On Letting Go and Moving On (Blog #1001)

Last night’s blog was #1000 in a row. (Woowho.) And whereas my average post takes about two hours to write, last night’s took four. I think it was five in the morning when I finally published it, shared it to social media, and wound down. While writing I told myself I was going to go for a celebratory walk when it was all said and done. However, later I was so tired that I never made it past the end of the driveway. Still, I played some music on my phone and danced under the new moon. Then I came inside, curled up in bed, and promptly began snoring.

This is how I party.

This afternoon I helped my parents clean our house–dust furniture, wash dishes, scrub the bathtub. Honestly, this was the perfect thing. One because it’s easy to let things pile up, and cleaning is a good opportunity to throw this away, put that in its proper place. Two because it was a reminder that life goes on. Just because you’ve had a big milestone (or tragedy) doesn’t mean there isn’t trash to take out. Indeed, these are things I’ve often encouraged (preached) here–getting your relationships in order, taking out your emotional garbage, moving on with your life. I have a friend who’s insistent on taking down their Christmas decorations the day after Christmas. This is the same idea. Like, the holidays are over. What’s next?

Along these lines of moving on, this afternoon in an effort to get some wrinkles out of one of our area rugs, I tried ironing it. Y’all, this was the wrong thing to do, since apparently the rug had some plastic in it and plastic and heat don’t go together. “Crap,” I told Dad, “I just melted this corner like the Wicked Witch of the West.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “We’ll put the coffee table over it. Besides, it’ll give your mother an excuse to buy a new one.”

“I’m really sorry,” I said.

“Get over it,” he said. “It’s not important.”

Still, I started to self-flagellate. I should have known better and all that. But recently I’ve been asking myself the question, “How long do you want this to last? How long do you want to suffer?” Like, when someone cuts you off in traffic or cheats on you with your best friend, you know that AT SOME POINT you’re going to stop crying about it and start laughing. Even if it’s twenty years from now. (If instead you know that you’re going to be stuck right there in that moment forever–bitter, angry, resentful, and unforgiving for the rest of your life–that’s a problem.) Anyway, my point is that you can decide–I’m going to be upset about this for an afternoon, a week, or a month and then let it go. Getting back to the rug I screwed up today, I decided I’d let it go within the hour.

And I did.

Consequently, although I ruined the rug, or at least one corner of it, it didn’t ruin my day.

My suggestion: try this technique with something small before you try it with something big.

After my dad and I put the coffee table on the melted rug, I started thinking about all the other things in our home that are less than perfect. Like, the wood under the kitchen sink is rotted out because the sink’s been leaking and we just found out about it (we shut the cabinet door so no one will see the damage). The sheetrock in my bathroom has hole in it from where we hung one too many heavy objects on a screw (I positioned a large shelf over the hole). There’s termite damage on one of the baseboards in the sitting room (we put a futon in front of it). Anyway, my point is that things are always falling apart on planet earth–houses, material possessions, relationships, bodies. And whereas I don’t recommend covering all the damage up strictly to maintain appearances (because some things should be repaired or handled directly), I do recommend not getting stuck when things aren’t perfect. I do recommend moving on.

Because if it’s on planet earth–if it’s a material object–it wasn’t DESIGNED to last forever.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Sometimes we move with grace and sometimes we move with struggle. But at some point, standing still is no longer good enough.

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On Being Disrupted (Blog #623)

After twelve days of being on crutches, I’m officially over this one-legged life. Granted, at my parents’ house, it hasn’t been that bad; they’ve been awesome about helping me out. Dad, will you bring me breakfast? Mom, will you plug in my phone? But now that I’m house sitting for some friends, I’m all alone and have to do everything for myself. (Harrumph.) And whereas it’s going well–last night I managed to successfully get into and out of their hot tub AND shower AND navigate their stairs–everything from bringing in the morning paper to transporting my coffee cup from the counter to the kitchen table is a big damn effort. You should have seen me moving their trash can from the street to their garage this afternoon.

Hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life.

This afternoon I went to the hospital to get a copy of the MRI I had done earlier this week on my knee. This should probably be a daily requirement for me, to get out of the house, since it forces me to get dressed, interact with others, and not feel sorry for myself. And y’all, interacting with others is EASY when you’re on crutches that have been decorated with holiday tinsel. (The ones in the photo above are the ones I use INSIDE, since the decorated ones are kind of “messy.”) But seriously, all sorts of strangers talked to me today. Oh, I love your crutches. How festive! Now THAT’S making the best of a bad situation.

That’s me–always looking on the bright side.

Along with the MRI images (which came on a CD), I got a copy of the radiologist’s report, which described my ACL has having been “disrupted.” I assume this is the medical term for “fucked up,” and a quick Google search seems to confirm this. When I first read the report, I thought, Oh good, that’s better than a tear, but no–I don’t think so now. Disruption is apparently a serious separation. Like, think earthquake.

Think my life.

Here’s a random picture from the MRI images. Naturally, I have no idea what I’m looking at here, other than some part of my knee. But I picked this image to share because I think it looks like the face of an old man–see the two eyeballs? Also, I think it looks like something from outer space, like two black holes, an entire mysterious universe just below my left thigh. Granted, it’s an entire universe that’s currently–um–disrupted, but hopefully we can get things put back together soon.

Fingers crossed.

Another thing the report said was that I’d been experiencing constant pain since the time of my injury. This isn’t true at all, and I assume it’s just a medical “hiccup.” My chart at my primary care physician’s says I have “anxiety” even though I don’t, I guess because I see a therapist. Oh well, shit happens. But my point is–yippee–I haven’t actually been in pain. All this disruption, and yet it’s not AWFUL. Granted, it’s inconvenient, and earlier when I misstepped on the stairs and came “this close” to tumbling all the way down, it was terrifying. But mostly this ordeal is simply causing me to slow down, take better care of myself, and reconnect with the good humans around me (and that includes my parents). And that’s a good thing.

To be clear, I’m worn out by this disruption. The last fourteen months have been FILLED with sickness and disappointment, and my knee injury is just one more thing. But I do feel supported–if not by my leg, by my friends, family, and my therapist. The last time my therapist and I talked, she said, “Everyone who goes through this process of personal and spiritual growth walks through hell–and by that I mean every circle of Dante’s Inferno. But the reward for walking through hell is a level of generalized contentment that most people never experience.” And whereas I have some proof of this being true based on my personal experience, I’m largely trusting her experience that things are going to get better. (She hasn’t steered me wrong yet.) This, I think, is a reason to keep going, the idea that entire universes may fall apart, but they can also come back together again. Perhaps even better than before.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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More often than not, the truth is a monster. It gets in your face and makes you get honest. Sometimes the truth separates you from people you care about, if for no other reason than to bring you closer to yourself.

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