Just Do It

If there's one thing I've learned in the last 8 months it's that life is  f r a g i l e. It's so easy to get caught up in believing that you've got your whole life ahead of you -- the long, [mostly] happy and healthy, [generally] disaster-free life where you fall in love, get married, have kids, have a career, and die of old age. We forget that tomorrow was never promised to us and that life can drastically change course in a split second.

The fact is, you never know when a bomb is going to go off. You don't expect a best friend to get a terminal cancer diagnosis, or your marriage to explode, or to get t-boned by a maniac in a stolen Prius going 90 mph. For a long time I believed the lie that the really devastating things happen to other people. Friends of friends. Close enough to cause me some discomfort without really having a direct impact on my life.

Consider me humbled. Anything is possible and I am not immune.

As a result, I'm learning to hold loosely to things and take nothing for granted. Things are things and can be replaced. Plans can change without it being the end of the world. Other people's opinions of me are none of my business (and I'm much happier not caring what they are, anyway). I'm learning to relax my grip, let go of my need for control, and take things as they come. I can't afford to waste time sweating the small things anymore.

This change in perspective has been a pretty serious wake-up call for me. Life is far too short to waste it creating a long list of "maybe someday"s. Someday isn't even a real thing. So now I'm constantly asking myself questions like why not? and if not now, when? I cringe at the thought of leaving this life with a bucket list of things I never got around to doing. I'm the only one that can make them happen. And so I find myself with this new, super cliché, Nike-esque just do it attitude. Because I can't come up with a single good reason not to.

Instead of talking about doing things I want to do, I'm figuring out how to make them happen. For me, that most often looks like just booking the trip or buying the Justin Bieber tickets. It's getting my Pediatric Nurse certification and applying for my dream job. It's training for the half marathon. It's dying my hair pink and blue and purple and whatever color I happen to feel like dying it next. It's trying new things and going places I've never been. It's letting my dreams get big and doing whatever it takes to make them a reality.

I'm not endorsing a frivolous, irresponsible lifestyle here. I'm simply pointing out that life can tend to get away from us. If you want something, find a way to make it happen. Don't make excuses not to do the things you love and dream about. Go get them, because chances are they won't just fall into your lap. Life is fragile, and you only get one. Make it count while you still can.


"Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing at all." - Helen Keller

Thoughts from Boston to Denver

There's something about flying, about looking down at the world from 40,000 feet that always tends to put me in a philosophical mood.

The past few months have tempted me to close myself off in so many ways. In crisis mode, it's self-protect, self-protect, self-protect, and avoid any and all situations that could potentially land me here again. It's living life on chronic defense: limit and/or eliminate all potential threats. But is that fair? Is it right? Is it really any way to live?

In Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, the main character, Newt Scamander, makes a simple comment that has stuck with me ever since I saw the movie: "My philosophy is that worrying means you suffer twice." I've heard similar phrases an annoying number of times before, and most of the time I'll still tell you that "don't worry" are the two most useless words you can possibly say to an anxiety-prone person. Maybe it's because of how blunt this particular word order is, or maybe it's simply because it was written by J.K. Rowling -- regardless, and for some reason, this thought has stayed with me.

I could easily construct a shell. I could live in such a way as to eliminate as much potential for pain as possible. I could let worrying about whether or not I'll wind up hurt again dictate how I live my life. It's the safer option, and honestly, it's the more appealing one most of the time.

Or.

I could live with my heart wide open. I could allow this experience to open me up instead of close me off. I could do all the things that terrify me, knowing full well that I could eventually wind up hurt again. I could put myself out there and claim what is rightfully mine: life to the fullest.

I want to be the kind of person who believes the best in people. Who gives the benefit of the doubt. Whose vulnerability inspires vulnerability in other people. Who comes out on the other side of pain and heartache stronger, kinder, and braver instead of weak, bitter, and fearful.

I first came upon the following quote while reading Brené Brown's Daring Greatly, which I very highly recommend if you haven't read it. It paints a powerful picture and has really been challenging my way of thinking as of late.

"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly..."
- Theodore Roosevelt, "Citizenship in a Republic" (emphasis mine)

This is how I want to live my life: daring greatly. Bravely. Courageously. BIG. Closing myself off would serve no one, least of all me. Could I get hurt again? Sure. But something tells me it's a risk worth taking.

Disclaimer: this is not a consistent desire right now. Most of the time I still prefer the idea of closing myself off so I never have to feel anything this terrible ever again. But I'm working on it. I don't want to live scared. I don't want to operate primarily out of fear. What's the point of a life lived carefully? I want to heal and I want every good thing life has to offer me. I want the joy that matches this deep despair. And I'll get there.

I'm already on my way.

Broken

This morning I read a devotional by Ann Voskamp and came across this thought:

"Never be afraid of being a broken thing...unless a seed breaks, there is no life."

I have two initial reactions to this:

The first is encouragement, because I feel so broken. I so badly want life to come from this brokenness, and I want to be comforted by believing it will come. But the second reaction is bigger and is exactly the opposite: discouragement, because I feel so broken. There is a lot of fear surrounding that for me. It's so much easier to say something like "don't be afraid of being broken" if you're not broken, or if you were broken a long time ago. But if you're in the thick of it? When every single day feels like the waves are beating you against the rocks, but you can't escape and you can't drown? When your only option is just to feel it?

The small part of my heart that is capable of hope loves this idea. But my heart is still very much in the breaking process, and a large part of me feels like this statement belittles that in some ways. I want this break to result in life, I'm just not in a place where I can see that yet. One of the hardest things in the world for me has been hoping for something that I can't believe is true. Hoping for life and healing when all evidence is to the contrary, when all I feel is pain and anger and grief. And I find myself wondering, what good has getting my hopes up ever done me anyway?

My perspective on this flips constantly. This is far and away the hardest thing I've ever done. I've never hurt this badly. Pessimism and hopelessness are so easy, and they're comfortable. Familiar. I am grieving, heartbroken, and angry all at once. There is absolutely no pattern or system, so I never know how I'm going to wake up feeling, or when it's going to change, or when something will trigger some random memory or realization to add to the giant pile of things I'm having to process. I never knew it was possible to feel and believe two (or more) completely opposing emotions at the same time. Let me tell you, it absolutely is. Most of the time I feel completely crazy.

But there are glimmers of hope. When I feel discouraged, and when I think about how impossible this all seems, and when I don't feel like I'm strong enough, I remember that I am doing this thing that feels impossible. I've been doing it for months now. Has it been pretty? Not even close. Have I done and said things I regret? Absolutely. But I am stumbling, tripping, falling, and crawling my way through this the only way I know how. One minute at a time. I'm stronger now than I was in August. Knowing that is encouraging, but also exhausting, because I still have a long way to go. But I'm doing it.

When I think about a seed breaking and a sprout forcing it's way out of that hard shell, I think there's no way that wouldn't be painful. Probably unbearable, actually, if plants felt pain. But the process is necessary and the result is worth it.

And I so desperately hope that's true for me too.

The World

This is the world.
It's a mess.
People are going to do some terrible things.
But they'll also do some pretty great things.
There will be devastation.
But there will also be beauty.
There is life and there is death.
There is love and there is heartache.
A lot of things will fall apart.
Most aren't fair.
A lot of things won't make sense at first.
Some never will.
The important thing is not to let the bad cancel out the good,
Or the fear blot out the hope,
Or the pain reduce the probability of finding love again.
This is the world.
It's yours for the taking.

- k.n.