Unexpected Places

Where I am right now is about the last place I ever expected to be this year, as 2015 turns into 2016. I'm sitting on the couch of a newly reconnected with former best friend, who is younger than I am, as I babysit her 4 year old son, to earn some much needed extra money. In my 21 years of babysitting, I have never babysat for anyone younger than me, nor did I ever expect to be the paid sitter for someone who was my best friend for 7 years, waaaay back in the day. It's weird. But then again, so is everything about my life right now.

And so I sit, pondering the significance of this year becoming last year, and next year becoming this year. 2015 began better for me than any previous year ever had, and the first six months were absolutely amazing. For the first time in my life, I was actually looking forward to the year ahead, as 2014 turned to 2015. But the last half of 2015 (exactly- beginning on July 1st), turned out to be the worst hell I have ever had to survive in my life. It has been, to say the least, a year of extremes. I have been both the happiest I have ever been in my life, and the most upset, heartbroken, angry, and depressed, I have ever been in my life. Things are better than they were, but I'd be lying if I said I haven't spent the day fighting back tears. This has probably been the hardest day for me in the last week.

So I sit here, in a place I never in my life expected to be, and wonder about 2016. I don't know much, but one thing I do know is that 2016 is definitely going to be different. New apartment, new state, new job in a new field, new people, new things, and a lot of letting go. Is this where I would have chosen to be? No. Absolutely not. This isn't how I wanted the year to end. Not by a long shot. But I took what I was given, and I did the best with it that I could, given my circumstances, and I moved here. This isn't even how I wanted tonight to go, after I moved here. I had planned to spend the evening and weekend with a friend, who was hoping on coming up. I'm sure we would have done something amazing. But he wound up not being able to make it. So instead of sitting home alone- which would not have been good at all- I chose to help out an old friend and make some much needed money. And hey, I got some pretty good babysitting quotes for Facebook, too.

Funny, pretty much nothing about the last year and a half has been expected. My car accident last fall. Meeting him. Falling in love with him. Not getting into the Ph.D. program at Carnegie-Mellon. Him breaking up with me. Certain other things that followed. Moving to Denver. Going airborne in a moving truck. Not going home for Christmas, being here for New Year's Eve. I honestly don't know what to expect in the coming year, either. It will be interesting to see where I am at this time next year. I hope beyond all hope that I'm in a better place in life. I'm definitely doing everything within my power to make that happen.

2016 will kick off with something brand new, that I have never done before. And yeah, it's an extremely Dauntless thing to do. But I'm going to wait to post about that until tomorrow evening. Then on Monday, I go sign papers and work out details and a schedule for my new job. We'll see how that all goes. Just my first week is going to take a lot of being brave. But I'm going to do it. And you know what? I think maybe, just maybe, this might turn out to be a good year, after all. 

Let It Go

I'm writing this in the wee hours of the morning, on December 31st, 2015. For me, it's really still Wednesday. This morning began with me driving my parents to the airport so they could go home to Cincinnati. I was still really tired, so when I got home, I took a nap. I woke up in a bit of a mood. But I got up and started my day, chatting with a couple friends, and realizing I was ready to post my last blog entry. I guess I was more ready than I thought, because it wasn't until about 30 minutes ago, after it was already the 31st, that "today" had been the 30th. This is the first time in over a year that I didn't wake up on the 30th of the month, extremely aware of the date. The 30th was my anniversary date. Yeah, I'm still sad. Yeah, I still have a long ways to go. But I cannot begin to explain what a huge deal it is that it didn't even occur to me that it was the 30th. Or rather, that the date held any significance. Not even a week ago when I made my parents' flight reservations for the 30th. It just didn't even enter my mind until it was already over. And then when it did, I was more surprised that I hadn't realized it than anything else.

I had already decided that I was going to adopt a phrase for this next year. Given all that happened in 2015, and all the other traumas in my life, I had decided the best phrase I could possibly adopt, was "let it go." After all, that's why I moved all the way to Denver. That's why I'm starting a totally new career and a totally new life. No, I didn't choose it because of the song from Frozen, not that it would be any less awesome if I had. But if I want to move on, if I want to have a shot at being actually happy, and being open to the things to come, I have to let go of the past. Clearly, I'm already further down that road than I thought. And, to risk stating the obvious, that's a good thing.

Obviously, it's not as easy as just letting it go. It's a process. And we can't change the past. And we can't entirely remove scars. I can't just let go and get rid of my PTSD. But while I may not be able to completely undo it- I can quit hanging onto it for dear life. It takes work. It takes some doing. It takes some time. But I do have a lot of power. I can move forward. I may be scarred and battered, but I don't have to be a slave to my past.

Along with my many medical quirks, one is that my body creates more scar tissue than the vast majority of human beings. Sometimes that's an actual problem, but usually, it just means that my scars are much more noticeable than they otherwise would be. I've had a lot of surgeries. My doctors have always suggested I use various creams to reduce the size and appearance of my scars. But I always refused. Not because I want to draw attention to my scars. Not because I want people to see them and feel sorry for me. Not because I don't care. To be honest, some of my scars- especially the ones on my shoulder- aren't very attractive. But I want them to serve as reminders. When I look in the mirror, or I look at my hand, or my knees, I see my scars. They're not reminders of all the things wrong with me. They're reminders of everything I've overcome. All of these scars are reminders of the fact that I was in severe physical pain. They're reminders of the months I spent in therapy recovering. They're reminders that I was strong enough to seek and accept help to get better. And most of all, they remind me of the fact that what was broken beyond use is now again useful. Maybe (read definitely) not perfect, but useful. Improved. Better. If I just had more struggles than most physically, I probably wouldn't have been so set on keeping the scars. But because I've had more emotional traumas and struggles than physical, I decided to keep them as visible reminders of everything I've had to overcome.

The key to all of this is remembering that my scars are not symbols of my weakness to hold me back, or to cling to. I shouldn't used them as excuses to not use my hand or my shoulder, or my knees. They're reminders of my strength. They're reminders that I let go of my difficulties there in order to move on and live a new, and healthier life. They're reminders of my strength. And let me tell you, letting go requires a hell of a lot of strength. 

My Someone

I wrote this last night, not planning on posting it. I didn't feel like I was ready to do that. But I guess now, I do. I had planned on posting it in a few months. But for whatever reason, I feel like it's time now. I wrote it after watching The Music Man with my parents last night.

I remember the first (and only other) time I watched The Music Man. It was the same version as this, and I watched it on YouTube while sitting in my apartment while a student at Ouachita Baptist University. It must have been around 2007 or 2008. I hadn't been allowed to watch it as a kid, even though my mother loved it. I think it was something about the con man stuff and "The Sadder, But Wiser Girl." I remember being struck by hearing Kristin Chenoweth sing "Goodnight, My Someone," and how beautiful and perfect it was. I had never heard the song before, and it absolutely mesmerized me. I may or may not have played it on repeat a scandalous number of times for a while. But the words, as well as the melody captivated me, as a perpetually single mid-twenty-something who still dreamed of someone, someday:

Goodnight, my someone,
Goodnight, my love,
Sleep tight, my someone, 
Sleep tight, my love,
Our star is shining it's brightest light
For goodnight, my love, for goodnight.
Sweet dreams be yours, dear,
If dreams there be
Sweet dreams to carry you close to me.
I wish they may and I wish they might
Now goodnight, my someone, goodnight
True love can be whispered from heart to heart
When lovers are parted they say
But I must depend on a wish and a star
As long as my heart doesn't know who you are.
Sweet dreams be yours dear,
If dreams there be
Sweet dreams to carry you close to me.
I wish they may and I wish they might
Now goodnight, my someone, goodnight.

I thought the song would bring me more pain than it did, because after waiting for so long, I had thought I finally found my Someone. And it was certainly not by my own choice that he decided not to be. I'm still struggling with it. Part of it, I think, is that when I said I was sure, that he was it for me, that I wanted no one else, and never would, that it was him- and him alone- forever, I meant it. I didn't mean until I changed my mind. I didn't mean until things got hard. I meant forever. And I knew that wasn't going to change for me. And I trusted him when he said he wasn't going to change his mind either. Even after nearly six months and a lot of gut wrenching revelations about how things went down at the end, and after being truly in "the depths of despair," and quite literally in "the valley of the shadow of death," I have a hard time knowing how to change that. It's not that I think he's perfect. But I do know how great we were together. And I do know that nearly everyone saw it. He was good for me in a lot of ways, and I was good for him. In all honesty, I couldn't have been more committed to him if we had been married. I guess I don't know how to undo that. I don't know how to just move on. I don't know how to just let go of a love and commitment I held so strongly. I think it might be easier for me to let go of that if a guy came along who gave me the hope of experiencing that again with someone, but I'm finding it extremely difficult to just undo that. Take it back, and not put it anywhere else. It's hard for me to imagine a someone else (possibly partly because it took 31 years for this one to come along). And yet, tonight I surprisingly found myself open to the possibility of another Someone, someday. Though ironically, thinking and writing about it right now makes me sob my eyes out, while trying to stay silent so as not to wake my parents before they fly out in the morning. 

The movie went on, to "My White Knight," where Marian is talking to her mother about her ideal man. Unlike a lot of songs in musicals about a person's ideal love interest, this one is actually really spot on and pretty realistic:

My white knight, not a Lancelot, nor an angel with wings

Just someone to love me, who is not ashamed of a few nice things. 

My white knight who knew what my heart would say if it only knew how. 

Please, dear Venus, show me now. 

All I want is a plain man 

All I want is a modest man 

A quiet man, a gentle man 

A straightforward and honest man 

To sit with me in a cottage somewhere in the state of Iowa. 

And I would like him to be more interested in me than he is in himself. 

And more interested in us than in me. 

And if occasionally he'd ponder

what make Shakespeare and Beethoven great, 

Him I could love till I die. Him I could love till I die. 

My white knight, not a Lancelot, nor an angel with wings. 

Just someone to love me, who is not ashamed of a few nice things. 

My white knight, let me walk with him where others ride by 

Walk and love him till I die, till I die. 

The thing is...this was him, exactly. Minus the Iowa thing. But he turned out not to be. Well, almost. Obviously, it didn't turn out that way. I guess in the end he wound up a bit more freaked out by the "us" than had been anticipated. Still, listening to this, I felt less sadness than I had expected. More hope. Or maybe "hope" is too strong a word. I guess at least the idea that maybe there is someone out there for me who embodies this perfectly (again, minus the Iowa part). It's not a song with unrealistic expectations by any means. Just maybe, he's out there. 

Of course, no big musical like this would be complete without some big love song between the two main characters. In this case, it's "Till There Was You." As I was listening to the lyrics, I was expecting it to be painful, but again, it wasn't so bad. 

There were bells on a hill

But I never heard them ringing

No, I never heard them at all

Till there was you

There were birds in the sky

But I never saw them winging

No, I never saw them at all

Till there was you

Then there was music and wonderful roses

They tell me in sweet fragrant meadows

Of dawn and dew

There was love all around

But I never heard it singing

No, I never heard it at all

Till there was you

Then there was music and wonderful roses

They tell me in sweet fragrant meadows

Of dawn and dew

There was love all around

But I never heard it singing

No, I never heard it at all

Till there was you

Till there was you

Yeah, I definitely understood the song. While of course it's somewhat hyperbolized, there were a lot of things about life that just weren't as great until he came along. And then things were so. much. better. But instead of feeling overwhelming sadness, I guess I was mostly just hoping I would feel that again. Yeah, as I write this, my feelings are definitely more mixed, and I feel that familiar mix of heart-wrenching pain, loss, and anger. But the fact that I could even get through a movie like that without losing it, and in fact, feeling the slightest twinges of hope, speaks volumes. I'm nowhere near far enough along to be ready to post this yet. I'm just not...there yet. I'm not even sure where "there" is, but I know it's not where I am. Yeah, I make so much sense. I know. It's a gift. But I'm writing this anyway, because I know at some point, I'll be ready to post it. And it's good to get small victories like this down on paper (stop it, you KNOW WHAT I MEAN) before they fade into oblivion. That way, I can come back and remember. Kind of like the ancient Israelites and their ebeneezers. They built them to remember what God had done. So they couldn't look back with the revisionist glasses we as human beings are so prone to wear and say God hadn't ever done anything for them. Well this is my "ebeneezer," of sorts. It's my draft, to go back and post later, and see...oh, maybe there was a little, tiny glimmer of light back there in the darkness. 

Obviously, I'm posting this before I thought I would, but my points still stand. Maybe it was the writing it that helped, maybe it was something else. I don't know. But here I am, and here it is. Raw, open, honest. I just hope I can continue on in this. I don't feel great, but I do feel better.

On Learning and Growing

This year has been one filled with learning and growing. The first half of the year was spent learning how to be in a committed relationship after 31 years by myself. And let me tell you, that's quite a thing to learn. I did learn a lot in that, and I did grow. It took a lot of courage, but regardless of how it turned out, I did it. Yeah, I kinda wish the whole thing had never happened, but I did grow. Whether or not it was worth it, remains to be seen. Right now, that answer is a resounding "no." But I'm leaving myself open to the possibility that maybe, it will have been worth it in the long run.

After that, it was really more surviving than learning and growing. But that counts. Through all of that, I learned that I could still survive something that was worse than anything else I had ever experienced. I did do some growing too, even in the midst of the surviving. I have had only one panic attack between June 26th and now, and that was August 27th. No panic attacks in four months, and only one in the last six? That's unheard of for me, between my Autism and PTSD and Anxiety disorder. And it's taken a heck of a lot of work. I also learned that I have a support network that is rare. I have so many people who have been rooting for me and encouraging me. Some I have known my whole life, like Melissa, Anne, and Angela, some who are old friends, like Amanda, Christi, and Brittany, some who are newer, like Rowena, Grace, and Chilan, and some, I haven't even met in person yet, like Kristen, Kelly, and Katie. 

I also learned how to find a job outside my field, how to hunt for, look at, reserve, and sign leases for an apartment. I learned how to reserve a U-Haul, how to move into a new place and settle in, with limited money and health- and some fairly severe new injuries, too. I also learned how to interview for a job just hours after a fairly serious accident, without letting on how much pain I was in. That was fun. In the most sarcastic sense of the word. I'm learning how to get around in the Denver area, and am able to go more and more places without directions. I'm learning about what things there are to do here, and where different neighborhoods are. I'm also learning I may want to move to a different area after my lease is up (this one is nice, it's just not around a lot of people and things). I have learned that contacts are best here, because the sun is so dang bright most of the time. Happily, I learned that I could get an awesome printer (wireless with multi-page feeding capacity AND double sided printing- I'm still geeking out over that) for an affordable price, AND set it up to talk to my computer. 

There's more that I have learned, but it would take too long to detail it all. But I think the most important thing is to learn and grow from our experiences. It can be painful as hell. And it can be effing scary. But at the end of the day, it's the learning and the growing that makes us into people worth being. It's the learning and the growing that gives us the hope that maybe, just maybe, things will get better. It's the learning and the growing that tells us how to proceed and where to go. I have no idea what this next year holds for me. But I guess that doesn't much matter, as long as I'm willing to continue learning and growing from the things that come my way. Because that's what matters most. 

Musings On the Idea of Home

My parents arrived from Cincinnati this morning. They're here to see me for a few days, because I couldn't make it home for Christmas. It's nice, being in a new place, showing them around, and running a few errands in somewhere that isn't Cape. But at the same time, it's a little frustrating. There's still so much work to do in my apartment and so much of the Denver area to learn, and I wonder how long it will take this place to feel like home to me. I keep thinking back to last December- it's impossible not to. I couldn't wait to get home to Cape. Home to him. In fact, being away from him made me feel like I was away from home because in a very short time, he had become my home. I even made that song my ring tone for him. I guess that's one reason this all has been so hard. I truly feel like I lost my home. Literally and figuratively. I actually liked Cape. I liked my apartment there. It all did feel like home before him. After  him, I just felt trapped in a nightmare. Cape became toxic to me. And I guess now, I don't really feel like I have an actual home. In some ways, Cincinnati will always be my home. But in many ways, I feel like I have outgrown it. So much has happened, and though I will always be a Cincinnati and Ohio girl, I know I don't really belong there anymore.

So now I'm here, in a strange place, in a new apartment, in a totally different part of the country. I'm terrified of my new job, and I don't have any idea what my life is going to look like here. I can't imagine it. I don't know who my new people will be. I've always been such a loner. I know I can't do that here, especially if I don't want to end up alone. I have to put myself out there. I have to get involved in things. I have to actually build a life. And you know what? That's scary as hell. I've never done that before. I barely even know where to start. I have always been such a planner- it goes with the territory of being an INTJ. Apparently, we tend to plan way further ahead than any other type. It's not that we think everything will happen a certain way, it's just that we like to have something to hold on to in our heads. A Plan A. And B, and C, and Z24. You think I'm joking. I'm not. But now? I got nothing. I start this new job the first Monday of the New Year. But what's that going to look like? No clue. What's my life going to look like this summer, or next year? No.freaking.idea. And that's terrifying. I have always been able to tell people where I planned on being for the next several years. But now I have to do what I really don't do well at all: just see what happens. Um. Can I maybe not?

And in the midst of all of this...I still have that feeling that I'm not home. That I haven't been home since July 1st. In all honesty, it's a very real feeling of homelessness. Something, I suppose, like the Israelites wandering in the desert for 40 years: leaving their old crappy homes behind and not really knowing when they were finally going to get to their new homes. How long will it be for me? What will it look like? I have no idea. And that's where I need to be the bravest; to truly live up to my Dauntless identity. I'm getting better, I really am. Do I still cry? Yes. Does it still hurt more than I can bear? Sometimes. Do I still wonder how the hell I wound up here? All the time. Do I still have to fight the urge to dwell on and over-think things? Absolutely. But it's getting less raw. The depression is more bearable. But dammit, it would be a lot easier if I could see more of a future. Even imagine one that may or may not happen. In fact, that's often been how I have gotten over so many of the traumas in my life- by looking to the future and what was to come. Now? I got nothing. No clue. For all I know, I could be two short steps from the edge of a cliff. It feels like I'm trudging through waist high mud, and can only see maybe half a step ahead. It takes a crazy amount of strength and courage to keep going through all of that. I now have to create a new home for myself, and I don't even know what that looks like anymore. I don't do well with change. I never have. And I have been facing a heck of a lot of change lately.

I guess all that's left for me to do is keep going. Keep trudging along and doing the best I can until I can figure out what "home" even means to me now. And until I can find that. I had never thought so much about what that word actually means before this. I hadn't ever really felt totally homeless, so I never really had the need. Now...I have no idea. So I guess I just see what happens. There's really not much else for me to do. I don't like operating like that, but I don't have a choice. Confusion drives INTJs absolutely batty, and there's still a heck of a lot of that going around in my head and my life. It's amazing I've gone so many months without a panic attack. My anxiety levels have certainly been through the roof. I'm guessing that "home," whatevertheheckitis, will just happen one day, when I'm not looking for it. I'll just suddenly realize I've found it again. So I guess until then, I forge ahead, see what happens, and learn to live with fewer plans and future ideas. And maybe, one day, I'll just realize, life feels better, and I can see a little further  ahead. I guess we'll find out.

When All Isn't Bright...Walk On

Christmas has been a huge challenge for me since 1993. That was the year my brother died. That was the year the Christmas trees stopped. I had always loved Christmas trees. The trip to pick one out, tying it to the roof of the car, setting it up at home, decorating it, and sitting in the soft glow of the lights, with the fresh evergreen scent it always carried with it. Something about the tree was always comforting. I have always been a huge Christmas person, and the thing that made it feel like Christmas, more than anything else, was the tree. Every year, I asked Mom for a tree after that, every year, she said no. Not only did I have to adjust to my brother no longer being there for Christmas, but I also had to deal with losing my favorite part of my favorite holiday. It may not seem like much to most people, but it was a huge deal for me.

After a few years, my family joined ATI, and Christmas changed even more. There was even talk of doing away with the gifts and decorations completely. For years, even after I got out, the Christmas season carried with it a lot of tension between me and my parents. And then came the first year after my sister and I had our falling out. And all the Christmases after. I still loved the season. As soon as I moved out, I got my own tree, and decorated it every year. I started listening to Christmas music Thanksgiving night when I went to bed. I started watching Christmas movies the next day. But without fail, Christmas Eve would come, and I would start feeling sadder and sadder. Getting out of bed on Christmas morning was sometimes literally more than I could bear. In many ways, while I loved the Christmas season, the actual holiday was sheer torture. I never felt more alone than on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, despite being surrounded by family and friends. The sense of loss was overwhelming. As was the mourning for that relationship I had wanted so badly for so many years, and still didn't have. And it got worse with every passing year, as more and more friends- including those years younger than myself- got married and had kids. And then there was me. Just me.

Then last year, out of the blue, he had pretty much fallen in my lap, less than a month before. We'd been dating for two weeks when I had to go home for Christmas, but we were both already planning on getting married. We just clicked. I wasn't thrilled to be away from him on Christmas, but for the first time since my brother had died, I didn't feel so utterly...alone. We were already making plans for this year's Christmas. He was talking about it as much as I was. For the first time in over 20 years, I finally enjoyed my favorite holiday. I had just earlier that year become okay with the idea of being single for the rest of my life. I was 31 and hadn't really dated before, and mostly not by choice. But suddenly, the future looked brighter than it ever had, and I couldn't wait to see what came next.

And then, as you all know by now, it very suddenly and very unexpectedly went very wrong. As the year progressed, the Christmas I had been looking forward to the most, suddenly looked much, much worse than any of the previous ones. By October, I had settled on moving to Denver in December. I had also decided to sell most of my Christmas decorations, and not decorate this year. I had decorated with him last year, on our first date (the first date that lasted seven hours), and the thought of decorating by myself this year was more than I could bear. I decided I'd pick it up again in December of 2016, when I'd be well over a year past the breakup, be at the end of my first year in Denver, hopefully with an entirely new life, and be decorating a new place, with (mostly) new decorations.

Thanksgiving came and went, and I didn't listen to my 80+ hours of Christmas music that I own. I didn't watch any Christmas movies. I planned to go home for Christmas, as always, but even that thought brought me pain. I was supposed to have him with me this year. And there had been talk of a possible engagement around this time as well. Instead, I would be going home, alone. To a household that is in more transition than I can really handle this year (that's a whole other story), to a place that didn't have my brother or sister. I think I have missed my brother more since July 1st than in the entire 22 years leading up to it. To put it in Dickensian terms, his loss is keenly felt. So much more this year than any other year.  Sometimes, a girl just needs her big brother. And boy, do I need mine now. I have also missed my sister more. Or, not so much my sister, as the relationship we never had.

Then my accident happened. I was still planning on going home, but I was going to take several days to drive, because of the pain in my back and kidneys. After being asked to do a second interview for the marketing internship on Tuesday, it just wasn't going to really work for me to spend several days driving to Cincinnati and back, and navigating an airport was going to be rough too. So I gave up the idea of going home, and instead, asked the Loflands if I could stay with them, as we have all grown quite close since November. Miraculously (well not really- they're some of the most amazing people who ever lived), they said yes. I was really sad not to go home. This is the first year in my entire life I have spent Christmas somewhere other than Cincinnati, and with people other than my family. But in other ways- surprising ways- it's been really good.

Today, I woke up in Wichita, and had breakfast with Jerusha, Christen, Missy, Ben, and Becky. The kids were happy to see me this morning, and I got tons of hugs and cuddles from Becky. I still had to get the rest of Becky's gift, so I headed off to Barnes and Noble this afternoon. I usually have all of my gifts wrapped and ready more than a week before Christmas. This year, I hadn't bought any until the 21st, so shopping and wrapping presents on Christmas Eve was a totally new thing. But it was good. Nothing about the day made me think it was actually Christmas Eve. I got back to the house with presents, wrapping paper, and tons of snacks that I knew the kids would love. After an awesome dinner, we went driving around the neighborhood to see the Christmas lights. The day had been so completely different for me, that I had entirely forgotten that I was missing Christmas Eve at Aunt Judy's with the family, until my cousin Anne texted me to tell me how much they missed me, and that they were all talking about how proud they are of me and everything I've done these last few months. Instead of being sad about what I was missing, I realized that being here in Wichita, with friends who survived the same cult, and whose kids are growing up with a freedom and lack of trauma that is entirely foreign to me, completely away from my family and reminders of how things were supposed to be, is probably the best thing for me.

I'll probably go back to Cincinnati for Christmas next year, and be back at Aunt Judy's for Christmas Eve, and my cousin Carol's on Christmas Day. I'll probably struggle again with my brother's absence and my sister's separation. I'll probably be sad again that I'm not a little kid with the Reynolds family at Aunt Debbie's house, sitting on Barbara's lap, or hugging Grandma, or getting my ears tickled by my cousin Tony.

But this year, that was probably more than I could bear. Even writing this was almost more painful than I could bear. I didn't expect it to be so incredibly raw. I expected to write a few thoughts, not sob my way through it. As unexpected as that was though, it's perfectly fitting for my title. Last year, all was bright. This year, it's really not. In fact, I have a hard enough time seeing through to January, let alone next December. It's dark. It's sad. It's hard. Fortunately, I'm far closer to calm than I have been for most of the last six months. I'm referencing, of course, "Silent Night." It was always one of my favorite Christmas carols, even after I stopped identifying as a Christian. I have always found it simultaneously cathartic and inspiring, with vivid, yet peaceful, imagery. All is calm, all is bright. That's how I always felt as a child, sitting in a dark living room, illuminated only by the soft lights on the Christmas tree. When the tree went away, so did part of that feeling.

This year, more than ever, things do not feel bright. Logically, I know things have to be better next year. It would be hard for them to be worse. Even with all the hell I have faced in my life, the last several months have been the hardest of my life. Dealing with this breakup (and a lot of other poorly timed misfortunes), has been the single hardest thing for me in my life. When you wait until you're 31 to get the thing you've wanted more than anything else, have it fall in your lap, be better than you ever dreamed possible, and then get it very quickly ripped away, it does something that other losses don't. It's hard to explain. Yes, dealing with this, has been harder than dealing with the death of my brother. This year, things are very, very dark. I'm not in the desperate place I have been in, and there is a very real level of calm for me (not to be confused with happiness or contentment) that hasn't been there for very long. But they're definitely not bright.

So what to do? To quote an old Rogers and Hammerstein song, I "walk on through the wind, walk on through the rain." It doesn't feel like "at the end of a storm is a golden sky and the sweet silver song of the lark." But I keep going. I often feel alone, but I'm not. I have so many people who support me and love me. Maybe not some of the people I want to support and love me, but I'm really not walking alone. The fact that I'm spending Christmas in Wichita with people I hadn't met in person until just over a month ago is proof of that. My dreams have been tossed and blown, and I really can't find hope in my heart. Things are so much further from bright this year than I thought possible at this time last year, but I'm going to keep walking on until the light returns. Each step takes me closer to the light. To paraphrase an ancient Chinese proverb, a journey of a thousand miles is comprised of millions of individual steps. And how do I get to the end of that thousand mile journey? I walk on.

New Home, New Life, New Year...New Job...

Today, I got a job. And I would be lying if I said I wasn't absolutely terrified. Because I am. Slightly less terrified than I was when I started my thesis, but only slightly. This job isn't in my field. Granted, it's kind of tangentially related to my field, but this job is in marketing. You know how much formal education I have in business? Exactly none. Now yes, the people who hired me know exactly how much training I have in business, and marketing. And they still hired me. And I was far from their only choice. So maybe they see something I don't? Here's hoping.

When I applied for the job, I emailed the owner saying that I have no experience in business or marketing, but I have spent the last 10 years in academia, studying and teaching social history. I told him that, as a social historian, I look at people groups and social movements. Basically, social history is sociology, in a historical context. I've been tearing apart marketing campaigns since my last semester in undergrad, when I was taking American Women's History, and noticed that (at least at that time), P&G had exactly zero commercials showing a man using a Swiffer. Not only was that sexist, it was bad marketing. Even though our society is more egalitarian now than ever before, we do still have certain ideas about gender roles when it comes to keeping the home. We also expect that a single guy's home will be dirtier than a single female's home. In general, women still do more of the housekeeping than the men do. So if a woman sees a man using a good cleaning product, like a Swiffer, she'll still take note and go buy it. But in general, if a man sees a woman using a cleaning product, he'll tune it out as a women's product. As a result, P&G was likely missing out on some sales, because of their marketing. Basically, in order to be successful in marketing, the people behind the marketing campaign need to understand the target demographic, and how they tick. They also then have to explain to the target demographic why they need this particular product or service. Understanding different people groups and how they tick, goes a long way towards creating a successful marketing campaign. Marketing is actually much the same thing as social history, just on a different track.

Another terrifying part of this, is the fact that the job is with a local dry cleaning chain. You know how much I know about dry cleaning? Almost nothing. Rounding down to "nothing," would be more accurate than rounding up to "almost something." And yet again, the people who hired me, know this.

This is where I really have to channel my inner Dauntless. I have to live up to my own nature. I have always been naturally brave. It took me until I was 30 years old to realize it, but I have always overcome things I "shouldn't" have. I have always pushed on. Even when I felt like I couldn't. Even when I didn't want to. Even when I didn't know how. Because that's what I do. I take what comes, and I go with it. Sometimes that's far more painful than others, but it's what I do. I had no idea how I would finish my Bachelor's degree, but I did. Yeah, the last semester I had more C's than anything, but hey. I graduated. And with a decent GPA. I didn't know how I would ever write a Master's thesis. But I did. And a damn good one. Mostly in about 7 weeks. I didn't know how I would survive the last several months, but I did. I might not be happy yet (and I may have very nearly died on the move here), but I'm definitely better than I have been. I'm still more surviving than thriving, but as I establish myself here, I'll get better. Getting a job- even one that terrifies me- is part of that.

I don't know how I'm going to do this job. I'm afraid I'm going to fall flat on my face. But I have to remind myself that I have not misrepresented myself, my abilities, or my background. The people who hired me know exactly where I've come from. They know exactly what my knowledge and experience is. And they're looking for someone to mentor. They're not expecting me to come right in and immediately perform like someone with an MBA and 10 years of marketing experience. They know I'm going to be doing a lot of on-the-job learning. And, if worst comes to worst, at least it's another thing on my resume, and a paycheck for a while. But hey, maybe I'll find that I'm really good at this, and I really like it. Maybe I'll find that I really like the people I work with. Maybe I'll find this is a great fit. Maybe it'll be great experience and will lead to something better. But I'm going to have to be truly Dauntless here. Get in there, learn, and see what I can do.

This is where I really want to cower in a corner and cry, "But what if I fail?" And I hear Taylor's question again in response, "But what if you don't?"

On Goodbyes and Farewells

Last week was a week of goodbyes. I said goodbye to Brody and Miles on Monday. I've been babysitting them on and off for about 3 years. They're (usually) pretty sweet boys. Brody knew I would be moving away eventually, and he was always worried I'd move without telling him goodbye, but I made sure not to do that. He's the only kid I ever babysat who constantly asked if he and his brother were behaving well enough. It cracked me up. Miles, talks a mile a minute. He's adorable, with his little glasses and speech impediment, but I'd be lying if I said there weren't times I sometimes wished he came with a mute button. The goodbyes were sad, but they were okay.

Tuesday, I said goodbye to Liz and Chloe, my friend Krissy's girls. Krissy and I have known each other since we were both kids in Cincinnati. They had lived in Cape for about 18 months by the time I moved there 5 years ago, when her girls were 2, 4, and 5. I loved those girls a ton. Liz and Chloe were always ready with a hug, while Phoebe always refused to hug me just because she could. She didn't dislike me. She was just stubborn. This past October, Phoebe suddenly died of a rare heart defect that is exceedingly hard to diagnose, and always results in a very short life. She was almost 7. My heart broke for that family, because I was about the same age as Liz and Chloe when my own brother died in 1993. I have lived through that hell, and now a family I know and love is there too. I'm not gonna lie- it didn't help my depression any, and Krissy and her mom, Denise, knew it. They knew how hard Phoebe's death was for me, and not just because I loved Phoebe, but because I know what that is like. And sometimes empathy can crush more  than the actual pain. And in this case, it did. Especially since I was already in a weakened state. But in any case, I said goodbye to the two girls, and to Krissy, and told them they could always call me if they ever needed to talk. I'm gonna miss those girls.

Wednesday was the day the goodbyes tore my heart out. I said goodbye to my boys. My boys. Sam and Nathan. They both cried and asked me not to go. They both hung on to me like little leeches who didn't want to let go. And I cried too. I held Sam on my lap and told him I'd loved him since he was 3 months old. That I spent hours at a time laying on the couch with him sleeping on my chest as I read. I also spent more Valentine's Days with him than I can remember. Though my dating life was non-existant, I could always count on having Sam as my Valentine's date. Then they moved away from Arkadelphia, and I was so sad. But I got him back a couple years later when I moved to Cape, and with him, his 1 year old brother Nathan. I got to rock Nathan to sleep, much as I had Sam, years before. Nathan would give me smiles and hugs that could melt even the coldest heart. He's always been a charmer. Problem is, he KNOWS it. But both of those boys- Sam with his harsh, judging look, and Nathan with his minion-like giggles- totally grabbed my heart. Whenever I saw them, they would run up to me, yelling "Miss Kathleen!" and give me huge hugs. Sure, they had their moments when they hated me, and I had my moments when I wanted to wring their necks, but I have always loved them so much, and they have always loved me. And saying goodbye to them like this broke my heart. I wasn't supposed to be leaving them behind because my life had become a nightmare, and I was leaving to get out of it. I was supposed to be leaving because I had gotten into a Ph.D. program, and was moving on to the next phase. I left their house, and I went home and sobbed.

Thursday, I said goodbye to my class. I taught the last lecture for I don't even know how long, and told them goodbye. Then I went to say goodbye to the amazing people in the history department. They have all been so good to me. So supportive, so helpful. They all wished me the best, and some told me they couldn't wait to see how I would succeed in Denver.

And now, I'm here. I'm in Denver, away from those people in Cape. The whole thing has been a very different kind of experience. I was honestly too depressed to look forward to anything, including leaving, and having to say goodbye under such awful circumstances was definitely not fun. But now, away from that place- that town that had become so incredibly toxic to me- I feel the closest thing to peace I have felt since the Duggar scandal broke in May. I feel like maybe, I can make it. Even here, I'm surrounded by friends and family. And though this is not how I would have chosen for things to go, and this is not where I would have chosen to be living right now, I know that I did the best thing I could have done, in leaving Cape behind, and moving to Denver.

I'm not thrilled with things right now, but I finally am able to believe that next year, at this time, things will be so much better. And that's what I'm holding onto right now, because saying goodbye to one thing, means saying hello to something else. And I hope that something else is better than I could have ever imagined. Time will tell.

It Begins

I'm long overdue for a new post. I've had a dozen in my head over the last couple weeks, and I'll likely go back and write them in the coming days and weeks, in between writing current posts and updates. Tonight, I'm already tucked into my warm bed, with my flannel sheets, in my new room, in my new apartment, in my new city, in my new state, in my new life. This is my fourth night here. So much has happened in the last few days, it feels like months. I suppose I'll start at the beginning. As I hear, it's the very best place to start.

I left Cape on Friday, December 11th, shortly before 5pm. My friend Ryan had come to help me with the move. Ryan and I have a special sort of bond that two people rarely share, and he's extremely protective of me. He's always looking out for me, he's always got my back. This was no exception. He was driving my 26' UHaul, with my car strapped to a trailer, overnight, all the way to Denver, so I could be there by noon Saturday for an interview. We talked on and off, and then, after a few hours, I started to fall asleep. I slept on and off for several hours, aware that we were making good time, and feeling very safe in Ryan's hands. I remember waking up in the middle of the night, adjusting my position, and going back to sleep.

I'm suddenly jolted awake, terrified, screaming, "RYAN!!!" at the top of my lungs, aware of him screaming my name, and putting his arm out in front of me, trying to protect me. All I know is that we are no longer on the road, and there is something huge right in front of us. We hit it, and suddenly, we are entirely airborne, and as I'm yelling, I'm thinking, "This is it. This is how we die." And there was nothing I could do about it. Not only that, but I didn't even really know what was going on. I had been asleep literally two seconds before. The truck hits the ground with a sickening and painful thud. I'm immediately aware of PAIN, and finding it very hard to breathe. For a second, I actually think my spine has snapped, right at the top of the lumbar area. I feel like my rib cage has collapsed, and I am finding breathing painful and difficult. I remember Ryan yelling and asking if I was okay. I screamed, "My back!" And he's saying, "Oh God, I'm so sorry!" I'm expecting everything to be a mess: the truck, my car, the trailer, all of my things, Ryan and myself. But the truck keeps going. Ryan pulls it over on the other side of the road, and stops. He gets out, checks the truck, my car, and my trailer, then comes and opens my door. I'm in excruciating pain, and struggling to even breathe, but I ask about my car. I'm fully expecting it to be totaled. I was pretty sure the straps had snapped, and the car went flying off the trailer, rolling over a time or two. Somehow, it was fine. As I found out later, only part of the plastic trim around the wheel well had popped out, and that was easily fixed, and one of my 8lb hand weights had knocked a small hole in the plastic of the trunk door. That was it. I get out of the truck, knowing that a lot of what I was feeling was muscle pain, and I was worried that if I didn't stand up, my muscles would seize in a hunched position, potentially suffocating me. I was out for about 5 seconds before I went completely blind from the pain, and could feel myself losing consciousness. I asked Ryan to help me back in the truck. We continued on, 400 miles from Denver. Ryan had asked if I needed to go to the hospital, but I needed to get to Denver for my interview. There was obviously no more sleeping for me after that. Every time I started to drift, I would jerk back awake. I was aware only of my intense physical pain. The rest was a numb shock. Shock that we were still alive. That all vehicles were fine. That it had even happened. I didn't even really know WHAT had happened. A few hours later, Ryan explained that we were passing a rest stop, and a temporary merge lane took him by surprise, as he didn't see it until a truck was too close for comfort and honked its horn. As he tried to get over, the trailer started to fishtail, and he realized he was going to have issues keeping control of it and avoiding the truck. He told me later that he felt so helpless, realizing he had two options: go right and crash into the truck, or go left and crash into the police turnaround. He chose the latter, also then convinced we were going to die. I think that wound up being the single most terrifying experience of our lives, for both of us.

We got to Denver, my mother thanked him profusely for his protective instincts and handling the situation so well. I was in excruciating pain, but after getting into my apartment, I changed my clothes, put on my makeup, and left for my interview (which went very well, though I haven't heard back from them yet). I got back, and we unpacked and unloaded things, with the help of Amy, Chilan, and Jeremy. By the end of the day, we had made some decent progress, so Ryan and I went to dinner at Park Burger, one of Denver's awesome unique restaurants, and then we went and I bought a couch; a "grown-up" piece of furniture, to replace the grad school stuff I had left behind.

Both of us went to sleep that night, exhausted and sore from the events of the day. Sunday, we were joined by my cousins Scott and Valerie, and long time friends Rachel and Sean, and their three kids, who brought us dinner and left me with lots of food for the next few days. I felt so blessed, as Ryan put together my new dresser (the old one hadn't made it through the accident), Scott broke down and threw away my old one and helped unpack and throw away boxes, Valerie organized my kitchen, Rachel fed me, and Sean set up my tv and technical stuff.

Monday, I went to see my cousin Sarah, who is an amazing acupuncturist in Boulder (if you live around here, look her up- Sarah White Stillman- she's awesome!), and she checked me over and did her work on me. She told me to take it easy, as my body had been through quite the trauma, and it looks like I have an inflamed or bruised appendix. As I spent most of that day and Tuesday resting, I had time to reflect on the events of the past few days. I noticed that I actually wasn't mad that I lived through a near-death experience: proof that my depression is lessening. I realized I hadn't cried since leaving Cape (HUGE improvement there, lol). I realized I was starting to look at the future without a complete and overwhelming sense of dread. I'd be happier if I didn't have to take it so easy right now, with all of my injuries, but I'm okay. A little of the sadness has started to catch up to me again, but I'm doing okay.  I look out the window at all the snow, and I feel...serenity. Something about snow always makes the world seem new and more peaceful. I've no idea how things will unfold here in the next days, weeks, months, and even years, but I'm looking forward to seeing what happens. A new life, a new place, a new (Star Wars pun NOT intended) hope.