haven't happened. I was committed to doing the 'Chicago Summer' this year, and to be honest, I did pretty well. However, this morning, still laying in bed and yet feeling a cold breeze blowing in from outside, I couldn't help myself from being sad that autumn seems to be upon us. And, I started being grumpy at myself that I'd "wasted my summer". Thing is... I didn't!
I went to the beach, played frisbee out in the sun, went to Taste of Chicago, street fests, Pride Fest, rooftop bars, and a concert. I ate good food and listened to great music. I went dancing, went roller blading, went running, even once went swimming. I hung out with friends, admired the stars, and sat out on patios. Summer and I got along just fine. So why did I instantly think that I'd failed at my intention?
It's easy to forget happy. To forget good. We somehow settle into comfortable and nice, and then get complacent. Bad things, sad things, those however stick with us. They taint the good, overwhelm our memories, and make us doubt our life enjoyment. I get that that is our nature, the way our emotional functions tend toward working. But, at least for today, I'm going to override that tendency-- and focus on everything wonderful about my summer.
I would have liked to go to the beach a few more times, maybe taken a vacation, gone to a couple more get-togethers, it's true. Not going to lie that I definitely could have done more. But you know what? What I did do, is make myself happy. For one, lovely, active summer. And that's what matters, more than anything.
What I did and who I hung out with, made good memories. Made me happy. And happy isn't the easiest thing for me to master. So I'm going to give myself credit for taking care of myself, and revel in the happy memories.
And I suggest you do the same. Smile today, you deserve it.
August 24, 2019
If Love is the Language
Familiar with the 5 Love Languages?
Gift Giving, Words of Affirmation, Physical Touch, Acts of Service, and Quality Time...?
You've probably heard of this list, this explanation for why some expressions of love mean more to one person than they do to another, or why we choose to express our own love in certain manners. You've probably taken a quiz, made your S.O. take a quiz, thought about it and nodded, knowing fairly quickly which Language speaks to you most. However, I've recently realized that, at least for me, one expression may feel more significant than another, yes, but they also all have their own varying feeling of love attached to them. To me, it's not that gifts don't mean anything, it's that they make me feel treated. Special occasion, appreciation, thanks type of love. Not love-love. All of the Languages have a connotation for me! Let me explain.
I've noticed that Gift reception makes me feel like the gifter is expressing love filled with gratitude, rather than something like romance. Words of Affirmation are a flattery or uplifting type of love, more toward romance, but based in observation. Physical touch is a cozy, intimate, or sexual expression of love. Acts of service is more about the giver, that they're putting my interests above their own, it's an expression of dedication, of loyalty. And, then my ultimate Language... Quality Time.
To me, time spent with a loved one, even if we're just in the same room working on separate projects, not even necessarily doing something jointly, as long as we're together, I feel loved. The type of love that you can't really put into words. It's contentment, peace, an uptick to the corners of my mouth. It's a love that manifests as a sense of settling and understanding.
I'm a high-strung person, I'm anxious a lot, my brain goes a million miles a minute nearly every waking moment about the past, to-dos, work, plans, the future, on and on, always going... So to have time spent in the here-and-now means everything to me: to be in the moment by being with someone, that, to me, is real love. To feel safe, appreciated, attractive, and cared for is the greatest sensation, and that requires all forms of love.
A gift to show appreciation.
A compliment to show attention.
A kiss to express physical attraction.
A selfless act to assure commitment.
And time spent together to feel whole and centered.
Love is incredibly multidimensional, but knowing how you treat it, how you accept it, and how you express it will make your life sweeter. Something like knowing when a pat on the back will mean more than anything you can say, will also make your friends' and family's feelings of self, value, confidence, and love so much higher.
If love is the language, than our expression is the dialect. And I get it, sometimes accents are hard to understand... but nevertheless, we always seem to learn to listen, and we learn to communicate.
Gift Giving, Words of Affirmation, Physical Touch, Acts of Service, and Quality Time...?
You've probably heard of this list, this explanation for why some expressions of love mean more to one person than they do to another, or why we choose to express our own love in certain manners. You've probably taken a quiz, made your S.O. take a quiz, thought about it and nodded, knowing fairly quickly which Language speaks to you most. However, I've recently realized that, at least for me, one expression may feel more significant than another, yes, but they also all have their own varying feeling of love attached to them. To me, it's not that gifts don't mean anything, it's that they make me feel treated. Special occasion, appreciation, thanks type of love. Not love-love. All of the Languages have a connotation for me! Let me explain.
I've noticed that Gift reception makes me feel like the gifter is expressing love filled with gratitude, rather than something like romance. Words of Affirmation are a flattery or uplifting type of love, more toward romance, but based in observation. Physical touch is a cozy, intimate, or sexual expression of love. Acts of service is more about the giver, that they're putting my interests above their own, it's an expression of dedication, of loyalty. And, then my ultimate Language... Quality Time.
To me, time spent with a loved one, even if we're just in the same room working on separate projects, not even necessarily doing something jointly, as long as we're together, I feel loved. The type of love that you can't really put into words. It's contentment, peace, an uptick to the corners of my mouth. It's a love that manifests as a sense of settling and understanding.
I'm a high-strung person, I'm anxious a lot, my brain goes a million miles a minute nearly every waking moment about the past, to-dos, work, plans, the future, on and on, always going... So to have time spent in the here-and-now means everything to me: to be in the moment by being with someone, that, to me, is real love. To feel safe, appreciated, attractive, and cared for is the greatest sensation, and that requires all forms of love.
A gift to show appreciation.
A compliment to show attention.
A kiss to express physical attraction.
A selfless act to assure commitment.
And time spent together to feel whole and centered.
Love is incredibly multidimensional, but knowing how you treat it, how you accept it, and how you express it will make your life sweeter. Something like knowing when a pat on the back will mean more than anything you can say, will also make your friends' and family's feelings of self, value, confidence, and love so much higher.
If love is the language, than our expression is the dialect. And I get it, sometimes accents are hard to understand... but nevertheless, we always seem to learn to listen, and we learn to communicate.
If Love is the Language
Familiar with the 5 Love Languages?
Gift Giving, Words of Affirmation, Physical Touch, Acts of Service, and Quality Time...?
You've probably heard of this list, this explanation for why some expressions of love mean more to one person than they do to another, or why we choose to express our own love in certain manners. You've probably taken a quiz, made your S.O. take a quiz, thought about it and nodded, knowing fairly quickly which Language speaks to you most. However, I've recently realized that, at least for me, one expression may feel more significant than another, yes, but they also all have their own varying feeling of love attached to them. To me, it's not that gifts don't mean anything, it's that they make me feel treated. Special occasion, appreciation, thanks type of love. Not love-love. All of the Languages have a connotation for me! Let me explain.
I've noticed that Gift reception makes me feel like the gifter is expressing love filled with gratitude, rather than something like romance. Words of Affirmation are a flattery or uplifting type of love, more toward romance, but based in observation. Physical touch is a cozy, intimate, or sexual expression of love. Acts of service is more about the giver, that they're putting my interests above their own, it's an expression of dedication, of loyalty. And, then my ultimate Language... Quality Time.
To me, time spent with a loved one, even if we're just in the same room working on separate projects, not even necessarily doing something jointly, as long as we're together, I feel loved. The type of love that you can't really put into words. It's contentment, peace, an uptick to the corners of my mouth. It's a love that manifests as a sense of settling and understanding.
I'm a high-strung person, I'm anxious a lot, my brain goes a million miles a minute nearly every waking moment about the past, to-dos, work, plans, the future, on and on, always going... So to have time spent in the here-and-now means everything to me: to be in the moment by being with someone, that, to me, is real love. To feel safe, appreciated, attractive, and cared for is the greatest sensation, and that requires all forms of love.
A gift to show appreciation.
A compliment to show attention.
A kiss to express physical attraction.
A selfless act to assure commitment.
And time spent together to feel whole and centered.
Love is incredibly multidimensional, but knowing how you treat it, how you accept it, and how you express it will make your life sweeter. Something like knowing when a pat on the back will mean more than anything you can say, will also make your friends' and family's feelings of self, value, confidence, and love so much higher.
If love is the language, than our expression is the dialect. And I get it, sometimes accents are hard to understand... but nevertheless, we always seem to learn to listen, and we learn to communicate.
Gift Giving, Words of Affirmation, Physical Touch, Acts of Service, and Quality Time...?
You've probably heard of this list, this explanation for why some expressions of love mean more to one person than they do to another, or why we choose to express our own love in certain manners. You've probably taken a quiz, made your S.O. take a quiz, thought about it and nodded, knowing fairly quickly which Language speaks to you most. However, I've recently realized that, at least for me, one expression may feel more significant than another, yes, but they also all have their own varying feeling of love attached to them. To me, it's not that gifts don't mean anything, it's that they make me feel treated. Special occasion, appreciation, thanks type of love. Not love-love. All of the Languages have a connotation for me! Let me explain.
I've noticed that Gift reception makes me feel like the gifter is expressing love filled with gratitude, rather than something like romance. Words of Affirmation are a flattery or uplifting type of love, more toward romance, but based in observation. Physical touch is a cozy, intimate, or sexual expression of love. Acts of service is more about the giver, that they're putting my interests above their own, it's an expression of dedication, of loyalty. And, then my ultimate Language... Quality Time.
To me, time spent with a loved one, even if we're just in the same room working on separate projects, not even necessarily doing something jointly, as long as we're together, I feel loved. The type of love that you can't really put into words. It's contentment, peace, an uptick to the corners of my mouth. It's a love that manifests as a sense of settling and understanding.
I'm a high-strung person, I'm anxious a lot, my brain goes a million miles a minute nearly every waking moment about the past, to-dos, work, plans, the future, on and on, always going... So to have time spent in the here-and-now means everything to me: to be in the moment by being with someone, that, to me, is real love. To feel safe, appreciated, attractive, and cared for is the greatest sensation, and that requires all forms of love.
A gift to show appreciation.
A compliment to show attention.
A kiss to express physical attraction.
A selfless act to assure commitment.
And time spent together to feel whole and centered.
Love is incredibly multidimensional, but knowing how you treat it, how you accept it, and how you express it will make your life sweeter. Something like knowing when a pat on the back will mean more than anything you can say, will also make your friends' and family's feelings of self, value, confidence, and love so much higher.
If love is the language, than our expression is the dialect. And I get it, sometimes accents are hard to understand... but nevertheless, we always seem to learn to listen, and we learn to communicate.
August 17, 2019
Extra Wisdom
So apparently I have five wisdom teeth. Or, really, more accurately: I have four and half. The fifth "extra" tooth is only the size of a baby tooth. It's been months now, of endless dentist appointments, mostly caused by one little error a dentist made over a year ago, but that's a whole other story. Mostly, I've been frequenting the dentist because I'm at that age where, if I'm going to get my wisdom teeth taken out, I need to do it. Now.
So, this last Tuesday I had surgery to remove one big, troublesome wisdom tooth and its baby buddy chilling above it. I have a high pain tolerance so I opted not to be put under for this operation- saved me some money, too. Having that done was mostly painless, to be honest, just was disturbing... the pressure and the sound of having a tooth removed is not something I'm equipped to describe with any words I can currently think of. It's just really, really strange. With that being said, the healing process since the (non-painful) procedure has been awful. Lots of blood, lots of pain, lock jaw, nausea from the pain meds, etc. Wholly unpleasant. However, every time I've been grumpy about the situation, I am brought back to gratefulness. Gratefulness that although I do not have dental insurance, I've been able to take care of my teeth. I've had good dentists willing to work out payment, generous recommendations, patient office workers, and overall good health and speedy recoveries, not even just with my teeth but with past doctor and hospital visits as well.
I often joke that I'm too healthy. That the world tries to put my life back into a balance of good and bad by making weird things happen to me. I can pretty much eat whatever I want because I have a great metabolism, I've never broken a bone (knock on wood), I rarely get colds and I can't remember the last time I've had the flu. Up until having my wisdom teeth out I'd never really had invasive surgery of any type (and wisdom teeth removal is so common, I don't even really feel like it counts as real surgery haha). I've been lucky, been blessed, to be so healthy. But at the same time, I have chronic pain. I had five wisdom teeth. Nearly forty stitches in my face from a freak accident. Deterioration of the bones in my right hand. I have strange, uncommon allergies. And I've been hit by more cars than I can remember. So, no surprise, I joke that my weird wellness issues is just the way the world is attempting to keep the good and bad of life equal and balanced for me. Kinda silly, but makes sense, no?
What I'm driving at here is that I'm a true believer in all those proverb sayings like 'what goes up, must come down' and 'what comes around, goes around' and 'enjoy it while it lasts'. Because, that's exactly what life is, isn't it...? Just a cycle of good and bad. And every experience - whether good or bad - changes us, makes us look at the world differently, makes us appreciate our lives. And I would hope, makes us love the happiness, the memories, the strength, and the delights that we have been able to have.
It's been a long, long, long struggle for me to learn to love my body. To learn to love my person. But I do. Scars and all. So when I have a bad day, I just tell myself it's penance for a good day to come.
So, this last Tuesday I had surgery to remove one big, troublesome wisdom tooth and its baby buddy chilling above it. I have a high pain tolerance so I opted not to be put under for this operation- saved me some money, too. Having that done was mostly painless, to be honest, just was disturbing... the pressure and the sound of having a tooth removed is not something I'm equipped to describe with any words I can currently think of. It's just really, really strange. With that being said, the healing process since the (non-painful) procedure has been awful. Lots of blood, lots of pain, lock jaw, nausea from the pain meds, etc. Wholly unpleasant. However, every time I've been grumpy about the situation, I am brought back to gratefulness. Gratefulness that although I do not have dental insurance, I've been able to take care of my teeth. I've had good dentists willing to work out payment, generous recommendations, patient office workers, and overall good health and speedy recoveries, not even just with my teeth but with past doctor and hospital visits as well.
I often joke that I'm too healthy. That the world tries to put my life back into a balance of good and bad by making weird things happen to me. I can pretty much eat whatever I want because I have a great metabolism, I've never broken a bone (knock on wood), I rarely get colds and I can't remember the last time I've had the flu. Up until having my wisdom teeth out I'd never really had invasive surgery of any type (and wisdom teeth removal is so common, I don't even really feel like it counts as real surgery haha). I've been lucky, been blessed, to be so healthy. But at the same time, I have chronic pain. I had five wisdom teeth. Nearly forty stitches in my face from a freak accident. Deterioration of the bones in my right hand. I have strange, uncommon allergies. And I've been hit by more cars than I can remember. So, no surprise, I joke that my weird wellness issues is just the way the world is attempting to keep the good and bad of life equal and balanced for me. Kinda silly, but makes sense, no?
What I'm driving at here is that I'm a true believer in all those proverb sayings like 'what goes up, must come down' and 'what comes around, goes around' and 'enjoy it while it lasts'. Because, that's exactly what life is, isn't it...? Just a cycle of good and bad. And every experience - whether good or bad - changes us, makes us look at the world differently, makes us appreciate our lives. And I would hope, makes us love the happiness, the memories, the strength, and the delights that we have been able to have.
It's been a long, long, long struggle for me to learn to love my body. To learn to love my person. But I do. Scars and all. So when I have a bad day, I just tell myself it's penance for a good day to come.
August 10, 2019
Make it Your Home
I have a tendency to take care of everyone around me before I take care of myself.
I used to get into fights a lot as a little kid, always in one spat or another. But they were rarely - if ever - brought on because of attitude or aggression. They were usually an insult or threat against a friend being brought to my attention, that would escalate into a fight. For instance, one time in maybe the second or third grade, a friend of mine had made some little boy mad. Mad enough he put his hands around her throat and was choking her out. I remember yelling at him to let go, that she had tears running down her cheeks as her whole face turned purple and still he wouldn’t let go. So I punched him in the face. Just wound up and punched him. Gave him a bloody nose— I got in trouble, but I didn’t care because I’d protected my friend.
As I’ve aged, obviously playground fights aren’t a thing I deal with anymore. But my spats are still the same. Someone messes with one of my friends or coworkers and suddenly I’m an indestructible force of strength, confidence, and wicked, chiding, authoritative tongue. It’s gotten me in trouble too, though not nearly as much as throwing up fists would. I don’t at all find this to be a fault in my personality though. I love my sense of loyalty, my fearlessness in those moments. But what I wish is that it translated to sticking up for myself— being willing to fight for myself.
Too often I’ve just hung my head or bit my tongue when someone has been ill intending toward me. I forgive too easily, put up with too much negativity and mistreatment, and am unbelievably slow to confrontation... When it comes to defending myself, I suck.
And that needs to change.
I keep reminding myself that no one - not one single soul in the world - has the right to be cruel to me, the right to treat me poorly. I try to view a situation through the perspective of if it were happening to a friend of mine, how would I react? Because the expectations I have for how people should treat my friends, needs to translate into how I expect people to treat me. That’s a hard thing, for whatever reason, for me to master. But I’m trying.
What I want to remind you all, in case you’re like me - in search of confidence and stable self-worth - is that it’s not about telling yourself that you’re smart, beautiful, funny, etc... but it doesn’t matter if you are or aren’t. You matter and deserve to be treated with respect no matter you intelligence, appearance, or demeanor.
You belong in this world. You don’t need someone’s permission to make it your home.
I used to get into fights a lot as a little kid, always in one spat or another. But they were rarely - if ever - brought on because of attitude or aggression. They were usually an insult or threat against a friend being brought to my attention, that would escalate into a fight. For instance, one time in maybe the second or third grade, a friend of mine had made some little boy mad. Mad enough he put his hands around her throat and was choking her out. I remember yelling at him to let go, that she had tears running down her cheeks as her whole face turned purple and still he wouldn’t let go. So I punched him in the face. Just wound up and punched him. Gave him a bloody nose— I got in trouble, but I didn’t care because I’d protected my friend.
As I’ve aged, obviously playground fights aren’t a thing I deal with anymore. But my spats are still the same. Someone messes with one of my friends or coworkers and suddenly I’m an indestructible force of strength, confidence, and wicked, chiding, authoritative tongue. It’s gotten me in trouble too, though not nearly as much as throwing up fists would. I don’t at all find this to be a fault in my personality though. I love my sense of loyalty, my fearlessness in those moments. But what I wish is that it translated to sticking up for myself— being willing to fight for myself.
Too often I’ve just hung my head or bit my tongue when someone has been ill intending toward me. I forgive too easily, put up with too much negativity and mistreatment, and am unbelievably slow to confrontation... When it comes to defending myself, I suck.
And that needs to change.
I keep reminding myself that no one - not one single soul in the world - has the right to be cruel to me, the right to treat me poorly. I try to view a situation through the perspective of if it were happening to a friend of mine, how would I react? Because the expectations I have for how people should treat my friends, needs to translate into how I expect people to treat me. That’s a hard thing, for whatever reason, for me to master. But I’m trying.
What I want to remind you all, in case you’re like me - in search of confidence and stable self-worth - is that it’s not about telling yourself that you’re smart, beautiful, funny, etc... but it doesn’t matter if you are or aren’t. You matter and deserve to be treated with respect no matter you intelligence, appearance, or demeanor.
You belong in this world. You don’t need someone’s permission to make it your home.
August 3, 2019
Patience of Humanity
I think patience might be the number one thing I hope parents teach their children, by word and by deed, both.
My sister, bless her heart, has two amazing little boys - twins - who are developing very differently. One likes to sit and talk and the other can't hold still at all. Obviously, they're running at different paces (figuratively, not just physically. Pun intended). They keep my sister and her husband on their toes. And they keep eachother thinking too...
Toys and food need to be shared. Space designated. Priorities made. Reasoning vocalized. My sister does a great job of encouraging her boys to be patient with one another, by sharing, by making them conscious of what they're doing, and by instilling in them a sense of companionship that would be easy to overlook and undernuture. At the same time, I think she herself has the patience of a saint. She tends to her children amazingly well. And by being patient with her boys - whether it concerns their tears, stubbornness, silliness, wants, or anything else - she is leading by example.
It gives me great hope in humanity that there is still goodness, sweetness, care, and understanding in the world. That child and adult alike can mirror each other's actions, can give energy and kindess not necessarily because it benefits themselves but because they are willing to do something for the long term affects on everyone involved.
Patience is an unbelievably wonderful learned expression of value and emotion... and I so sincerely - and gratefully - hope that you show it to those around you, teach it to your children, and appreciate when it is given to you
My sister, bless her heart, has two amazing little boys - twins - who are developing very differently. One likes to sit and talk and the other can't hold still at all. Obviously, they're running at different paces (figuratively, not just physically. Pun intended). They keep my sister and her husband on their toes. And they keep eachother thinking too...
Toys and food need to be shared. Space designated. Priorities made. Reasoning vocalized. My sister does a great job of encouraging her boys to be patient with one another, by sharing, by making them conscious of what they're doing, and by instilling in them a sense of companionship that would be easy to overlook and undernuture. At the same time, I think she herself has the patience of a saint. She tends to her children amazingly well. And by being patient with her boys - whether it concerns their tears, stubbornness, silliness, wants, or anything else - she is leading by example.
It gives me great hope in humanity that there is still goodness, sweetness, care, and understanding in the world. That child and adult alike can mirror each other's actions, can give energy and kindess not necessarily because it benefits themselves but because they are willing to do something for the long term affects on everyone involved.
Patience is an unbelievably wonderful learned expression of value and emotion... and I so sincerely - and gratefully - hope that you show it to those around you, teach it to your children, and appreciate when it is given to you
