Home Is Being Known.
I went to call her on my cell phone.
There was no one else on the second floor of that miniature hipster coffee shop. Perfect. It would be converted into my office for the day. I ordered my usual latte, dispersed my belongings all around the ground and on top of the table, and propped myself on the couch with legs sprawled out horizontally. I was ready to tear through some of the things on my to-do list, many of those tucked under the “medical logistics” heading I had neglected for several weeks now. I despise dealing with those things with such a strong passion because there is nothing that drives me up the wall more than being placed on hold for hours, feeling like I have medical bills I can’t single-handedly afford, not getting the right information, or being given the round about of circular answers. Most of the time, anything medically related completely stomps on my shut down switch because it tires and overwhelms me. God must have decided to shower down a little extra grace that afternoon because by hour three, I was making some serious progress: new cardiologist found, accounts set up, appointments made for the next three months, insurance providers contacted, and medical records and history in hand with access at the click of a button. They were simply baby steps and small victories, but nonetheless, what I imagine winning the lotto scratcher might be like in the game of adulting.
Hello, How Are You.
Hello, can you hear me?
I get bad cases of friendship loyalty.
I had no idea how he could be so calm about it. We’re going to call him Charlie. Charlie was calm, and I was over here wanting to shout out a million curse words that looked a lot of %^#$@!%$!# while at the same time roundhouse kicking someone in places that would hurt like hell (and I’m not talking about butts). It’s not in my character to react to situations so strongly like this, but I was feeling all kinds of injustice; utterly hot and bothered and being a whole lot on edge like I was set out to slaughter and destroy.
A few hours prior, I had been standing next to a guy I had never met. Five minutes into making eye contact and him un-tactfully running his mouth, I had made my guesses. Maybe it was gut or women’s intuition, but arrows flashed so loudly pointing to him as the culprit. You see, Charlie had texted me in the afternoon the day before informing me about how I wouldn’t be seeing him the following day because decisions had to be made. He had resigned from his position, and he was no longer going to fulfill the role that he had been so wonderful at accomplishing for years because of someone and something outside of his control. He fought for months but life finally decided to dump out a big bowl of politics, so the right response was to gracefully retreat and surrender. I respect that, but I still had to put the two and two together and find the root cause. Charlie would later confirm my presumptions.
Love Looks Like…
I used to make decisions based on signs; I swore by them.
Signs I somehow justified to be from God.
Like, when I decided to attend college as a pre-med, refusing to declare any major other than something medically related. I had gone through a fair share of injuries as a competitive athlete, and that was a sign destining me to fulfill my calling as an orthopedic surgeon. And then there were those times I would drive on the freeway and see cars passing by—same model and make as the boy I was hardcore liking. It was an obvious sign not to give up on the relationship even though he claimed he never liked me back. And then there were those conditions where I would decide that him and I needed space, so I would intentionally stop sending him text messages and refuse to be the one to initiate conversation. But if he eventually did text or call me about something and wanted to hang out, then it was a clear sign that we were still supposed to talk.
I think about those situations now, and all I can think about how silly I was being. My naivety game was real strong. And so along the way, I’ve learned that you can’t always base life off of signs, and you sure as hell can’t navigate relationships because of some made up voices inside your head convincing you that maybe, just maybe he loved you and was just too afraid to fess up to it. Because let’s be real: He probably didn’t love you that much, if even at all.
Invisible Illness Is A Real Thing.
The text message always begins something like this:
“Hey. I woke up this morning feeling super sick so we can’t hang out today. Can we please rain check? I’m so sorry.”
“Of course, hope you get over your sickies soon.”
And in my head, I’m thinking… NOPE. Not going to happen.
…
Read the book, not the cover. You’ll find out a lot more if you do.
Everyone’s all like, “wake me up when September ends.” And I’m over here like: Well, September has ended and all I really want to do is go back to bed because I haven’t had a decent night of sleep in days no matter how early I try to tuck myself in, while playing lullabies hoping the mellow hums might serenade me to some z’s. I promise it’s not the cold brew or the fact that National Coffee Day made me want to swallow more caffeine than normal just because it was National Coffee Day. Nope. The only reason I’m up at 2am is because my hands have lost a little bit of strength and I can’t seem to hold them in a tight fist. And my body hurts like someone suddenly decided to stab me in the stomach with a knife and twist it around several times, then proceed to hammer a few nails into my heart and leave them there to chill but it’s still beating a million miles a minute. I’m not trying to be metaphorical or profound or whatever. That’s literally how I physically feel at the moment. Everything hurts. But at the same time, I’m not going to make a big deal out of it because it’s kind of a normal thing. No rivers are flowing on the outside right now because my tear ducts are experiencing a slight drought after this whole week and a little piece of last. But I’m sure I probably have some ponds accumulating somewhere internally.
Life Is Not A Puzzle.
Jigsaw puzzles fascinate me.
In elementary school and junior high, my classmates very much enjoyed staying on trend playing the latest and greatest video and computers games. I, on the other hand, had other interests in mind. Nope, not the world of Pokemon cards (although I’ll admit, that was a thing at one point), but I would ask my parents to buy me puzzles. I didn’t want just any ordinary puzzle though. I specifically only wanted 1000-piece Thomas Kinkade puzzles. Nerdy as it sounds and if I’m being totally honest, it really became a little bit of an addiction, especially in my seventh grade year when I became severely ill and had to be homeschooled for most of it. For years, I had tried to analyze and hash out what drew me in, why I only wanted to build those exclusive puzzles and would refuse to succumb to anything else. Maybe it was because of all the colors—the glowing highlights and saturated pastels intricately plaited onto the canvases. Maybe it was Kinkade’s placement of idyllic settings in his works—lighthouses, stone cottages, rivers, streams, woods, and floral gardens. Maybe it was the crazed chaos happening in my life and immersing myself within this meticulous activity ushered in a glimpse of peace. Perhaps, it was the combination of all those things, which resulted in the formation of something so beautifully striking. Regardless of the motivation, there was something about those painted puzzle prints that captivated me time and time again. But as I became more charmed, I learned that Kinkade’s artwork actually also fell under the bucolic category, meaning that an artist employs assorted methods, taking something that is pretty multifaceted and embeds it into a simpler context.
No Screens Attached.
I was woken up by a natural 6am call of blazing cold air whistling through the window and the blinds I was sleeping parallel to, in a bed that was not my own, with the biggest desire of needing to go potty but my body was not ready to race to the bathroom because it was freezing. So I lay there for several minutes staring up at the white ceilings trying to regain consciousness before sleepily turning over to grab my mobile device, and finally powering it on to find a batch of new message notifications come tumbling in. A couple from Connecticut, one from Europe, one from Texas, one from Hawaii, and a few from back home—all from friends that were old and new; numbers I had just saved into my contacts this past week and ones I have had for over a decade.
Mornings like these fill my heart with so much warmth and gratitude, where I am able to erase and call out all the little white lies about feeling like friends are non-existent because you’re out on the road and all the other humans in your life are off gallivanting around the universe doing their own things as well. I really do appreciate the little texts—the ones that come all inclusive with laughter, dumb comments, and petite bits of wit and sarcasm intentionally reaching out and saying, “Hey, I want to see you. I do see you. I am wanting to chat with you because I appreciate your friendship and care about your well being.” And then proceed to laugh together at our crazy selves and life, because sometimes it’s exhausting to take our days so seriously.
Gold. Not Silver, Gold.
The seven of us sat in the corner booth feasting on fried chicken and sweet potato pizzas sharing stories, experiences, laughter, and sarcasm. Lots and lots of sarcasm. I love moments like these because they really are priceless. And then it got awkwardly silent, not because we were chowing down but because in that moment, it was like God was whispering to us to learn something deeper about one another. And ourselves. He didn’t want us just floating on the surfaces. He wanted us to dive deeper into the depths of the waters.
My new friend (let’s call him G) decided to speak up. G told us he liked to play this game he made up, which basically translated to “let me ask you a bunch of questions and you can all answer them.” We were all down for that. I like answering questions. I may not always know the answers, but I do strangely like questions.
His first question: If you ended up on an abandoned island and there was a box lying on the shore, what would you hope to find in the box? The answer must be the first thing that comes to mind.
“GOLD.”
I replied, “gold”. Not silver, gold.
Un-friend Zoning is a Real Thing.
Timing is everything.
All it took was one conversation. And life got really real, really fast.
It took me almost a decade to come around. And when I finally came around and was at peace and open to it all, he was gone. I didn’t expect him to wait for me—to wait for me to maybe change my mind, or get my shit together (whatever that really means because it’s all subjective), or figure out all the life things. Because I know myself and I am a late bloomer a lot of the times. I process slowly because I need to think things through in depth. And it takes me quite some time to get from square one to square two because I am constantly wrestling through the steps. Some people leap and fly, and they leap and fly quickly without second-guessing. I need a running start, then maybe I’ll hop, and skip, then jump.
I’ve spent the last couple of days sleep deprived with my heart completely wrecked, pouring out tears with enough questions to write a new Harry Potter series. I haven’t been given answers to any of my novels and it really is quite frustrating because all I am really trying to do is understand what life just served me on a platter.
Back to the Basics.
We sat nuzzled on a baby blue couch at one of my favorite local coffee shops with our coffee and honeybee lattes, and out came the words that have been plaguing many of my conversations for the last six months. I have been feeling strangely rebellious and reckless lately. Rebellious and reckless. Those “R” words that send chills up any parent’s spine, causing them to shudder. Those words which have nothing by adverse connotations. But for me, it hasn’t been negative. It has been growth. And I needed to step out of everything I’ve known for almost my entire life, in order to bring me back to the basics.
Lessons From Life On Tour.
I’ve always talked about wanting to go places.
I’ve always wanted to go to all types of different places near and far, meet all kinds of people, experience various cultures, and to live the type of life that produces stories and where explanations are demanded. Because going to a place unalike what you already know is enthralling and somehow breathes more life into you. It teaches you more about yourself and the people who surround you. And mostly, you come face to face with life’s greatest lessons, even though some prove to be more thrilling than others.
…
