Happiness...

I was searching through old photos to find something to add here, and this one literally jumped out at me. I can't tell you when I took it... but clearly it had a purpose.

"Maybe happiness didn't have to be about the big, sweeping circumstances, about having everything in your life in place. Maybe it was about stringing together a bunch of small pleasures... Maybe happiness was just a matter of the little upticks- the traffic signal that said "walk" the second you got there - and downticks - the itchy tag at the back of your collar- that happened to every person in the course of a day. Maybe everybody had the same allotted measure of happiness within each day. Maybe it didn't matter if you were a word-famous heartthrob or a painful geek. Maybe it didn't matter if your friend was possibly dying. Maybe you just got through it. Maybe that was all you could ask for." - The Sisterhood of the traveling pants Ann Brashares

Lilly

Im staring at a blank wall right now.

It's been a rough month. For all the posting I did in April, the words were not flowing in May. I was in survival mode, one day at a time. Things are changing, just not in the way I anticipated, and Im not ready to process yet. Hence the lack of writing.

Yet amidst all the chaos, the one bright light in my life has been Lilly. My stubborn, strong-willed, beautiful little bunny who had beat the odds and survived. Its amazing how therapeutic she could be (even while being a royal pain in my ass). No matter what crap might come at me at work, home, or in my personal life, I always had a warm bunny to come snuggle with, sometimes even with her consent.

But last night right around 9 pm, my precious baby was finally given peace from her pain, and she breathed her last.

Taken a few weeks ago when her health seemed to be at its prime

You will waste your suffering if...

This post (part of this series) was written on Sunday, April 7, after a vet visit that significantly impacted how I view suffering. The original article was talked about in a church sermon that morning, and while the pastor only touched on a few of the topics I was inspired to read the entire selection. In doing so I felt God asking me to process my experiences and use it as a framework for reflecting on what I had learned (At that point).

Although there is much I could add to my musings (in the two weeks since it's original conception), I've chosen to leave it in the original form. Part of this process has been documenting my reactions in real time (or as close as I can get). It's important to me not to fast forward through the growth process, and to recognize each step along the way.

Grace in the midst of suffering

This is the next part of this story.

I have to preface this post by saying it is the one I have been dreading writing the most. I get emotional just thinking about that Sunday. Part of this documentation process, Ive realized, is making myself process and heal from the experience. As I mentioned in the last post, God kept me from writing prior to this point. I instinctively knew it was not time to reflect, and I have to believe it is because he has something else to teach me about it now.. two weeks later. But still, its been more difficult than I anticipated to continually put myself back in those shoes. I apologize if this post is more disjointed and I seem less emotionally invested, it's a coping mechanism.

A conversation with a friend via text:

"I'm blogging and hating every second of it. Not because I don't want to write, but because it's so scary and overwhelming revisiting these experiences... I'm scared to write Sunday, I started hyperventilating just thinking about it."

 
Her response:

"[Your posts so far] are both fantastic and I love you for having the courage to put it out there!! Keep being brave, it's not only for you :)"

And maybe that's the heart of the matter. I feel overly indulgent writing these posts. It's so personal and raw, that it feels unfair to burden others with the events of Week Two. But maybe that's the point. If one other person can take heart from my struggles, from my vulnerability, then it is all worth it.

So I will write, stop procrastinating, and write, because week two is where the game began to change.

Thoughts on Prayer Part Three: Where to go and what to do when you don't even know what to pray

And so it begins. I've debated about how best to detail my experiences, and the best that I can think to do is go chronologically. To allow myself to revisit emotions, and experiences as they happened. Some of these recaps will be taken from actual post drafts that never saw publishing. Some will be taken from facebook statuses.

And for the moment, there is at least one critical storyline that will remain untold. I always aim to be transparent. If people will take the time to read my words, I feel I owe it to them to be honest and open. However, one very critical piece of the puzzle must be held back; I am hopeful that in time it too can be shared, but for now, just know I am giving what I can.

Reflections on Match Day 2013

I want to introduce you to two of my best friends:

Cooking Baking Extravaganza 2012

That's Anisha, and we've been friends.. forever. We met in elementary school; a bit competitive as we were both super smart... and we knew it. But we were friends. We then went separate ways for middle school, high school, and, for a time, college. However, I transferred schools, met a girl who became my bestie, and then realized her roommate was best friends with... Anisha. So we became friends again. Graduated. Moved on... until I moved to Miami, where she conveniently was attending medical school. Bam. Instant best friends again, as if nothing had ever happened. She is loving, and caring, and kindhearted, basically everything you could ever want in a lifelong friend.

Celebrating her return from India... in unintentionally matching sweater dresses, tights, boots, belts, and scarves...

This is Molly, and we've been friends... since I moved to Miami. She and Anisha met/became friends in medical school, and eventually attended church together as well. Molly and I had a Chili's date very early on in our friendship and from that first encounter it was if we had been friends our whole lives. She is in many ways the yin to my yang (heck, we even dress alike without meaning to!), and has truly enriched my time here in Miami. There are so many things I probably wouldn't have survived without her support.


Molly and Anisha have been in medical school, kicking butt, for the past four years and something very special happened yesterday:

After months and months and months of applying, and interviewing, and flying, and not sleeping, and stressing, and thinking, and eventually ranking their top programs... they finally found out where they will be doing their residencies and continuing their medical careers. Needless to say... it was an exciting day. As a friend who has somewhat 'traveled' this journey with them, I was proud, nervous, and excited to experience 'Match Day' by their side.


And of course... God taught me a lesson in the process (ain't that always the way!).

The Dating Cleanse, an update

On July 29, 2012 I decided to take a year off from dating.

A lot of factors went into the decision: a small group sermon series on dating and sex, conversations with friends, self reflection on my previous mistakes.

Not to mention the still smoldering embers remaining in my life from my last major relationship blow up. It wasn't something I ever talked about directly, but I hinted here that things had been particularly difficult for me to muddle through.

A lot of thought and prayer went into the decision, but at the end of the day I couldn't shake the feeling that God was asking me to trust him and take some time off from 'relationships'.

I am now almost 8 months in, 2/3 of the way done with this pledge, and I want to reflect a bit on what has happened and the change it has wrought in my life. Fair warning, this may be the most personal post I have ever written.

Thoughts on Prayer Part Two: Or the start of the "Positivity Project"

When God closes a door sometimes there seems to be no real reason 'why', and all we can do is trust it was because there was something scary on the other side we hadn't yet seen... like a rabid dog, or a serial killer.

Source

I had a major setback today.

Once again, details shouldn't, and won't, be discussed on an open public forum, but needless to say something I have been praying over, had friends praying over, hit a major roadblock.

It's been difficult... and life affirming all at the same time.

 I should back up

Thoughts on Prayer: Or why I'm not allowed to think after 11 pm

I've been MIA.

And in Mia... MIA in Mia? Sure. We'll go with that.

Life's thrown a couple curveballs, major ones at that, and it's been a lot to process all at once. not to mention making it impossible to blog. Some excuses are more valid than others.

For instance, having your entire thumbnail jabbing up into your eye causing a pretty severe cornea abrasion that makes it impossible to keep your eyes open: valid excuse.

Getting distracted by new episodes of your favorite shows: not so much.

But regardless, lots of things happening on the other side of the keyboard, things that can't be shared here for a variety of reasons, and it got me thinking about my own worst enemy: myself. More specifically, the part of my mind that refuses to shut off and continues to wander until the early hours of the morning.

Am I the only one who has this problem? During the day, when Im staying busy, that part of me, we'll call her Gertrude, stays firmly put and doesn't interrupt my ability to function. However, late at night, when my defenses are down, Gertrude sneaks out of her confinement and begins pestering me with her doubts and misgivings.

I start second guessing myself, my decisions, my faith, my life, my hopes and fears. Life always seems so hopeless at 2 am with the lights off, in my solitary bed, far away from friends and family. God feels foreign and silent, if not non-existant, and the hope that life will someday improve all but dissipates.

I've instituted a rule that Im not allowed to think or make decisions after 11 pm.

-----

Lessons from Jonah

Source

I'm really bad at Lent. Super bad, some would say. I always attempt to give something up, but in the process slip up once or twice, feel guilty, and ultimately stop trying. So several years ago I decided instead of giving up a vice for Lent, I would take on a good habit. In other words, last year I decided to be more proactive in reading my Bible, making a point to read a few chapters every single day.

Not only did I manage to keep that task up for Lent (trust me, no one is more surprised than me), it has continued now for almost a year. Over time the formatting changed, but basically every morning as soon as I turn off the alarm on my phone, before I check email, before I look at the weather, I open the Bible app on my phone and read at least three chapters. As mentioned here, one of my goals for the new year was to take the time to actually process what I am reading instead of skimming through it like I normally do.

I've been relatively successful; not going to lie, there have been many mornings I've had to continually remind myself Digest what you are reading, don't just look at the words, but every so often something sticks out to me.

I'm reading at the end of the Old Testament right now. Let me tell you, I thought getting through Numbers/Deuteronomy was a chore, I had never tried reading some of the prophets. Seriously, how many times does one group of people need to get told that they are going to suffer numerous afflictions because of their horrendous behavior?? I have been starting every morning super depressed. So when I got to the book of Jonah the other day, I was excited. FINALLY! A story with some plot and intrigue. Yet as I was reading though, a few details emerged to which I had never before paid attention.

Source

Scars

I held a newborn baby at work.

Innocent, fragile, untouched by the world. There is something so magical about the skin of a newborn; soft, pink, smooth, not yet marred by the hazards of the world.

I have many scars, and they all tell a story. One on my right middle finger from the times I sliced out my finger tip using an ice shaver. Or the one on my left forearm from bubbling solder during a stained glass accident. Most scars fade over time, some so small you can barely notice them, but others remain pronounced forever.

One of the things that marvels me about the world is the transformation of innocent newborn to the person they will become. Particularly when I look at those... whom society might not deem as appropriate or desirable. It never ceases to amaze me that often my co-workers and I are willing to forgive the four year old who is cursing and pitching a fit, recognizing that he is the product of his environment and often a victim of poor (or no) parenting. Yet, when we are faced with the 12 year old who is sullen and rebellious, judgment quickly ensues.

We all bear scars, emotional, physical, psychological;  while I believe we are all ultimately responsible for our actions, it's hard not to be feel sympathetic. What about those people who have never known security, empowerment, or unconditional love? Those who have not ever experienced feeling like they are worth someone, or taught right and wrong? When do we start accepting responsibility for helping them see a better path.

I've been thinking about my own scars a lot lately. There are many unpleasant things in my past, events and circumstances I might think I want to forget. It's hard to feel ties to your past, particularly when it comes to relationships. There are things people have done, things that I have done, things that have happened, that still sting. That scar is still there, and always will be I suspect, but acknowledging can be difficult when trying to differentiate between scars and emotional entanglements. When I think about Situation X, does it still make me angry? Yes. But do I consider myself as having moved on and past it? Yes.

For example, there was a significant controversy at my parent's last church.The details are unimportant, what matters it that I was hurt, and my friends were hurt, and most importantly, my family was hurt. Not only were we hurt, but our lives were forever altered and changed. I believe God can bring good in a horrible situation, and I know that no one was truly faultless, but to see my parents and siblings have their entire lives uprooted and changed because of someone else's (misplaced) vendetta. It's crazy how quickly miscommunication and misunderstanding can spiral out of control. What starts as petty rumors are fueled by those who are angry and end up changing the course of a church or an individual's life.

That experience altered my relationship with God. I walked away from the church for several years, uninterested in an organized religion that could be so tainted by bitter and vindictive people. My faith was so entrenched in the 'religious' experience of my childhood that it took me almost six years to rebuild my spirituality separate, though informed by, a structured belief system. Am I still actively angry and bitter at those people? No, by the grace of God. But I bear the scars.

So when things pop up that touch those scars, I react. My hot buttons? Being lied to and then told I'm an idiot/being treated like I'm stupid. People hurting my family. Betrayal from friends. Friendship should mean more than going with the status quo. Friendship should mean trust and loyalty. Not blind trust, but a general faith in the good of the other person.

I bear a lot of scars, in many different aspects of my person. Some are of my own making. Yet, I've learned I wouldn't want to change or remove any of them. They are reminders to me of where I've been and how far I've come. In many cultures, scars, particularly battle wounds, are a badge of honor, signaling the bravery and courage of the person. I view my emotional scars of proof of my endurance and fortitude. Proof that I've taken risks, and I haven't just sat on the sidelines watching others live.

They can just be frustrating to work around when they rear their ugly heads.

Exposing the jugular

Maybe we like the pain. Maybe we're wired that way. Because without it, I don't know; maybe we just wouldn't feel real. What's that saying? Why do I keep hitting myself with a hammer? Because it feels so good when I stop. ~ Grey's Anatomy


I was once accused of being a 'sadistic b****" who got her "kicks off seeing children suffer".



It was an ex who, after having a frank discussion years later, admitted that the comment was reflective of his own pain, not of me. Yet for years the comment haunted me, making me doubt myself. question every decision, every motive. Even to this day I think it and twitch.

A tribute

I apologize for this stream of conscious post. I am deliberately not re-reading and editing. It is what it is, because that is what I need it to be. Unhampered by grammatical and societal expectations. A simple pouring out of my heart as I grieve and process.



We lost a patient this week.


I had a million and one posts to write. Updates on different adventures, funny happenings.

And then I lost a patient.



It's not the first time Ive worked with a bereaved family, in fact, this isn't even the most tragic situation I've worked.

But it hurts more.



We talk a lot about professional boundaries in my field, trying to find a line between building therapeutic relationships and forming unhealthy attachments. It's easy in most cases; we know where our job ends and entanglement begins, and we don't cross it.

It's harder with long term patients. Harder when we go through the journey with them, when we become invested in their future.

This young lady I knew since day one of her treatment. I was by her side for any number of heartbreaking experiences, as well as some truly happy memories. I did education when she was first diagnosed, I accompanied her to surgery when her family wasn't around, I sat and colored with her when she was alone and scared. We knew this day would come, especially when tests came back not positive a few weeks ago, but none of us ever dreamed the end would come so quick.



She passed away, at home, with her loved ones, and I can only guess the rest of us would hope the same.

And I hurt, more than any of the other passings I've worked, because this one IS different. She became a friend.

I wouldn't change one bit of it. I maintained my professional boundaries, but I still grew to care for her immensely. Yet, I do not see how I could have possibly managed to do my job without building that relationship.

We choose pain, the pain of having loved and lost or the pain of never having loved at all.

We choose pain, but it seems to me that the former is what gives life it's meaning. My life is richer because of this young lady, and as sorrowful as I am in the moment, I will cherish the time we spent together, forever value the lessons she taught me.



I'm going to a funeral tomorrow night. The first patient funeral I have ever attended. It will be hard, this I know, but I also have no doubt it will be needed. I started this journey with her, and now it is time to end it. Because her pain is gone now, her struggle is complete. She didn't lose her battle to cancer, she overcame it.



So for tonight, I will be sad, and not apologize. For tonight, I will be grateful that I have a job that allows me to reach out to those who are scared and in pain. I will be thankful that I have such a supportive, loving family, and I will enjoy the time I have with my friends. I will live my life without guilt, because the time we have is a gift. I will remember that even when it feels like Im spinning my wheels. I am still slowly building my purpose with my patients. I will remember that I am NOT perfect, but I do not need to be. It is unnecessary to beat myself up over my flaws, but to instead embrace them.

I will stop fighting for, and chasing after, the things and people who are just out of reach. I will appreciate those who love and care for me. I will never give up hope that life can be a bit better.


Tonight I will appreciate, and tomorrow... and the next tomorrow... and the next, I will remember, my sweet patient, with the beautiful face, the appreciation of coloring, the obsession with Pixar movies, who never let her circumstances define her.

It's no laughing matter.

Prepare yourself for another long-winded  story that somehow has a significant theological/life point at the end.  I call it the Bethany special.

I've been thinking about gas a lot lately.

Not that type of gas. Laughing gas; nitrous oxide, aka the stuff they give you in the dental chair to relax you.

Two weeks ago today I had my wisdom teeth removed. Frankly, I was terrified going in. Not because of the pain and recovery time, not because of all of the adverse side effects of the medications I was under. Not because I was going to swell up like a chipmunk (which thankfully did not happen). I was terrified of the actual process, namely the drugs.

It's almost ironic, given that my job often involves coaching kids through consciously sedated procedures, or reassuring them prior to general anesthesia; that I myself have never been sedated. Perhaps it is that exact exposure that was haunting me. Memories of laughing with parents at the ridiculous thing their children were saying. Having discussions with patients that they had no recollection of later. The idea of having no control or memory of my faculties for a period of time scared me more than I could say. However, on the other side of things, I had heard horror stories from people who were not sedated during their procedures. Was told that the sound of the tooth cracking haunted them to this day.

What to do?

Luckily, my absolutely amazing oral surgeon was very responsive to my concerns and offered up his solution to the problem: a combination of low dose valium taken the night before and morning of my procedure to relax me, followed by an administration of nitrous oxide that would further calm me for the procedure, with no lasting side effects. (All, of course, administered with the actual numbing agent). With his confidence in mind, I agreed to the  proposed plan, still skeptical.

With good reason, as I later found out.

As I took that first valium the night before my procedure, I was surprised to find no change in mental capacity. In fact, if anything, I became more anxious with worry that our proposed plan was going to have no effect. The next morning I took both the prescribed dosage along with the extra "if you need it to relax" pill, hoping the double dose would have an effect. Next thing I knew, I was incredibly jittery. Maybe it was the Valium... maybe my nerves just got the best of me, but either way the medication did not have the desired effect.

Fastforward a bit of time including a drive to the office, a wait in the office, an extended wait in the pre-room where I was informed that my dad had in fact made it to the hospital in time, and a tense waiting period until he got up to hug me briefly before I was taken into the procedure room. The assistants did a great job of helping me get comfortable, they strapped on the gas mask, and the doctor began the numbing process and turned the laughing gas on.

I still do not have the right words to describe my experience, but essentially what began as a nice 'buzz' feeling, quickly spiraled into a complete panic attack. As one part of my mind began to relax and 'float', another significant part was still vitally aware of the gradual loss of control. Almost as if I were commentating to myself the experience:

Hmm... this isnt so bad, I guess he turned the gas on and I feel kind of fuzzy. Almost like Ive had a few drinks. Like last weekend in Orlando, that was a fun weekend, I should call- ok wait... now the feeling is a bit stronger, this is very strange, shouldn't I be more relaxed and not so vitally aware of everything that is going on, this is starting to remind me of the stories my patients have told about being sedated and not having control of their own bodies but still knowing everything that is going on, crap wow, now Im really feeling foggy and can't communicate which is bad because my chest is feeling heavy and Im having a panic attack. SHIT I'm having a panic attack and I can't even tell them because the stupid other part of me is floating on a cloud...I feel like my own thoughts are crashing in around me and Im drowning in a sea of my own lack of control

Luckily this was about the point that the oral surgeon very kindly told me he noticed that I was starting to hyperventilate and lowered the concentration of the gas. Hallelujah, considering the feeling of drowning within myself was not very enjoyable.

Long story short, we got through the procedure with few complications (apparently my one impacted tooth had a 'lovely' surprise of three roots instead of two. That sucker had no intention of going anywhere...). However, at the end of procedure, the overwhelmingly suffocating feeling began to creep back in and they removed the gas component entirely for the final stitches. My dr later informed me he suspected my very fast metabolism had contributed to the odd reactions to both Valium and Nitrous Oxide. Uncommon, but luckily the procedure itself had been low in complications so it all worked out in the end.

So what's my take away point?


I have a very stubborn mind. Ive known this for years, and that experience just confirmed what Ive always suspected. I've attempted to learn to still my mind on many occasions. Meditation, guided imagery, relaxation, you name it, I've tried it. With no success, I might add. I have a seriously difficult time letting go, part of my mind is always fiercely grabbing hold to the present. Even during some of the best times of my life, a part of me can't continue to live in the moment and instead is busy crunching numbers and running data analysis. This is a trait that has also served me well; my ability to truly multi-task is unparalleled, which I in part attribute to my budding OCD (a topic for another post). I turn what could be a tragic flaw into a vital and integral part of my personality. No wonder Im accused of being high maintenance at times! (I prefer the term 'vibrant personality', p.s.).

So anyways, hard time relaxing, that's me. Hard time letting go, right here. Difficulty not dwelling and moving on... absolutely, partially because I am perfectly capable of dwelling AND moving on at the same time. Split track mind.

I have some things going on right now that I can't actually write about for a variety of reasons. Potentially great things, potentially scary things, definitely overwhelming, and causing me to trust and rely on God in a way that I haven't truly leaned on him for almost two years.

But why is it so hard to truly let go of my problems and trust that God is going to handle them?

Is it because I don't believe he can? Absolutely not, my past experiences have taught me that God has a knack for swooping down in the knick of time. If the balls up in the air are the ones he's planned, they will certainly stay up there with little effort on my part.

Is it because I don't think he will? Maybe... what I've learned is that while God CAN come in and save the day, sometimes he  doesn't. And I think he doesn't for a variety of reasons. Sometimes it's because what we think is his 'plan' isn't.  I've been guilty of assuming God has ordained things and not going back to check with him. Or, if I AM in his plan, I've decided how he's going to work things out, and he doesn't always work that way. But sometimes... bad things happens, and we have no control over it, and I don't know that God always does either. If we truly subscribe to the value of free will, then the repercussion is I can act the way I want and God can't interfere without infringing on my free will. If I decide I want to go out and murder someone... at a certain point God can't stop me without disturbing the balance of order he created. The same way he puts the laws of science in motion... which can then present as hurricanes, or cancer,or  rabid lion attacks. Sure, God can, and does, speak into our life to gently nudge us to take a different route to work to avoid the fatal car crash, but sometimes he doesn't. So even if these plans Im facing are God's... that doesn't mean they are guaranteed to happen.

I've learned that a lot this year. Sometimes God might plan things, and then we, as humans, screw it up. Guilty right here.

So these thoughts take up a lot of brainspace (although luckily I can multi task and play solitaire at the same time. Yes, obviously in my mind. What? You mean you don't do that too....?) And Im struggling with the balance.

I think there is some benefit to being concerned. It keeps me focused on God. My urge to get on my knees physically and pray has been so strong in the last month.  Yet, as my post a few weeks ago suggests, needless worry becomes a sickness. At some point I have to surrender control and tell God it's in his hands and Im done trying to 'make' things happens. Because, for me, not having control is the one thing that will reassure me in the long run that I am really in his will.

So in addition to making my daily thanks list (which sometimes makes its way on here), I'm also reminding myself of the ways God has answered prayers in the past. In the ways I had thought, in the ways I hadn't wanted, and in the ways that absolutely have blown my minds.

I'm on the precipice of having my mind blown again, or having my heart broken. Part of the excitement is the unknown. And frankly, what fun is life without that element of intensity? Either way, the only control I have is choosing to ask God to guide me and help me through whatever comes my way.

But keep your fingers crossed... please. And thank you.

A fresh start

I don't always post as much as I intend. Throughout the day random thoughts/inspiration/ideas pop into my head and I think 'Wow, that would make a great starting point for a blog ramble', but inevitably I either forget the topic, get distracted, decide Im too tired to write, or re-evaluate my '2am brilliant idea that keeps me up' and realize that in fact it would only be brilliant to me!

Found here

However, once in a while I get an idea in my head that just refuses to leave until I put it down on paper share it with a multitude of unknown readers. The best way for me to work through my feelings and thoughts are to write them out, a little exercise I learned in college. Writing stream of conscience without much thought to the content and structure can often reveal more about our inner self than we realize. Usually after one of these sessions of spontaneous disclosure, someone tells me that the words I had written were exactly what they had needed to hear at that point in time. So maybe the difference between the posts that get shared and the ones that stay internal are really just God nudging me. Regardless of the reasoning, this is one of those posts.

I'm moving on Sunday. Packing up my bags (or at least the stuff that will fit in my beast of a car) and relocating to Miami for a job at Baptist Children's Hospital. It's an odd turn of events that's landing me at this particular location, one that I'll post about another time (or rather promise the post here and then never get around to it), but as far as my employment is concerned, I am quite confident at this point I am going where God is leading me.

I've moved a lot in the past few years. More than even the normal individual in my age bracket/position in life. Between transferring mid-way through undergrad, my parents relocating several times, going to grad school, and moving for an internship I have lived in a total of six cities and nine houses/apartments in the last six years. I don't regret any of those decisions; my nomad-like tendencies have exposed me to a great number of cultures, experience and people that I would have not encountered otherwise. But moving so frequently has its pros and cons.

Found Here

On a positive note, I've learned how to make friends very quickly. Any introvert-like tendencies were quickly pushed out by a need to fearlessly insert myself into novel groups of individuals and create new social networks. I have become a pro at seeking out opportunities to meet new people and join new groups. However, as a result of having to leave new groups and new friends, I have learned to hold a piece of myself out of these relationships. I often live with an expectation that happiness will not last, and to not depend on those around me to be there when I need it. I don't do well trusting and Im skeptical of people making plans for the future. It is then odd for me to consider this next move as semi-permanent. Clearly, I have no guarantee for how long this job will hold me, but to know that I can jump into things without the ticking time bomb of a deadline hanging over my head, to be able to invest in people, relationships, and groups with an expectation to see a return is mind-boggling. Exciting... but overwhelming.

But with this insight, we move to our attention to the thought that has actually inspired this post- I know I know... too much exposition. Nothing kills a show like too much exposition! (Ten points to the person who can name that reference!)

Moving is inherently a chance for a fresh start. An opportunity to start anew, reinvent yourself, your interests, your relationships and your image. But where does one draw the line between taking advantage of this blank slate... and running from past problems?

Found here

We all have emotional baggage, that is inevitable, and it can be very tempting to not unpack those bags, to shove them in a back closet and forget they exist. That doesn't work so well in my experience. You can't run from who you were.

But starting fresh can also mean a legitimate excuse to distance yourself from things (or people) in your past that need to stay right there, in your past. Here in lies my problem- where does one draw the line between running from your problems and taking advantage of a clean slate?

I am so excited for this new opportunity. This summer has served in part to highlight many things in my life that I've been carrying along for way too long, As I've been going through actual, literal boxes and sorting through the things that I need and don't need, it has struck me how much unnecessary junk I keep retransporting from place to place. This is partially from lack of motivation; it is a serious time investment to go through boxes, re-organize and pack. But another reason is  I am a bit of an emotional pack rat. I keep things for long periods of time for the sentimental value they hold. Not all of these attachments are healthy though, I've realized that there are some items, and the relationships that they represent, that I need to finally release.

Found here

In a lot of ways, there are MANY things in my past that I need to let go of. People. Relationships. Old (and irrelevant) dreams. Allegiances.

Maybe it is in knowing that this may be the LAST chance I get for reinvention that has me taking things so seriously. Always before I knew that another change was on the horizon, and now Im faced with some sense of permanency. If ever there was a motivation to let the past stay in the past, it's here now.

Letting go is hard for me though. It's been a tough summer of finally realizing that just because someone was important in  your life in the past doesn't mean that he or she is meant to be in your future. AND not having someone involved in the present doesn't actually undermine their value in the past.

Convoluted? Perhaps. But it's starting to make sense to me.

Found here

People grow. People change. And they don't always change together or at the same rate, unless serious effort is put in. It's not unnatural to grow apart. That takes some time to realize.

Our opinion of our own self-worth will be reflected in the quality of the people with whom we surround ourselves. If you include in your friends people who love you, respect you, empower you, and build you up- I can only assume that means you believe you are a person who deserves to be loved, respected, empowered, and built up. However, the times in my past when I have allowed myself to be in relationships that undermined my sense of self, bullied, and treated poorly were times when I had very low self-worth. You get what you expect from relationships, you get what you believe you deserve.

So I'm making a concerted effort to prune out the negative forces. To discern which allegiances are tearing me down, and which are building me up. To put in the active effort to sort through the metaphorical boxes and separate the potential from the junk. To leave the past in the past and embrace the opportunities of my future. It won't be easy- sometimes it's difficult to differentiate a friendship on the rocks that just needs a bit of TLC from one that is spiraling down the drain.

My fatal flaw is that I want to believe in people. I want to believe that every relationship can be saved. And some can. There is some damage that can be repaired through humility and hard work.

But some need to be let go. Sometimes a fresh start is really a chance to move on.