Under Water.

I need to spend more time under water.

Last Monday I returned from a trip to Miami where we celebrated a few things, including my birthday. Thirty one- the best yet! Maybe it was a birthday present from my central nervous system, but my body held up pretty well for me during my stay there. I’m also a little better at saying no to certain things when I know I’m close to crossing the invisible line. My threshold or whatever. Anyway I was able to partake in some awesome things that I dont’t always have the health for. I told my brother I wanted to snorkel for my birthday and he assured me this was not a problem.  At the beach I submerged myself in the ocean and was immediately comforted by it. Water in general has always felt healing to me, but a warm ocean in the summer is at the top of the list. We could have spent all day out there. All day and all night if my body permitted it. There is something truly holy beneath the surface. I like the muffled silence and spotting darting fish and pretty much anything that moves. We saw so many different types of fish, and every time we’d spot a school or something I didn’t recognize, I’d make my brother Nick come to the surface and tell me what kind it was. I’d repeat it out loud, then we’d go back under. I’m really terrible at remembering the names but I’m trying to learn. I’ve already forgotten so many, but I can say with certainty we saw a crap ton of huge, colorful parrot fish, some barracuda, and a bunch of Nemos and Doris. (Technical names) It was Heaven. My three-year-old niece Olive requested that we find her a starfish and we both searched diligently and came up short. But my brother did find a baby sea turtle, and that was pretty righteous.

unnamed-2 unnamed

Isn’t he so cute? Anyway we came back to shore and had lunch, but most of the time I just kept thinking about getting back into that water. It’s almost Church-like swimming around down there. Somehow in spite of the beaming life everywhere you look, theres a stillness to it. Everything slows down and feels at ease–within me, anyway. I’d like to spend more time in the ocean, specifically underwater. I do well there. I think that’s my goal for this year.

Inevitably all that activity ended me up in a week-long hibernation for the last six days. It’s pretty normal to crash after I travel anyway. And eventually all the extra “curriculars” would catch up to me physically. But I was grateful to hold up for as long as I did. It’s funny, you’re always calculating with this illness. Saying yes to one activity usually means you’ll have to say no to some other one tomorrow or the next day. You’re always “borrowing” energy: allocating it as if it were a monetary budget. Going over, or spending too much, means you’ll pay. So you’re always considering cost and reward and whether the consequence will be worth it or not. You don’t always get it right, but you get better as time goes on. In the case of swimming and snorkeling and fishing that day, totally worth it! Still, I think there is a better way to navigate this illness than living the “push-crash” lifestyle. Doing what you want for a certain amount of time, and then spending at least double that amount of time in bed in the future. Most CFS’ers live this way, not because it’s the best or right way, but because it’s A way to at least do some things and not live your life in bed. Anyway, I hope to discover a more sustainable way to go about this, but it works for now. Kinda sorta. You get me.

On another note, I keep doing this thing that I’m trying to stop. I write and write and write and then I edit and edit and edit and then the essay goes in new directions and I want to keep everything a decent length so I start over and consequently end up with 6 different half-written, diligently edited posts, none ending up on the blog. It’s a pretty stupid system and I’m going to try and stop doing things that way. Sometimes my idea about how I want things to look or turn out hinders my goal which is not just to write well, but to write consistently and allow part of what’s happening in #marys sick life to inform my stories–even if what’s happening is boring or sad or awesome or mediocre. It’s a continual lesson in letting go that I’m still trying to grasp– write things out and then let them go. Although it’s easy to mistake for editing, I think I often look through my own words trying to take on the role of reader instead of writer, and I develop this anxiety that I’m not getting through accurately or perfectly representing myself, so I hold off on publishing. But I know this is silly because all I can do is be who I am and write what I know, and if I’m judicious about that then I don’t need to worry about the rest. The truth is I am the writer after all and some of writing is trusting the reader. Showing and not telling, yada yada yada. I think my incessant “reading over” and modifying is just another way to prevent me from putting myself and my words out there on a medium where they’ll live on their own and be subject to scrutiny. Could I really be afraid of criticism after all this time writing on a blog? Probably, which is entirely embarrassing. Because who cares! But pride and vanity are some powerful little devils, and the only way to move past them is to write on despite the superficial concerns.

I’m going to try harder to work and contribute to this space and not become too serious about the whole shebang. Especially to the point where it stifles things. It’s pretty silly getting so analytical about it, because it’s really just not that important. I care deeply about it, but when I zoom out and consider everything, this is just a ledger of one persons life. And pretty unexciting life, at that. I think my concern lies in whether or not I’m contributing meaningful things that will move me and others forward or if I’m just whining on a stick. I am hoping by the end, what and whenever that is, this will all will reveal something larger and more dimensional than a woman child’s diary about sick days and her dog. But even if it is that. Who cares? I only need to focus on what’s in front of me and stop pausing to consider a future I don’t have control of.  The one thing I don’t want to do is restrain myself or my words or the creative endeavors I want to pursue all because I’m worrying what it will all “look like” in the end. Concerns like those are what kills momentum, and good ideas, before they even get a chance to materialize. My truer goal should be simply to write and to allow the words to do what they’ve always done–help me to see things that my thinking mind can’t.

So, hopefully you’ll be hearing a lot more from me and I from you. I am feeling happy to be one year older, to know myself even better having lived on earth for three hundred and sixty-five more days as ME, Mary Gelpi. I’m becoming pretty good friends with myself and we’re getting along well. We’re practically finishing each others SENTENCES. Thank you Nick for exploring the ocean with me, and tugging me back to shore when I was too tired to swim back myself. What else are big brothers for?

Health, Happiness, Thirty One.

The Five Days It Took to Turn 30

On Thursday I awoke to the faint scent of change in the air, not unlike the first brisk breeze you feel in late September. But this was not Fall. This was something called ‘thirty’ and it awaited me, ready or not. I didn’t know how it would go down or exactly how I felt about it, only that behind mundane tasks and in the corners of rooms, there it was; stirring, growing, counting down. It caused nervousness, yes, as change often does, but it also caused excitement and irregular bursts of recklessness. At the Circle K I always frequent, I ignored regular intuition when I saw a snickers bar and desired it, but had not yet eaten dinner. I watched myself grab it as though it had always been mine and Circle K had taken it from me. I plop it on the counter feeling proud and dangerous. I’m turning 30 soon, I don’t give a shit.

On Friday, the upcoming change is no longer a scent in the air, but a big red X on the Calendar. I only have a few more days of my twenties and I need to make it count. I have an outdoor lunch with college friends. I keep the conversation fresh. When it hints at boring I steer it another way. We can’t be talking about strangers I don’t know or things I don’t care about at my birthday lunch! It’s so self-involved but I don’t care, I’m trying to get to the root of something. I ask my friends a lot of questions about the states of their lives, all of which appear far more together and grown up than mine. (Jobs, marriage, etc.)  But beyond that I’m trying to gather information. Something within me is trying to assess whether we’re happier now than we were five years ago. I guess I need to know that life gets better with age– a concept I’ve heard but don’t wholeheartedly buy yet. The conclusion is nearly impossible; there are too many variables. When one friend suggests mani/pedi’s I think YES. I need my nails to be in shape for this milestone. I struggle choosing a nail color that complements my mature new age but also suggests my daring nature. (Snickers) I pick a bright, corally orange color. It’s a risk. It’s no ‘soft rose’. But I’m turning 30 soon. Let’s do this ‘cajun shrimp’!

On Saturday, the softest sound of a ticking clock can be heard everywhere I go. Is it my ovaries? Is it the countdown of my ending youth? Hard to say. My body is tired from the muted angst of the last few days and the poor diet choices I’ve made on account of feeling ‘risky.’ I rest a few hours while second-guessing my nail color and making a mental list of people 30+ that are still rocking it. Oprah..Rob Lowe..Kanye.. Next I head to Magazine Street to find the outfit I wish to turn thirty in. I visit my favorite places, and when the sales girls hear I’m turning thirty tonight they say “Awwwwwww” as though I were a wet, lost puppy. They also become exceptionally helpful. Like Don’t you worry girl, we’re gonna get you through this. As I accrue a large ‘no’ pile in the fitting room, finally I’m brought a navy blue floral romper. In the mirror I think This is it. This is the one. Sophisticated print but youthful as a romper. Also my butt looks really good.

Tonight I will have drinks with a couple of friends at Cure, a snazzy bar where our close friend works. I shouldn’t drink. My body straight up rejects alcohol in the form of migraine and then general disintegration of entire body systems, but the cocktails here are good and of high quality. They’re made by mixologists! And at midnight I’ll leave my twenties forever, so gosh darn it, I’ll have a drink or two. A few friends retire early leaving behind my BFF Kaitlin (aka Matt Damon) and the progressive boy I’m dating. He doesn’t like this ‘ritzy’ bar. Something about everyone having on the same outfit. Our friend brings “shots” for the stroke of 12. When the iPhone flashes midnight, we yell and cheers and drink the shot, which tastes like youth mixed with jolly rancher. Kaitlin snags this gem of a photo which at least half conveys the mixed feelings I had.

I’m 30 and I don’t understand my feelings wahh

I am technically thirty now and I feel the burst of recklessness. Should we get forties and go to the park? Light some fireworks maybe? But the progressive boy I’m dating suggests I take it easy. We still have my actual birthday tomorrow. He’s right. We go home.

On Sunday the big day has arrived. I’m getting phone calls and texts while I lay in bed and I’m like God, I love birthdays so much. I didn’t even have to do anything and look at all this positive attention I’m getting! Thanks mom! I soaked in all that love pouring in. Then I realize the small get-together at my pool is supposedly starting in an hour. I am crazy late, it is raining, and the pool turned green overnight. With the help of friends we pull it together. The group trickles in and three different people give me flowers, which shoots me up higher over the moon than I already was. A few of the people at the party I’ve never even met before, and yet somehow almost immediately, a fun and comfortable dynamic forms. One of those perfectly random social events that could never emerge through planning. We swim and philosophize and do birthday things, including passing around my cake in a circle and taking large bites out of it face first. (Kind of what one-year-olds do on their first birthday) We play a very loud game of Scattergories and things turn competitive, quick. There was erratic dancing and a four-part belting of It’s All Coming Back to Me Now by Celine Dion. At one point we were gathered around watching Blue Planet in awe of the earth like Whoooooooa and Woooooooooow! Looking around in that moment I thought Dude, this is perfect. We stayed up late. I guess adults still do that.

On Monday I awake to the haze of a good-time had and party remnants littering the floor. My body hurts. The pool looks hungover. Even Monty is lethargic. I briefly assess the damage and ignore it, then eat a ginormous bowl of Kashi cereal and fall back asleep. When I re-awake, I attempt to “tidy up” but it’s useless. I’m moving like a true geriatric.  There is that Sunday type of melancholy lingering that comes after you’ve had a really amazing time with people and now you’re alone in the aftermath, remembering the fun. I plop on the couch trying to evade it and spot a large vase holding all the different flowers I was given. It’s cliche and sappy, but staring at it I feel a tinge of gratitude and then it explodes exponentially. I don’t feel old, I feel lucky to be alive and to know the people I do. I feel grateful that the people I like actually like me back. So many showed their love to me–In person, people from the past, strangers on the internet, my best friend from kindergarten on FB. It all just overwhelmed me for a minute. I’ve got a family that’s solid and friends who are true and a dog that jumps high and loves me endlessly. If I were a sap on Twitter I’d be like Feeling #blessed.

But I am not.

Turning thirty didn’t change much about me. I feel the same, my battles remain and I’ll continue to do my best. But unlike other birthdays, it finally took me outside of myself, even though it began the opposite. Among the cups and pizza boxes, I felt weirdly inspired thinking of the people in my life. It’s not that they love me, it’s that they love at all. That they’re out there with their own battles and they’re trying too. There’s no one way to do it and we’re all just learning as we go. But thinking of them made me want to try harder. And do better. Not because I’m 30 but because I’ve been shown such incredible ways to go about living and loving– It’d be a waste not to learn from such awesome people. And that’s why it was silly relying on others to prove to me that life gets better with age. Surround yourself by the right kind of people and they are the proof. Life gets better because we get better. We know ourselves more and just that knowing by itself makes so many things easier. For me I’m realizing it’s not about trying to know and understand everything but accepting that I can’t know it all. There will always be mystery to life and part of the deal is living here in the in-between. I think there’s a good time to be had in the middle. There certainly was last night. Anyway, it’s a simple concept I guess. It just took me twenty-nine years to make some sense out of it! Twenty nine years and five days, that is.

Thank you to everyone who helped me ring in 30. It was truly righteous.

Health, Happiness and The Five Days of Thirty

 

My Best Friends Wedding

It is a grey, rainy morning in New Orleans. It looks like it’s recovering from my weekend. I am staying at a friend’s house Uptown and have taken up residence in their sunroom for a couple of days. Like many Uptown homes here, the sunroom is filled wall-to-wall with windows– perfect little glimpses of the diverse lives of old and young people going about their days. It isn’t as action packed as say a window room looking down on the streets of New York City. It’s quieter, more stationary. But just as perfect as it gets to lay and read or write or think about things both heavy and light. I love days like this, in rooms like these. It’s a perfect do-nothing day. And I know what you’re thinking, aren’t most days of your sick, sedentary, jobless life do-nothing days? And yes, many are. Incidentally, do nothing days make for the best writing days. As though both were designed specifically for the other.

I’m surrounded by three animals; a black cat named Elvis that if I’m being honest strikes me more as a Stanley or a Todd. A domesticated wolfdog named Jax, and Monty of course. The cat has stayed near me all morning, and Monty is curious about the cat and Jax is curious about Monty, so we’re an entourage in every room I go including the bathroom. Undoubtedly the sporadic rumblings of thunder worry the dogs and they shuffle nervously when it comes, then drift back to their dog naps. The cat doesn’t move at all. This is the kind of weather I love and New Orleans I love. Maybe it’s that it reinforces the idea that it’s OK to stay inside all day. Doesn’t make you feel bad about never putting real pants on. And I always like things that slow us down. Life is fast. People move so quickly. I often feel like I can’t keep up and I’ll never have the energy to. Today is my pace and I am soaking it in.

I like staying at friends houses and perusing their bookshelves. I’m ever on the hunt for my next good read and right now I can’t decide between two: Merrick by Anne Rice–a New Orleans author I’ve been recommended for years now or In Cold Blood by Truman Capote. I saw the movie which I did love but the book is always something different altogether and so I’ve been going back and forth between both all morning. Dare I try reading two at once. Isn’t there some rule against it? I’ve never done it before but life is crazy and maybe I’ll do something super daring and go for two at once! Woah!

My life-long best friend Kaitlin (aka Matt Damon) was married this weekend and I was the maid-of-honor. Turns out that’s a helluva job! The official festivities started Thursday evening and I had to pace myself to ensure I’d survive until Saturday night, and store some energy for dancing late. With a lot of protein, drinking a lot of electrolytes, and the help of my respective 25 pills, I survived. Not only that, I had a blast. It was a beautiful wedding, and the reception had the three necessary components for a success: Open Bar, Amazing band, Awesome people. I must say dancing to “I’m Sexy and I Know It” with my parents, the brides parents, and the entire entourage was one of my favorite parts. It was a long day. The ceremony didn’t begin until 7 but hair and makeup people showed up at 9 am. Men will never know what we go through or how long it actually takes for women to prepare for events. Well maybe they do know, but they’ll probably never understand. At times it became stressful or overwhelming because it’s just such a huge day in so many ways and a strict schedule a million little logistical things to work out. Also doing anything in large groups is quite literally like herding cattle but harder. And it required some stealthy maneuvering taking photos at the hotel beforehand so that the groom wouldn’t run into the bride before seeing her walk down the aisle at Church. Things went quickly and the two hours before the ceremony became a little stressful just due to the number of things to do and timing and zippers that wouldn’t zip yada yada yada. (Not to mention that sad little Saints game we glanced between things)

One of my favorite moments of the night was when Kaitlin, her dad, and I snuck away and took five minutes to relax in the hotel suite before leaving for the ceremony. I forced food on Kaitlin because I’ve seen enough brides faint and I was not about to let that happen. We also watched a few minutes of the very unfortunate Saints game. Mostly we all just sort of caught our breath–Took in everything with some ease and some calm. There’s not a lot of calm on the day. I remember thinking I’d want to remember these five minutes we got to share. I knew it’d be the last of the night, not to mention, our last few moments with Kaitlin Pastorek the girl and not Kaitlin Pastorek Gambino the woman, the wife!

Bridal Selfie!
Bridal Selfie!

To me we are still kids playing mermaids in the pool. But in writing my speech the night before, I had to acknowledge that we were in fact growing up. And that doesn’t have to be sad. I love that our friendship has lasted and grown. I guess that’s a beautiful part of having a best friend–life is constant change, but together things feel solid, impervious to time. Maybe when we’re 80 I’ll still feel like we’re girls in our twenties jumping on the bed in our bath robes. Speaking of which..this was us in the hotel suite the night before the wedding.

See? Kids. But alas, kids get married too. And maybe just because people start referring to you as an adult and you start partaking in adult activities doesn’t mean you necessarily feel like one. Maybe that’s what everyone’s doing and just not talking about–playing the part, going through the motions. Or maybe some people actually feel like adults and I’m just really struggling to grow up here. Who knows. Life is funny. Weddings are fun. Best friends weddings are really fun. And as I’ve always said, New Orleans weddings are the best.

Health, Happiness, and Supposed Adulthood

WILD FRIDAY NIGHT

This just happened.

That sounds intense and nothing big really happened so maybe that’s a false setup.

It’s Friday night and I am alone and having one of those days. If my disposition were weather it’d be grey and off and on drizzly. If it were a band it’d be Coldplay. If I were a reality show character I’d be Bruce Jenner in those transition lenses he wears. OK so the point is it’s just been kind of a depressing day. For no particular reason but a few small ones and others I can’t pin down. I’ve had this headache which is also all over my face–for a week– and it’s not responsive to pain killers and it’s not a migraine. My whole jaw hurts blah blah blah. It’s been tough trying not to let the pain get me down. I think at some point it’s not the pain anymore that gets to you, it’s just not being able to offer your focus and energy to other things. It’s like a hangnail. Even a small pain just steals your thoughts, and after a while its annoying and exhausting. This is the point where my friends would make a joke about how bad my headache must hurt because I have such a big head. And then I’d say “thanks guys” and then we’d watch The Kardashians.

Anyway, for someone who loves being alone, thrives at being alone…I suddenly had that empty lonely feeling. And I don’t have it a lot. I really treasure solitude. But suddenly I had that feeling that I was the only person at my house at night and the world was at this party the world was partying and I was missing out and it made me a little sad. You know what the worst part of being single is? It’s not having someone to do nothing with. See a Friday night stayed in and watching crappy TV with someone you love is great. Or it feels fine anyway. But alone, crappy TV can get real sad. The other issue I might have is that I have a total addiction to my dog admittedly and I think it might be a problem. I can’t tell if it makes me the most kickass dog owner ever or the worst human being. I hang out with him a LOT and take him basically everywhere. And I worry about him when he’s not around. I wish I could nonchalantly yell “Oh it’s JUST A DOG” like so many people I hear. When does it become concerning? I think I’ve reached the point of concern, I’m not sure though. Although I DID go on a date last week and we ended up at a bar called the Bulldog because they allow dogs there and I definitely took Monty. But come on that’s normal. I’ve always let Monty pick my men. I’ll tell you about that date later. I guess. I just realized I don’t know who you are or if you’re reading and also why I’m writing this blog about absolutely nothing especially on a nothing night like tonight. But I’m in a careless enough mood that I’ll keep going. I mean clearly I have nothing else to do.

So it’s Friday night and I’m sitting on my couch and there is shit on TV. Alaskan Women Seeking Men, I Hate My Butt!, Last Call With Carson Daly. (How is that show still on?) I’m antsy and looking around at the walls of my living room. Disconnected thoughts are filing in and out of my mind. I consider rearranging the pictures I’ve hung. I consider rearranging the furniture in different ways. I wonder how many headache meds I would have to take in order for the pain to go without shutting the rest of my body down. Too many, I’ll try ice. I consider cutting my hair. I wonder what book I’ll read next. I want to read more. I need more books. Then I look at Monty. He was licking his butt. He felt me looking at him and stops and stares. “Monty,” I say. “Am I the most boring person in the world?” I swear to God, he yawned one of those huge yawns that’s like too large for his face and makes it vibrate at the end. Then he looks at me a few seconds more and goes back to licking things. I can’t explain it but I completely busted out loud laughing. Maybe at the tragedy of it all. How pathetic the night is and how even Monty knows it. Monty comes over, jumps up on the couch and laid his head on my lap. It felt awesome. I know I might have a problem with not pushing my boundaries enough socially and being a homebody and yada yada. But sometimes it’s just so nice; just us two. I know I need to try harder, but honestly, this often feels like enough.

PARTY TIME
PARTY TIME

It’s funny how small we can feel sometimes. When you think about the entire earth and how many people are on it and all the important things everyone is doing you start to question if you’re doing enough. Especially when you’re watching Alaskan Women Seeking Men. I don’t think we were put here just to play around. It’s a recreational world too and we shouldn’t forget that either. But I think it’s time for something new. And maybe that just means a haircut or changing my living room furniture or doing something significant like taking a risk and doing things that aren’t comfortable. I don’t know yet. But for real the seasons are turning and something is turning in me. Truly it was an OK week. I got a lot of writing done and  hung out with my dog a lot and I picked flowers when it was nice outside. I am alone on a Friday night. And for a second that felt awful. And then it all felt like enough. And for now, enough is enough.

Health, Happiness, FRIDAY NIGHT BABY!

Prepare Yourself, This Might Get Sappy.

There were a few things I was going to write about this week. One was a response to an article that’s gone viral about why Generation Y is so unhappy. I almost wholeheartedly disagree with it, but I couldn’t finish. The second post was a “Breakup Playlist” that was really just a list of happy songs I composited that get me excited and I can’t help but dance to when they come on. And sadly, yes, a lot of the dancing I do these days is alone. But I enjoy it so lay off! The third was an observational piece about how impersonal life can be in the digital age of social media, where so many things are taken at face value and how someone’s online presence can be so far from the person they actually are yada yada yada. I began writing on all of these topics as my scattered mind couldn’t focus on just one, but there was something more important that kept nagging at me while I worked. Finally, I pulled the plug on these ideas. I’ll work on those later (unless they end up terrible which right now they are), because this post is for you, the reader. Because even though I sometimes have these grand ideas I I can’t wait to unleash, sometimes something else comes knocking and demands to be written. At that point there’s not a lot I can do except listen; type out the words and let my heart do the talking. There’s plenty of time for break-up playlists. This was something I needed to say now.

I’ll be honest, having a chronic illness, especially when it’s at its worst like it was for me most of last year, can be terribly lonely. As much as I love my friendships and romances and strong family bonds, it’s nearly impossible to keep them all up when you’re sick. One but more likely all of them will suffer. Last year the relationship I was in ended and as my health steadily declined, so did my social life. I remember just not answering the phone when it rang. I felt like I didn’t even have the energy to explain my mood, my condition, or apologize yet again for being a crappy friend or sister or whathaveyou. One of the hardest parts of the illness has always been what it’s done to me and the outside world. Last year was a dark one, but I was lucky enough to have family who took me in, and friends who were understanding when we went months without talking. I always liked that definition of a friend- someone who knows you but loves you anyway. :) I’ll say that being sick sort of dwindles down who the key people in your life are. Some survive the storm and some don’t, and it’s not really anything personal. Some people have needs you’re not able to meet with a condition like this, and truly you can’t blame them. I am an admitted flake, terrible at keeping up and correspondence, and I cancel at least half of the plans I make. This is mostly the fault of the illness, and it’s understandable why not many friendships are upheld through it. My circle is small, but I love everyone in it dearly, and they certainly love me back considering what they tolerate.

I think last Fall was one of the hardest times in my life. I was living in my sisters house in California. Home away from home away from home. I initially planned to go there for a month, but when my crash worsened and things like walking became hard, I ended up staying until Christmas, and everything felt out of control. Because it was. I was a difficult person then, and I feel a little bad for my behavior. My sister would always ask me to go eat dinner with her at my brother-in-law’s restaurant, but the thought of small talk with people I didn’t know was overwhelming. Sometimes it put me in a bad mood just thinking about it! I actually preferred being alone. I often felt more alone when surrounded by people but completely isolated on the inside. I hated who I had become–such a solitary hermit. But I truly just didn’t have the energy to even be polite. It was easier, and better I think, for me to just stay home. Which sounds terrible and depressing. Healthy people won’t get it. But truthfully relationships of any kind take work, they are two-sided, and I just didn’t have enough to give at that point. But the real reason I’m writing about this is because, beyond all the crappy days and reclusive tendencies, there was this community built on the blog. People reading it and commenting, people sending emails of gratitude or support or encouragement or all of the above, and it was truly remarkable to receive feedback like that, especially at a time where I felt really alone. I knew there were others like me and I wasn’t suffering alone. And although I didn’t know any of you truly, I knew of you because you reached out and were honest, and I read every word. It meant the world to have complete strangers rooting for me, some in other countries. It felt incredible not purely for personal reasons, but because I saw just how much positivity and love and support could be garnered by so many people who didn’t even know each other. It still gives me chills to this day; it shows what can happen when human beings come together for something good and optimistic. I think we’re all looking for a reason to be good. And while no, it didn’t cure me or fix all the problems, it did give me a real sense of hope that I could get better, that it wouldn’t always be like this, and even at times that if I never got better, this wonderful energy was still created and circling around the world. I didn’t do it, we did it. We put that out into the universe, and there’s something kind of magical about that. We’ve created some good together, and I think it’s something to be proud of.

Last week I posted about a promise I had made to myself years ago: that I would celebrate my 30th birthday in Paris. When I read people’s responses and support and encouragement for me to do something purely because it would make me happy and in turn, them happy, I felt the most love I ever have laying in bed and looking at a computer screen. Strangers telling me to go for it, that they’d donate money for me to do it, and insisting I go regardless of circumstance, was truly inspiring to me. I felt connected and after such a crappy year last year and feeling so far on the outside, watching everyone else live their lives while I felt like I was crumbling internally, that was such a powerful thing for me to feel. And needed to feel I should say. It’s easy to get stuck on your story, to live life from the outside looking in, to let things pass you by. But after seeing such a positive reaction from people, and seeing how me going after my dream and living with purpose was encouraging others too was simply unreal. But mostly, it was an inspiring and and abundant source of love to feel on my end. And that’s stuff you just can’t buy or put an amount on. It is truly priceless.  So for that I want to say thank you. THANK YOU. THANK YOU A LOT. I felt a very long time ago that this blog wasn’t really just about or for me. It was for something greater. And I know that now more than ever. It’s about all of us.

As summer turns into Fall, (unless you’re in New Orleans in which case it’s still 90 degrees and there’s a tropical storm headed our way) I am reflecting on where I was last year at this time. I had no idea that some of the hardest months of my life were about to unfold. And in the darkest of times, moments where I couldn’t find myself in the world, I would always come across the words in a comment or an email from a reader that reminded me of something very simple but very important– I wasn’t alone. And if you’re reading this now, going through a hard time caused by anything- health, heartache, loneliness, insecurity, whatever- I hope you’ll know that you aren’t alone either. It was in those very dark but small moments, that the tiniest crack of light would shine in and let me know, we truly are all in this together. We’ve all got our battles, and we all experience things that make us question who we are and where we’re going and if we’ll ever get out of the hard time we face. I’m here to tell you, you do. I did. Many times actually. And the hard parts aren’t over. I am relatively young and life won’t stop throwing boulders or pebbles across my path. (If you’re listening God, I prefer pebbles. But, you know, do what you gotta do.) I just feel that one of the most important things that could ever so slightly drag me out of the dark, was this interconnectedness I’d feel with humanity, even though I had no social life…at all. Granted my sister tried, but I was mostly a grumpy curmudgeon. Sorry Amelie! Anyway, things have gotten better. My health, while still a major hurdle, is not nearly as bad as it was this time last year. I’ve reunited with friends. I wear pants a lot more now. ;) But it feels good to know that while last Fall was let’s face it, a shit show, I re-emerged. As we all do and will, if we can only hang on, remember that nothing is forever, and as lonely as it can feel, we are never truly alone. I mean it. And I’m alone a lot!

So, that’s it. Among all my other ideas, this one wouldn’t leave me alone. And I want to tell anyone reading, I read every comment on this blog and every email regarding it. I don’t always respond (I told you I’m a flakey friend and terrible with correspondence!) but I honestly take time and read all the feedback sent my way. And I LOVE hearing from everyone. The funny thing is how many emails begin with “I’m sure you get thousands of these but…” I assure you that’s not even close to the case. A few a week at best!! All of you have your own battles and wonderful, sometimes sad, sometimes hilarious, stories of tragedy and triumph, and I relish in reading them. I wish there was a scientific or spiritual way for me to prove or convey this, but all of that positive and loving energy sent my way goes right back into this project and the world at large. It’s such a cool community we’ve set up here. Remember this all started with two followers: my sister and my aunt Amy. And look at us now! :) Thank you for reading, writing, laughing, and crying with me. The community we’ve built is invaluable, and I always turn to it when I feel myself leaning towards seclusion or sadness. I hope you do the same. Because half of writing anything is having someone to read it. I think we’ve done well. Again, a million times over, thank you.

momo
Monty was very excited to take this photo.

Health, Happiness, Merci.

*P.S. On September 26th, this blog turned two years old. Yaaay.