Pandemic Musings… Still…

If you had told me a year ago today that I would still be in a pandemic state of mind today, I would have lmao’ed… I would be glad to know that I was still alive, and I would want to inquire about how the pandemic had unfolded. I could not imagine the state of limbo still existing. And here we are, and it does. Sure, things have changed, and mostly for the better. We have vaccines now, people I know and love are safe from the throngs of Covid-19. But here in BC we are still in a lockdown of sorts. We cannot gather with friends, we cannot go to movies, we cannot be in indoor public places without masks. The numbers of infection are on the rise. Hospital numbers are the highest they’ve been.

Let’s see if you can relate to any of this at all…

There is a promise of change ahead, a change to normalcy, but as you tiptoe closer to it an alarm sounds and you hear a resounding “NOT YET” in what you imagine is a angry and disappointed Dr. Bonnie Henry voice. It is not time to start feeling normal again. By the time you can, you hopefully will not have forgotten what normal looks like. You enjoy walks with the dog and relaxed interactions with your also half-vaccinated coworkers, but you still have to wear a mask in the van on outings. Restaurants are closed for inside dining, but there are patios open and the weather is magnificent… BUT YOU STILL CANNOT GATHER WITH FRIENDS ON SAID PATIOS. You want, no NEED, to be optimistic… you are feeling more worn that you realize and it comes out at odd times.

I work at a place where we are at higher risk of catching communicable diseases and we have changed a lot about how we do stuff. We wash our hands A LOT more and I have not had even a cold since last spring. Amazing. My work has gone on and I have been there, just in a new office now. I was here in the early days of the pandemic. I felt the anxiety of walking through doorways to communal living with vulnerable people. I felt the loss of supports for our guys, so I made sure I was here to be a support in any way I could. My job hasn’t changed that much. It feels pretty normal. I am grateful for that. I am grateful to have a job. I am grateful for my lovely coworkers that contribute in a very positive way to my mental health.

I have a dog that likes walks. I like walks, most of the time. I go on hikes twice a week with guys at work, sometimes easy and sometimes intense (for me). This gets me outside a lot. It is a very good thing. While walking I listen to podcasts sometimes, music others, and while I did a free trial the apple fitness “walk with me” stories. I sometimes listen to the breeze on the water and the seagulls chattering above me. I overhear conversations and stories and parenting and dog discipline. I also get to talk to guys who have lived fuller lives than they’ve liked… often with regret and trauma attached to their memories… but I get to talk to them about the present, the future, their dreams and the hope that keeps us going… This is all a gift to me. I live in a place where I have ocean front walks literally outside my door, and I get paid to hike to peaks in an area we can see Mt. Rainer to the Northern Rocky Mountains on a clear day. What a gift. This often sustains me in the midst of my own self-pity and whatever other negative thoughts and feelings might creep in.

The sun is shining. We have had a particularly warm and sunny April and it’s amazing. I haven’t had too many migraines either (it’s migraine season for me when the air pressure raises). It’s time to take care of our gardens. My green thumbed hubby got a garden allotment in Vic West and has been weeding and planting – getting his hands in the dirt, and is so happy because of it. I have helped chop up green stuff for compost and plan the garden. We have a GREAT patio facing south and have some containers for gardening. I have my mum’s two rose bushes and her strawberry plant. We have our BBQ ready and we have now officially started the grilling season.

I just want to have people over and share it with others.

I really miss friends. Zoom is great, it works well for D&D and time with friends and family far away, but when people are in the same city… blocks away… it sucks. I long for the laughter of groups and the trailing conversations that naturally happen. I haven’t played a board game with more than two players for a while. When was the last time we said “cheers” and clinked glasses? I never would have guessed I’d miss that, but I do. But then there’s this little part of me that wonders if I am just scaffolding reality with fantasy. I mean, will seeing people in person again really fill me up the way I imagine it will? Will I be more socially awkward now because of a year of less group communication? Am I as witty and entertaining to others as I am to Chris? Okay, that one I know… I’m not. LOL. But, do you get what I’m talking about? Will those gatherings that we’ve all waited so long for miss the mark in real life? Will the lack of interaction and the weird loneliness continue? I hope not.

We were meant to go on our honeymoon trip to the UK last May. That got cancelled. Then when we thought maybe we can get tickets again, we got some for Sept / October. Then that got cancelled. Now we are hoping to go at Christmas. Who knows. We are also talking about going to Whitehorse this summer to see family. We are hoping all this will happen, but will it? I have not left the island in more than a year. Let that sink in.

Thank God for streaming services. We have watched soooooo much stuff. Most of it good. We can’t go to movies, but we have zoomed movies with friends. Here’s a list of my favourites. We watched 100 Humans on Netflix party in the beginning of the pandemic. Then it’s all a blur timewise… We watched Rev. about an inner city Anglican priest in London. We watched Fleabag, which had a similar storyline, not really LOL. The Alienist, Trapped, His Dark Materials, Veronica Mars (rewatch for me), Tales from the Loop, High Fidelity, The Rook, Hannah, Little Fires Everywhere, Upload, Trying, Catastrophe, and Welcome to Sweden. I loved Ted Lasso. It took me a few episodes to get into it. The most successful Korean drama ever, Crash Landing on You. Epically K-drama. We’re still watching The Expanse, Schitt’s Creek (rewatch for Chris), and Dickenson, and we just started Raised by Wolves… not sure about that one. We watched the last season and the last episode (teardrop emoji) of Kim’s Convenience last week. We’re still watching Zoey’s (I forget the rest of the title) where she hears heartsongs. We enjoyed Men in Kilts, and the banter. We started Good Girls, but got bored. I watched Shameless without Chris, He watched Superstore, The Great, and Seinfeld without me… but we mostly watch together. I am sure there are other things we watched. I can’t think of it all. We did see some good cheesy Christmas movies that were filmed in Victoria and saw extras we know. We cancelled cable in the middle of a pandemic, and yet probably watched more than I have any year before. All the choices are great, and streaming has made life more bearable, but I am ready to not watch anything for a while.

Have I mentioned that Chris and I are looking for a new place? We have been for a while, but it is getting more real. I have quiet moments in the day when I look at condos (and lately houses that we really can’t afford) and imagine. This Saturday, I was listening to an episode of the Mockingbird podcast, whilst on a before mentioned dog walk near the water. They were talking about an article about millennials and the housing market and a SNL skit. We don’t have Zillow in Canada, but we do have SNL and I watched the one about “Zillow porn.” I relate. The idea of looking at houses online and imagining a life in them being similar to dollhouses really hit me. I am perfectly content (89% of the time) in our little 440 square feet condo, with an amazing patio. Truly. I can walk to work, Chris can bike to work on the Goose, we have great places to walk (as before mentioned) and groceries, pubs and tacos nearby. It’s ideal in many ways, but when I think of being able to open drawers with clothes (currently using fabric boxes from IKEA) and sleep in a king bed, and have doors to bedrooms… I get nesty. We cannot live in this place we are in now forever. We won’t. But there is something about this pandemic where people are home more and therefore home is more important.

And the end is like the beginning in that it’s a new thing we are experiencing and a new life to strive for. In the beginning of this pandemic, it was finding peace and hope in the difficulty and figuring out how to not get sick and prevent others from getting sick. Now, as we face the slow end to it, we still have to find peace and hope, trusting that we can feel normal again soon. Gratitude seems to abate fear and negativity, so here are my gratitudes for the pandemic year. 1. A partner to share time and space and love with. 2. A job where I get to be part of helping community and making lives better – all the time. 3. That vaccine science will save lives including mine.

That’s all (for now).

What is love?

This is the month where we really think about romantic love, right? I mean, there’s a holiday for it, and if you’re Japanese you get Valentine’s Day and White day… If you’re Korean there are like five holidays over the next few months… always on the 14th, always about love, of some sort.

Love, and specifically how we find love, is something I have been thinking about lately. Back in January, I read a book titled “How to Fall in Love with Anyone” by Mandy Catron. I’ve blogged about her and her writing before. She wrote the article for the Modern Love column in the New York Times based on the research where they put strangers in a room and they asked each other increasingly intimate questions… and then she experimented and did the questions with a date… and eventually they fell in love. I made a board game for Chris our first Christmas together based on this idea. We fell in love! We met Mandy last year, and I showed her the board game… she was super excited about, and called over her partner to show him. She loved our love story. Me too. Our love story was so easy and natural and just fit perfectly. There was little drama, but great admiration and respect… also, my guy is super cute, so…

But, finding (or not finding) romantic love isn’t always like that, and we go through a lot of self discovery in the process of learning how to love someone else. We bring our baggage along for the trip, and we have to face some challenges along the way. Love is elusive at the same time that it is everywhere. C.S. Lewis wrote of more loves than just the romantic, and I think this is what I’m inspired to write about today, and take it my own direction. Our culture sort of defines us by the kinds of love present in our lives. We tick forms on boxes declaring our marital status. We experience life differently depending on the kinds of love we have witnessed. We might love and we are hopefully loved in return, but not always the way we think we should be. And there’s more to the story, as there always is.

In her book, Mandy talked a lot about her parents’ love story and how she romanticized it and how so many of us put on rose coloured glasses when thinking about love. We all find our version of love somehow, or we don’t. But what are the fears that stop us from finding romantic love? I know a guy who is afraid of falling in love, getting married, and then his partner changing and becoming a stranger to him. This fear paralyzes him so much that he stays single. He is deeply lonely. Some people have looked to complete themselves in the arms of a partner. They have sometimes found their person it’s worked out, and other times they haven’t… and have then gone around feeling incomplete, when they are actually perfectly complete. Other people are so afraid of rejection that they end relationships at the first sign of difficulty. They so desire to be known, seen, and loved yet they aren’t able to be vulnerable and take the risk that things might not work out.

And then there are people who enjoy being single and find love in other forms. Or people who “love” lots of people. Or people who love love and get soaked up in the search.

I remember in university sitting around with girlfriends who lamented the lack of a guy to call their own… and I thought, hmmmmmm. I had many crushes on guys and some of them turned into relationships, many into friendships. I never felt incomplete. I had grown up the product of a messy marriage and divorce and I doubted that I would ever find romantic love because both my parents struggled to make relationships work. I thought I was going to be the cool single lady with the fun life. Deep down inside, I think I knew that I wanted someone to “do life” with, and I liked the idea of marriage and the whole package… but there was, for quite a long time, no qualified candidate. I lived vicariously through novels and movies and found fulfillment in all the areas of life where I did have love. Some might argue I wasn’t ready. I think I was just fine how I was, till I wasn’t. Truthfully, I had lots of love all around me. The love of friends and family. The cuddles of pets. The fulfillment of work. The deliciousness of life.

So, what is love? What makes it such a big part of the human experience? Why do parents love their kids so much that they would die for them? Why do we defend those we love so ferociously? Is love a bio chemical reaction we experience? Is love familiarity? Is love a choice or does it happen “to” us? Am I more loved now that I have a life partner? Am I less angsty over things and magically content? Do I have fewer fears or less conflict? Is there a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow? Is my cereal less soggy? Do aches and pains haunt me less? Is grief less heartbreaking? No. Am I more me? Can I see the world with more perspective? Do I have less housework, or someone to share it with… and who does cute little dances whilst emptying the dishwasher? Can I sometimes pause the decision making in light of having someone there to “take the wheel” in my place? Do I “fit in” more to societal norms? Can people more easily put me in a box? Do (well-intentioned) friends worry less about how I am doing? Yes.

I’m a journaller. I actually have four journals. One Chris and I write together, a solo one I used to write in all the time, a writer’s journal that gives story prompts, and a prayer journal I keep at work and write in when I have quiet moments. I decided to look back in my prayer journal and a few years ago, I was grappling with whether I was “in love with” or “just loved” Chris. I knew I had feelings, I just didn’t know where to categorize them. And then, today when I took out my journal to reflect and pray, I read the bottom line… “God is love,” which is part of 1 John 4:16. This makes me think about where love comes from in a bigger sense.

I would argue that “God is love” is the beginning and end of it all. I mean, there are complexities and theologies, and philosophies, and many very detailed and systematic and chaotic perspectives on life and love and the divine. I think it all boils down to love – EPIC love. So, the reason I know how to love at all is because I am made from love and to love and to feel love from God and through people and pets and sunsets and salvation and sanctification and sacraments and all of it.

And then I think of all the hate that religious people sometimes have. I think of extremists and self-righteous pharisee-like people who cheapen God’s love by preaching law with no gospel… okay, I am showing my Lutheran stripes there… but that old song “They will know we are Christians by our love” is something I think some Christians need to reflect on. I hate the way we get painted with the same brush and I want you all to know that to me, love is really the thing… and if people don’t talk about God’s unending and relentless and undeserved love, they’ve missed the point. IMHO.

And the other kinds of love… there’s how much I love good carne asada burritos. San Diego style, no beans and rice… meat, pica de gallo, and guacamole… and that’s it. A good cuppa coffee (I am working a graveyard right now, so my coffee is all important). A crisp breeze on a warm day. A warm house on a cold day. The knowing smile we can share with friends who know us well. Zoom D&D with new friends and sometimes with family too. Playing jackbox games and chatting away with people I have known more than half my life and feeling love that only grows. Hanging out in swimming pools, lazy rivers, and at the beach with my nephews and niece in San Diego. My brother and I sitting on a small couch together holding our mum’s hand as she breathed her last breath. The excitement I feel when chatting with one of our parolees who is doing REALLY well. The compassion I feel when chatting with a guy who is not doing so well. A nice cheap glass of Naked Grape Luscious Red wine. Faith wanting to cuddle up with me when she’s scared of the dishwasher. Luna climbing under the covers with us and creating coziness only a cat can. Board games and puzzles. Good books. All this is love too. And it’s all part of the love I want to celebrate

So, this cheesy holiday that celebrates a certain kind of love, maybe think about the bigger love and all the loves you know.

That’s all (for now)

The Next Year Cometh

It’s 2021. Duh.

I am sitting here on my little couch with my MacBook open, next to my handsome husband with his ToughBook open. I’m writing my first blog for 2021 and he’s writing a review of his 2020. We’re like the people in “You’ve Got Mail,” me on my apple and him on his PC. Thank goodness we don’t have to deal with dial-up America online Internet, though. We had a nice calm New Year’s Day following a nice calm new years eve chatting with friends online. We had yummy pho for supper and the pets are fed. It’s neither hot or cold in our little condo. The only thing I might want to add to my current situation is a cuppa tea and a shortbread biscuit. I am in my pyjamas and I am ready to write.

It’s a time to be reflective when the new year comes. It is time to look back and look forward and examine. An unexamined life isn’t worth living, right? So, bare with me as I examine and reflect, and perhaps even pontificate.

I think 2020 was overall a rather shit year. I mean, some things were great, and I feel very blessed, truly… but for our collective selves, it was what many call a dumpster fire. Yes, it could have been worse… I suppose. More people could have gotten sick with COVID-19 and people I know and love could have died… We were quite lucky to keep our jobs; in fact I was at work everyday during the original lockdown.

I could write a whole blog on just that first 30 days of Covid. The anxiety that I felt walking through the doors at my work was traumatic, and yet the immense gratitude I felt because I got to see people face to face everyday and talk about what we were going through together made it bearable. It was an anxiety equalizer. I remember talking to some of the guys at my work and realizing that the fear of the recent “coronavirus” (before we started calling it Covid, even) was something we were all experiencing together. I remember coming home and washing my hands and changing clothes and sitting down and touching my face with veracity. I watched Dr. Henry everyday and Dr. Campbell too… I started taking Vitamin D again, and wore masks when we were in public places. Chris did all the grocery shopping when we couldn’t do a pick-up, and we usually did pick-ups. He was working from home, and it was arduous. He worried about me at my work, I think… and he was literally tortured by our young adult cat. He did start running more, which was great for him, but it still sucked. I missed seeing friends, but we video chatted. Part of me even thought that it was kind of cool, that as people got more accustomed to video chatting, it might be easier to keep in touch with friends far away.

We had to cancel our honeymoon trip to the UK. I still haven’t met my sister-in-law’s husband or their kids, my nephew and niece. I still haven’t seen London. I will meet them and the aunts and uncles that couldn’t come to the wedding too, and I will be the quintessential tourist (with a British partner) someday… but who knows when.

Skip to now when I miss seeing friends in a way that is truly visceral. I now check Covid numbers on the various health ministry dashboards almost daily. I wear one of my many masks whenever I’m in public. We stream lots (we got HBO now so there’s lots to stream). I just spent a two week vacation with just Chris and me and the pets, and that’s pretty much it. I mean, I saw people through cameras and some when we dropped off Christmas goodies, but not the same. We made the best of it. We got a jar and we filled out little cards of things to do. Some fun, some chores. We would take out 2-3 a day. We did all kinds of fun stuff. We had a beautiful Christmas and I am grateful for it.

But I am SICK of this pandemic. I am very much looking forward to when I get the vaccine (probably spring for me as I am an essential worker) and I long for time in a pub or at friends’ houses without fear of killing people with a virus, or getting it myself.

I also reflect on something slightly hard to write. My mum died before Covid with ARDS which is what people often die from when they get Covid. Hers was from viral pneumonia, which is again very similar. I got to be by her side for her seven weeks in hospital. I was there when she took her last breath… I got to hold her hand. We got to have a funeral for her. If she had been alive during this, I would have had to make choices about seeing her or working… If she’d gotten sick I wouldn’t have been able to see her and Peter wouldn’t have been able to come visit. I am, in the strangest way, very grateful that she didn’t have to suffer this pandemic. That thought makes me guilty and sad, but I have to tell the truth on New Years Day. That’s a thing, right?

I am saddened by all these things, but the sadness… the frustration… I need to find a silver lining. I need to see what I can learn from it to make it a bit better. So, as Clive says, we need to observe and be open to what we can learn from suffering. Here I am now, trying to observe it. What can I learn from the past year and how can I take that with me? This is the question I will reflect on for a bit. I don’t have the answer. What do you think for yourself? What can you take from this and learn? How can you see the good in all this? What are your observations?

Segue…

I want to start thinking of what I will do in 2021. Not resolutions, bleh… but dreams or goals or aspirations. Here’s my list. I’d love to know yours.

1. Read at least 6 books this year (I used to read A LOT more before… trying to get back to it)
2. Write a blog every month!!!!
3. Do 45 minutes of “exercise” (according to my apple watch) and get 10,000 steps 6 times a week (I’m pretty close to this now already… and I’m not going to let my stupid apple watch tell me when to stand unless I want to. I am in control, not the watch)
4. Play as many board games as Chris wants to with me
5. Do not buy any new clothes except at the beginning of seasons. This one will be hard.
6. Find ways to make the somewhat mundane parts of my job more meaningful (meetings, anyone) and see my vocation in all of it
7. Trust that when I mess up and don’t do something on my aspiration list, know that it’s okay. It’s not about performing and it’s not about being good… it’s about being authentically content, knowing that sometimes the world sucks and sometimes it’s me that sucks.
8. Hug everyone I know as soon as it’s okay. (Be prepared, and be warned.)
9. Take pictures of little moments
10. Go to church as soon as I can again, and open my mind and heart as much as I can to what God is teaching me… now and always.

So, to sum up (hehehehe) I am focusing on gratitude and learning from 2020 (kind of the same as always) and I am looking forward with some aspirations, but I know I will mess things up… and it will all be okay, and I will do it again next year.

Love you from my head to my toes… thanks for reading.

That’s all (for now).

Anniversaries

So, today is one year since my mum ‘left us.’ That is a sugar coated way of saying she died – yes. She didn’t choose to go. She was ready because she had to be, but she would have stayed if she could have. She wanted to be here for my wedding, to see her grandkids grow, to have another Christmas or ten. She was a celebrator of anniversaries. Of all kinds.

My dad, on the other hand, is not. When I send him a happy birthday message or a happy fathers day joke or something, his response is almost always, “you know I don’t celebrate anniversaries.” I usually smirk and remind him that he sends me a happy birthday email every year.

Back when I was a student, and devouring topics related to anthropology and sociology, we talked about rites of passage and the importance they hold in human culture. Shichi-Go-San in Japan, the quinceañera in Latin communities, the graduations, birthdays, weddings, baby showers, etc. All these are representations of life’s moments and how we celebrate the passage of time. They are all important ways of remembering, making memories, and celebrating life. So, today as I celebrate the anniversary of my mum’s death I embrace the anniversary of holding her hand, crying with my brother, and saying goodbye to a love that held me in sad moments and celebrated with me in happy ones.

When she was young, she travelled a lot. Have I ever told you the story of her smuggling an amphora from Turkey wrapped in a baby blanket? I am looking forward to seeing her slides from her travels and remembering her stories of all the men who wanted to marry her. And then there is the calendar. She was a tourist, and had a short lived modelling career in her 20s.

Can you tell which one is her?

She loved this picture and it hung on every wall she ever had. I celebrate her as this lady pretending to wash laundry for a Turkish calendar. I celebrate her spontaneous singing and her dance moves. I don’t have pictures that can capture those. I celebrate her quirky style assertions- I cringe, but I celebrate them. I celebrate all of who she was. She could get me riled up like no one else. And she loved me like no one else.

Today is not a day for her, though. She isn’t here to celebrate. I will do the things she would have loved to do today. I am wearing her yellow shoes. I am going to spritz a bit of her favourite perfume on myself later when we go to her favourite restaurant. I celebrate her saying, “let’s go somewhere nice for supper, like Red Robin!” Hahaha. I will let myself feel the sad thoughts, but try to focus on the happy anniversaries we shared.

I will carry on her tradition of celebrating all the special days in life, but I may not decorate the house for Valentine’s day like she did. I will continue to feel the levity of celebration and the community that comes with marking a day in a special way.

I love you and miss you, iMum.

This is the post I need to write

This is the post I need to write.  It’s not colourful and fun.  I don’t have morsels to share.   I just need to get these words out. I guess I need you, my dearest… my family… to know.  

There might be some lessons in it, and I think maybe some hope. But, I know it’s gonna be a bit tough to read.  I guess that’s a bit of a warning.  Proceed with caution, but please proceed.

Here goes.  

I have nightmares that mum is still alive and even in the dream I know it isn’t real, but I still wake up shaken.  

A few weeks ago, I was jokingly saying “help me” while Chris tickled me and I suddenly heard her voice crying out for help days and hours before she died.  I can’t jokingly say that anymore.

The last truly awake moment she had was when Paul and I were with her.  It was September 3rd 2019 at 11:30 am or so that Paul walked in and she said, “Paul, you’re here…” and then looked at me and back to him and proclaimed, “and so is God.”  He smiled and laughed and said, “yes He is!”  Then we decided to do a simple communion service.  She listened to what Paul said very intently and spoke the words.  The confession, the words of the Eucharist. The words of the Lord’s Prayer that she taught me when I was little.  She took communion and she smiled.  

She knew she was dying.  We all knew.    

Then lunch came, and her favourite at that… a peanut butter sandwich and a sliced banana.  She savoured a few bites.  We didn’t know it would be the last thing she’d ever eat.  She started choking a bit while eating, and had trouble breathing.  Her stats were low…. Her oxygen needs the highest they’d been.  100.  

She started calling out, “HELP ME” with an intensity I will never forget.  The nurses rushed in and gave her morphine, and she settled and slept again… and then Paul and I sat there.  There were words, I am sure. Eventually he left that day… and I continued to sit.  I sat all day with her… watching her hunched over as she fought to breathe.

I sometimes got up and walked around her room.  I went to the washroom occasionally. I smiled at the nurses and care takers who’d been giving her the oxygen and everything else she’d needed (including friendship and laughter) for the previous seven weeks.  I phoned and talked to friends.  I invited people to come and see her for the last time.  I texted my brother.  He was on his way.  

I held her hand some.  I wanted so much for her to wake up, but I didn’t want her to have to go through the suffering of waking up again.

I looked out the window and watched cars driving by.  Chris brought me meals.  And hugs.  I looked at pictures.  Friends visited.  Teresa, Audrey, Brooke, Danny… we hugged, we cried… they said goodbye to a woman who had lived so very fully… so well… so hard… so tender.  They loved her as I did.

She never really woke up again after that time with Paul.  She would come out of her morphine induced rest and cry out for help, try to get up out of bed, and the nurses would rush in.  We discussed not letting her wake up again by continuing to give her high dosages of morphine.  We were waiting for Peter to get here.  

The Sunday before she died, she and Dr. Lawson and I had a real talk.  She didn’t want to go on the Bi-pap machine. She was ready to see her brother Doug and her parents.  She sat me down and said, “Now, you’re not going to like this, but you need to listen.  I am going to die soon.  They’ve put in a catheter and they’re going to increase my morphine so I don’t suffer.”  I nodded and smiled.  I didn’t like it, that was true… but I knew she was right and I knew her decision was the best one.  I was going to be strong for her.  I was going to be with her till the end. She would not be alone.  She spoke with singular clarity.  She was not fierce, but she was sure.  She was not angry, but she was determined.  She was not afraid, and she wanted to console me.

“You are going to be okay.” She’d said.

Eventually I went home that day.  I got Faith-dog cuddles.  I played with Luna… the kitten my mum never met. She saw pictures of her and said she couldn’t wait to meet her, but that was all long before September 3rd.

I woke up again on September 4th.  I made my way to the hospital.  I took the elevator up. I washed my hands and smiled at the nurses and other staff.  I checked in with her nurse.  We all knew that it was the day.  We were just waiting for Peter.  

I got a coffee from Tim’s.  I sat on the little couch near the window in her room, next to her bed.  Next to her.  I held her hand.  I was determined she wouldn’t have to suffer waking up again.  In the afternoon, Chris came and sat with me.  We talked.  We held hands.  The nurses came and went.  The room got cleaned.  

I started packing her things.  Her sleep mask with cat eyes, her toiletry bag, her iPad… things she loved.

She did wake up again, and cried out again.  I hated every second of it, but I also savoured the moments I had with her.  It was a strange bittersweet emotion. I couldn’t take away her suffering, so I just told her I loved her over and over. Chris thinks he heard her say I love you too.  I am not sure.  It was painful – for her and for me… for everyone in the room.  

And the nurses and doctors, overall (one exception mum nicknamed Dr. Gloom) were amazing.  Dr. Lawson was kind, warm, and real with us.  He told us that there is a new perspective in medicine that not just the person in the hospital bed is the patient, but the whole family.  So, he was our doctor too.  I was so grateful for all they did to try to save her.  I was so grateful that she made the choice she wanted.  I was so sad to be losing her.

She had talked a lot about making it to my wedding.  She had been determined.  It didn’t happen.  I mean, she was there in Peter and me… and Linnéa and Karmen and Freija… she was there in a photo locket tribute I carried on my bouquet.  She was there in the spirit of three tattoos, all in her honour that all have POL (her mantra, “Part of living”) in them.  She was there in the stories, the memories, but SHE was not there.  I am okay with that.  I didn’t know that I would be.  I was.  Thankfully.

So, September 4th.  Peter and Kate were hurrying – driving from Seattle to Port Angeles, taking the ferry… finally arriving on the in the evening.

Paul came again.  He sat with Chris and me.  He gave us words of comfort.  Chris went to walk Faith and feed the pets.  Peter and Kate arrived.  It was dark.  We planned with the nurses how things would go.  I hugged my dear brother and gave him some time alone with her.  Chris went and got us Wendy’s.  Mum would have loved a frosty.  We munched and even joked a bit.  It was a momentary reprieve from the sadness.  She would have loved being with us, fully herself, for those moments… She’d have been the one joking around, singing, dancing (how only she could) and lifting all our spirits while simultaneously creating slight cringing in her kids.  She was a character.

I walked around outside a bit.  I felt everything and I was numb simultaneously.

We gathered together and the nurse started administering more morphine.  A little bit later she turned off mum’s oxygen.  We sat and held her hands and held each other.  We sang hymns, Paul read scripture.  We laughed and we cried.  And she started to fade.  The increased morphine made her breathing slow down.  She wasn’t gasping for air.  She wasn’t suffering.  She was asleep though… we couldn’t look into her eyes and tell her we loved her.  

We loved her so much.  We love her so much.

At 11:11 pm, a time which I’ve always thought was magical, she stopped breathing. Apparently, she opened her eyes.  I didn’t notice that.  Kate and Paul said she looked at Peter and I.  I didn’t notice that.  

“Well done, good and faithful servant.” Paul said.  We cried.  We hugged.  We felt it all. It was visceral.

And in that moment, my world changed.  I mean, it had been changing slowly as she declined… but suddenly I was not her child anymore. I mean, I will always be her child, but somehow I was more on my own.  I felt the shift of generations changing.  I became the matriarch of our little family.  No matter how old I am, she will always be with me.  

Strangely, I’m grateful she died September 4, 2019 rather than May 4, 2020. I’m grateful we could surround her in her last days and not have to wear masks. I’m grateful she wasn’t here to experience this pandemic.

Everywhere I ever go, she will be there, too. I will see the world for her too. She not only gave me life in a literal way, she has – through her life and death inspired me to live.

I love you mum. Happy Mother’s Day.

Migraine weather and rearview mirrors

Warning: Proper Rambling Ahead.

Hello friends.  It’s been a long time.  I haven’t visited these pages since November of 2018.

2019 was an epic year in that I am a very different person now, with a different name even.  A quick recap:  I started 2019 with friends and family… went to the Keg with Mum on New Year’s Eve, in fact.  Then in February of 2019 she got a diagnosis of lung cancer.  I was there with her through the tests and procedures, surgery and healing… she was getting better and her condo renovations were coming in the summer.  She got a cold and was pretty sick on her 80^th birthday, and then it turned into viral pneumonia.  That’s hard enough to fight, but her diminished lung capacity made it even harder.  I waited overnight with her in the emergency room, and visited her every day while the doctors tried to figure out what was going on.  My strongest woman in the world mum was not doing so well, but we all knew she was going to get better…

We’d been planning a road trip to San Diego so Chris could meet Peter and his family and some friends down there, and so we could have a bit of a holiday.  I arranged for friends to visit my mum in hospital and her friend Teresa was ready to take her home from the hospital when they released her.  It was a hard trip down because the hospital doctor (who came to be known by the nickname Dr. Gloom) in the hospital said she was likely to die soon… I asked her nurse straight out how much warning we would have of her death and she said about a week, so we decided to go on out trip… after many tears in an Oregon gas station parking lot.  My amazing friends here went to go visit her in my absence, and she and I and she and Peter and she and ALL OF US FaceTimed a lot while we were down there.

We also had a car accident down there (that was decided was my fault and I have no way to argue it) where they considered my car a total loss, so when we got home we had to get a new car.  And we came back and the reality was Mum was getting worse.  I visited her every day in the hospital after we returned, was there with her when she got bad news and when there were occasional glimmers of hope.  She was determined to be alive and present for our wedding in November, but that was looking less and less likely.  In fact, she did die before…  On September 4, 2019 at 11:11 pm.  I was there.  Peter was there.  Chris and Kate (Peter’s wife) were there.  Paul (my friend / pastor) was there.  We sang hymns.  We laughed.  We cried.  That night might get more attention later in a full blog post all about what went down… but for now, I’ll move on.

Pause for a deep breath.

Then we had the funeral and started the process of clearing out her place.  And then it was all about the wedding.

The wedding: Chris and I got married on November 9, 2019.  It was amazing. No day can ever be truly perfect, in my experience, but that day was close.  It was so overwhelming to see the faces of my life… the people who have made me who I am (with a few exceptions, as not everyone could be there) looking back at me as I married this man.  Chris has many amazing traits, and those of you who know him will understand… he’s funny and sweet and kind and smart and perfect for me.  That day was a culmination and also establishment of our lives together.  Faith stole the show, we got some pictures I don’t absolutely hate, I saw people I hadn’t seen in over 20 years, we received God’s blessing on our choice to do life together.  It was beautiful.

Then it was the busy Christmas season and New Year’s again.

And now it’s February and the cherry blossoms and crocuses are blooming in Victoria.  AND IT’S MIGRAINE SEASON FOR KARLA.

Another pause for a deep breath and now a little slow down… recap complete.  Now we start for realsies.

I’ve been thinking a lot about who I am, and in that reflecting some on who I was.  Back in the first week of January, Chris and I sat down to do a year in review.  I looked at all the calendar entries that said, “mum’s doctor appointment” and fell quickly into the ugly cry.  I had a cathartic “memorial” cry, then we quickly moved on to plans for this year.  What do we want more of?  What do we want less of? I have had more time to think and I feel like the chaos of and the refocus brought about by 2019 made me forget a bit about who I am. I didn’t read much.  I cried much more.  I had many good times with friends and family, but the times with friends and family took over.  My understanding of my work shifted, in fact the guys I spent the most time with at work changed.  My “homefront” changed as I have a new roommate and a new kitten. I didn’t go swimming – like really swimming – like counting lengths swimming.  There are a lot of new things I really like and I am so grateful for… but I need to remember the old things about me that I loved and that made me who I am.

I need to look forward to where I am going, but I also really need to look back a bit and remember where I have been, who I was, and make sure to preserve the things that were important to me, about me.  I need to look through the windshield and at the rearview mirror.

Those of you who have done some recovery work might be familiar with the term “rearview mirror thinking.”  This is where someone in recovery dwells on the past, either by glamourizing it like “ah, the good ol’ days…” or lamenting over mistakes and regrets, which can debilitate anyone.  Alternatively, people try to forget the past and move on completely, sometimes cutting themselves off completely. When we are trying to move on in life and embracing sobriety or life change, it’s important to look forward more than look back, but we can’t forget where we came from.  When you’re driving, you need to look forward mostly, through the big windshield in front of you, and occasionally back through the little mirror.  When you’re changing lanes or turning, you need to make sure that things are safe all around.  So, because so much is changing for me, I need to look back and look around.  I think this year’s theme for me is remembering who I was and who I am.  Last year took me away from myself a bit, not that there was anything I could have done to prevent that, and not that it was unhealthy… but I need to come back and keep going.

So what were the things about me that I loved the most?  Hmmmmm.  I think stories and books and music and movies and staying up late writing and taking Faith for long walks by the sea and around a lake and swimming and concerts and pubs with the girls and slow times mixed with fast times and feeling proud of what I do for a living and summer beach volleyball on the roof of a pub and drinking wine on a Friday night and then sleeping in on a Saturday and then making breakfast whilst listening to music that moves me and loving romance and Romance and run on sentences.  I have so many visceral memories of all those things.  Of me doing those things, breathing, yearning, seeking, finding, and learning.

Breathe.  Where is this headed, Karla…?

Last night we went to hear Mandy Len Catron speak about her article in the New York Times about 36 questions that can produce closeness and in many cases help people to fall in love.  Back before I met Chris, I had discovered this modern love podcast, and read about this “recipe for love,” anxious to try it.  And I remember laying at the Sooke Pot Holes with my cousin Karmen and talking about falling in love.  Then when I met Chris we did this reciprocal questioning over texts… sort of a deep question and a shallow question trade off to help us get to know each other.  We made up those questions, taking turns… For example, “What is your favourite breakfast cereal?” and then, “What are your favourite things about yourself?” We went deep but we also asked silly questions.  After all, we are deep people who also want to experience brevity.  There might have even been some questions about turn ons and fantasies and stuff.  GASP!!!  Then, for our first Christmas together, I made him a board game based on the 36 questions Mandy talked about in her article, plus some others that I thought would elicit romance and love.   I made a board game. So, making board games and trying new things and being creative.  That is who I was.  When was the last time I did something like that?

So, now…  I am on my lunch break at work.  I am staring out a beautiful blue sky.  I am looking back a little bit.  I am also looking forward.  This week we’re taking a mini-break.  We’re road-tripping.  I’m going to see some of the dearest people on the planet this week… we will talk and philosophize and pontificate and ruminate.

I will look all directions as I move forward.  And this is my plan.  I will reminisce and reflect and remember me.  I will fall in love with me again and then, when I get there, I will see that I am still me and that hasn’t changed.  That I do love me and my life now… I just have had a rough time followed by a very happy time recently – but those times changed me and took me to a new place.  I need to explore this new place with the old me.

I will continue on.  I will not be stopped by seasonal barometric migraines.

That’s all (for now).

Being matched, dream revelations, and wills… oh my!

Subtitle: some romantic drivel.

Note* I’m writing this on my cell phone late at night with no gasses on. There will be errors. There won’t be any cool gifs (I do love cool gifs). I might ramble. You’ve been warned.

So, I got engaged a month ago. I’m happy, blissful, content, and still appropriately angsty about things not making sense in the world (American politics, anyone?)

But tonight as I lay here summoning sleep, I remembered a YA book I read a few years ago where people were matched with their soulmate by a dystopian government pretending to be a utopian one. I don’t remember details. It was YA so it was romantic and there was melodrama. You can read about it here: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Matched

So, anyways, at one point in my life I might have desired to read my own personal “love book” or have some kind of bar code tattooed that only my soulmate could read (I know…too much YA, Karla), but as any good dystopian YA reader can tell you, you need freedom of choice to find happiness. Duh. But still. There’s something kind of tempting about having it all predestined, right?

I think back to before… on the unrequited love, the disappointing kisses, the heartbreak, and of course the (not wanting to admit it to myself) knowledge that I could only really open up to love when I was in the right place with myself.

Yup. True dat.

If I’d met Chris when we both lived in Japan at the same time, or when we both worked in the board of trade building in Bastion Square at the same time… using the same corridor and stairwell even, it wouldn’t have been what it is now because I wasn’t me now and he wasn’t him now.

I had a dream after we’d been dating a few months (when I was lamenting that we hadn’t met sooner) and my brain processed this lesson in the dream. We’d met and fallen in love and married and it was twenty years later (now) and we were unhappy. He was cruel (IRL he’s the kindest guy I’ve ever met) and angry… he didn’t laugh (IRL we laugh all the time) I woke up realizing that all the life experiences (good and not good) have made us who we are and now… it works. We get on. We have great times together. We teach each other. We are silly together. We are planning our wedding and having fun with it.

We met when we were both 42. It’s just right. The bad stuff in our lives have made us good for each other now. He’d say this is all very stoic of me.

And then there’s this thing about not having to change my up high lightbulbs (even though I f%*€ing can), and being able to have an executor for my will, and someone who I choose to be my family, and someone who loves me even when I have stinky farts (Kraft dinner, need I say more?)

These are the things I “need” now that I didn’t know I needed. I realize I need Chris, not because I can’t live without him, not because I depend on him, but because he’s my person. I’m better because of him. He’s better because of me.

So take from that what you need to and thanks for reading. You’re awesome!!

That’s all (for now)

Happiness, Contentment, and Joy, and Stuff

Yes, you read the title right.  I am jumping off the HIGH diving board…  into the pool below.  The abyss that is perhaps the ultimate quest for us humans.  We search high and low for the achievement of a deep breath upon reflection of how our lives are.  We find ways to fill our cups and be able to look in the mirror, recognize the reflection, and feel with great certainty that we are seeking the right things in life.

The other night, I was asked, “Are you happy at work?”  A simple and fairly innocuous question, right?  One I might quickly answer with, “yes, thank you.” But this time I really thought about it, and have been reflecting on it since.  What creates a feeling of happiness at work, in relationships, in solitary silence, in the abyss that is time and life experience? What is happiness, and how do we measure it?

A few years ago I posted a blog (which was on the previous platform that I used for blogging, and is no longer accessible to me… BOOOO) that was a response / review to the Simon Pegg film, Hector and the Search for Happiness. When I watched that film the first time, I was in quite a different place.  I was in a place where I “felt” happy, but I wondered if I was really just plain ol’ “happy,” like content and fulfilled, and stuff?  What Hector learned in that film, and what I learned along with him, is that happiness is not where we’re headed, or getting the next thing.  Happiness is the journey, and seeing what I have now, right in front of me.

So, here’s the exciting news.  Now I can say, with abandon and with certainty that I am happy!  Truly, completely, wind blowing in my hair, good cuddles on a cool night, belly laughter filling the room — happy!  I get to work doing something I really care about, I have a home I love, I have good relationships with all the people in my life, I have a great guy who challenges me and asks me the big questions and really wants to hear my answers, I live in a place with seasons where I can see the beauty of nature, and I’m on an island with beautiful mountain views. I have opportunities to seek and share truth with people, I have places to go and things to see when I have a shitty day. I have a full pantry, the best bathtub, a decent bank balance (along with a decent credit card balance, I should add), and I have this dog who basically worships the ground I walk on and a cat who reminds me that he is to be worshipped.  Really, I have everything I need because of what God has done for me.  Now what?

Have you ever looked up happiness in the dictionary?  I just did.

Positive emotions, contentment, joy, good fortune.  Hmmmmm.  Taking a deeper look at happiness, I realize it’s also about fulfillment, and yes, JOY.  I’m gonna look at these more deeply.

Let’s start with contentment.  To me, contentment is that feeling… after a good healthy supper (with a not so healthy decadent dessert), when you’ve just had a nice hot bath on a cool night, put on cozy pyjamas, and climbed into a soft (but firm) bed with a fluffy comforter, and taken a deep breath and just “fallen” into it, and you have a good book to read.  Contentment is the lack of worry or anxiety.  It’s kind of the feeling I had my first night in my new condo, knowing I could do it.  Not that it would always be easy, but that somehow like the mountain that was getting the place to begin with, everything would be okay.  That was a good night, even though I was sleeping on a mat on the floor, I had boxes all over the place, and my cat Max was meowing like crazy… I felt contentment.  I felt like I had everything I needed to “be me” at that moment.

Fulfillment, I would describe as seeing the fruit of my hard work.  When I received my certificate and saw the note *with excellence next to my name on the list of graduates, I felt like all that work was worth it.  I spent hours and weeks and months and in the end two years agonizing over research and articulating my thoughts well in writing and being able to apply the concepts of chaplaincy in my work as a chaplain.  Fulfillment is when a guy comes in for a counselling “session” with me and walks away feeling better, having a clear goal for now.  Fulfillment is when I just cleaned my coffee pot and then make a cup of the best dark roast coffee ever.  Fulfillment is when I have just cleaned my house thoroughly and I’m running a bubble bath.

Joy.  So, when you plan to do something fun and you are excited and looking forward to it, and then have a good time, that’s a great feeling, right?  And then there are those moments when you run into old friends unexpectedly, get some good news from someone you love, accidentally choose the best thing ever to watch on Netflix, go to a concert and get teary when they play a love song you remembering hearing and wondering if it would ever be real for you, and in that very moment realizing it’s real for you now… So this unexpected and serendipitous happiness, that’s joy to me.  It’s a happiness that you can’t expect.  Some might say joy comes from the divine, and that can certainly be true.  Joy can also be when you are preparing for the worst and the best happens.  It can be sudden and it can be growing, but it’s kind of bigger than just being happy.  Right?

Having reflected on happiness, joy, and contentment, let’s now consider the opposite.  When we make choices in life, we choose the whole package.  CS Lewis wrote in his book,  The Problem of Pain, when we choose love, we choose pain.

This week I read an article that was an excerpt from Mark Manson’s book The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck: A Counterintuitive Guide to Living A Good Life.  In this section, he talks about how the struggle we choose might actually be as important as the good things we seek.  I couldn’t help but reflect that this is much like what CS Lewis was saying.  When I took this job that I love, I was also choosing to mourn more than I ever have in my life.  I was choosing to expose myself to actual danger.  When I chose to move to Victoria, I was saying goodbye to the people I knew and loved, not knowing whether I would make my place here, and yes… everyday in a relationship is the choice to feel and take that chance… something bad could always happen and those difficulties are part of the happiness.  I would go as far as to say that life is void without pain.  Pain is how we know we are alive.

An aside… when you read something of mine, you know you might find a segue to theology… just give me moment here… There is this evil in the world… the prosperity gospel, the theology of glory… it really messes us up.  It teaches that if we do this right thing, in many cases choosing a particular religion, that our lives will suddenly fit as we’ve always hoped they would.  If our faith in said religion is strong enough, life will be bliss.  This haunts us and steals our happiness, because life is hard and the world is not how it’s meant to be…

Anyways, happiness.

We can be happy even when the world isn’t as it should be… or even when we are in the midst of pain, even when we don’t have a ton of hope…  right?  So… in a sudden conclusion and an attempt to learn from you, the wise people I love on this planet… please share your thoughts on happiness and what it all means to you.

That’s all from me (for now).

The Chaplain in Pyjamas

Hey guys.

So, this month is a big month for me.  I am now certifiable (according to Salvation Army standards) as a chaplain.  I have done all the schoolwork and I will soon have a certificate to hang on my wall.  I might actually get a few frames to hang my bachelors degree, my certificate in chaplaincy and spiritual care, and Faith’s St. John’s Ambulance certificate.  Hahaha.  Remember that scene from Garden State in the doctor’s office with all the degrees on the wall, and one on the ceiling?  Yeah.  Not there yet, but on my way.

I’ve been a chaplain since November of 2014, but for the past two years I have been working full time as a chaplain AND studying the best practices and philosophies of spiritual care in a pluralistic world.  I have learned a ton and I am so very grateful for the experience of being a student again and learning from wise and compassionate instructors, and with the most fun group of chaplains on the planet (IMHO).  Shout out to #TheCoolChaplains.  I am most grateful that my employer sees such potential in me and has paid for this course and this growth in me, not just professionally, but personally.  How could it not trickle into everything else?

And I am elated with the fact that I am done.  Like, I am singing in the shower.  Like, I have a spring in my step.  Like, I am waking up not completely stressed out.  I’m so happy to now be able to just be again… but I have to remember what that means.  I have learned a ton.  I have researched and written papers and explored my vocation…

Now what?

This week I have had less of a burden.  It’s not like the school work was that hard.  It was challenging, but doable, AND it was always there… it was something lingering above me, kind of weighing on me.  I am so much lighter this week in my interactions with the guys I work with as a chaplain, I am a better Spiritual Care Coordinator.  This made me think… what else could make me better?

COMING TO WORK IN PYJAMAS, THAT’S WHAT!!!  Not really, obviously.  I do love pyjamas (I own way too many pairs) and someone dear to me likes to call me the chaplain in pyjamas. So, this was the inspiration for this post, really.  How can I become a chaplain so comfortable that she feels like she’s in the coziest, cutest, and funnest pattern of pyjamas.  (Yes, I know funnest is not a word. However, you love the quirky chaplain in pyjamas who uses words like funnest… you know you do.)

But seriously, what else can I do to be fully comfortable in my own skin doing work that is so important and so close to my heart?  How can I be fully and authentically me, with all my ENFP quirks and stuff, and still be professional, compassionate, present, encouraging and enthusiastic with our guys here? How can I make sure that I laugh when I need to, cry when I need to, be a friend and support to the staff, be an active member of the leadership team here, and recruit and train volunteers?  How do I do all this, and have boundaries for self care and balance in my life?  Hmmmmmmm.

I think the answer is, as it always is to most questions I seem to ask like this… “Just do it.”  Oh… wait… someone is at my door, wanting to talk with the chaplain… So, I guess I am doing it.

That’s all (for now).

Resolution. Revolution.

If you google search “resolution revolution,” you’ll find this SNL video. https://youtu.be/8hjCIHVdcmY  It’s pretty great.  It’s a bit dirty…  if that kind of thing bothers you.  But, it’s great.  Why is it great?  Well, it’s funny because it points out a pathetic truth about humanity.  We like to resolve ourselves that we will be better… ever aiming for perfection.  We usually fail. Like, always.

Every new year when people ask me what my resolutions are, I roll my eyes in their face, and yell… (okay, not really) that resolutions are dumb.  Mine have always been simple:  Don’t make any.  Be the best me.  Know I’ll screw up, but try my best.

But, how do I know what I want to be “my best me” if I don’t think about what I want?  How can I pursue the future I want if I don’t think about it?  I mean, I know that bad stuff can happen and what I hope for can disappear because of my own foolishness or the obvious reality that life can be painful.  I think I’ve always been slightly tentative to claim what I want, though, thinking maybe if I say it (especially in the form of a resolution) and it doesn’t happen somehow I look like a fool, or I have my “heart broken” by life… so, where does that leave me now?

(You’re chanting, “Please gurl, don’t tell me that you have made a list of resolutions and you’re going to write about them in your blog!!!”  Fear not.  None of that here.  Just me, being me.)

So, there’s this guy… Hahaha.  A great guy.  My guy.  He’s a planner. He’s a goal maker.  He owns his own business and is making big changes this year and he’s inspired me.  He gave me a writer’s journal for Christmas.  I have always journaled.  Then a friend told me about bullet journals.  COULD A JOURNAL BE A WAY TO MAKE MY LIFE MORE ORGANIZED, CREATIVE, AND COLOURFUL?  Then I went to the store in search of a green leather bound journal.  Then I bought a work journal and a life journal that are neither leather bound, nor green.  Shit.

I want to change the way things were going… December at my job is always stressful, because… Christmas.  I love Christmas, but I was kind of starting to hate Christmas.  Though things were less stressful in some ways this year, I felt quite drawn and quartered by life, work, school, etc.  I was darn close to burnout.  I don’t want to burn out.  I do love my job.  I love my life more and more all the time.  I don’t want either to get the best of me.  How can I put things in order a bit and still be a flaming ENFP?  Spontaneous, enthusiastic, slightly disorganized, not so detail oriented… loveable and sweet, but slightly inattentive at times.  Yup.  My blessing.  My curse.

There’s this.  I like to make lists of things I have to do at work.  I like making shopping lists.  I like making cleaning lists.  I like crossing things off my list, or in my notes app inserting the “green tick the box” emoji.  You know.  You like crossing things off lists too. Guess what… that’s a bullet journal, kind of.

I can have the goal of journaling more… yeah?  That’s not a resolution.  That’s something that I like.  Resolutions are things you SHOULD do, but don’t want to do.  Rachel, the almost doctor nurse, would say, “Don’t ‘should’ on me!”  But… trying to do more of the things I like, that’s not making resolutions, that’s being more me.  Then I thought about how great I feel when I make it to work on time, everyday.  Then I thought about how I loved doing Pilates in the mornings.  Then I thought about how I can be more intentional about the choices I make at work, which ultimately define my job.  I am required (in some ways) to give myself direction at work, but if I am not focused on the direction, how can I feel like I am doing my job well? Then I thought about how I used to write a ton, make jewellery, get crafty, etc.  I want to do all those things.

So, I was pulled kicking and screaming (by myself) into the place where I am making goals.  I’m not gonna announce to the world what they ALL are, and I am going to say that I know I will likely not succeed at all of them, but I am at least focused more on what I want.  That’s a good thing.

So, guys, I challenge you.  What do you WANT to do more of?  Where do you want to be next new year?

Kthanksbye.  That’s all (for now)