Super Glue

Once you are broken, you are broken forever. In the past few months, this was more of a question than a statement. And I kept wanting to ask for everyone's opinions, but have since come to my own conclusion. When you've been broken, you stay that way. You are a beautiful stained glass window with a large crack down the middle (or 5 cracks) that's only holding it together because someone took time to repair you. Over and over again, they repair you.

Consistently, the "they" is an amazing smattering of people, new and old, who take turns holding you up. The beauty of human nature and the human experience.

In college, it became my custom to cry in my car. Not all the time, but when I would drive to or from home on the weekends. Again, it was a defense mechanism--don't let them see you weak--but it eventually became a cathartic release. I would be strong and responsible and likable and a warrior...until I got in my car. Somewhere along the road, I stopped needing to cry.

In the past week, I have spent almost 20 hours alone in my car. About an hour into my first trip, I realized that driving is not what it used to be. I didn't shed a single tear. And I expected to at least have something to get off my chest. But, not a drop.

I spend a lot of time (in all honesty, probably too much time) controlling my emotions. Being sure that I'm never too high and never too low. Because too high is a scary loss of control and too low is the darker side of that inability. My lady helped a lot with this, but since the (amicable) divorce, it's all been on me.

This has been an amazing week on an inexpressible level. Let's start with the obvious: It's spring break. And it's actually the first spring break that I have ever, in my life, had completely free. I'm not playing softball or coaching. I would like to take a moment and pat myself on the back for taking the week completely off. Because its done more for my soul than anything in a long while.

I spend a lot of time controlling my emotions. I also spend a lot of time looking for things that make me happy. Not the desperate search for a lifetime of complete happiness happy, but the here-and-now happy. The beautiful rise and fall of the sun (I admit, I take an embarrassing amount of pictures), a good run with a good friend, good food, a great book, etc. Those little blurbs of happiness build in me.

Its become one of my favorite pastimes, lately. Looking for those essential good things. Bad things are easier to see, I think.

So, this is what made my heart warm this week:

Tybee Island. Exactly what I needed to get over my work hangover and start to relax. While you can't see us in the picture, Jill, Sarah and I spent a lot of time people watching. And there were many people to be watched.

Super Moon. And super it was. It was bright and big and beautiful. I have a lot of love for the sky, and this moon was amazing.

Mom did yoga with me my first morning at the beach with them. It was really cool to show her something that I love so much, and to do yoga outside in such an awesome setting. She didn't exactly want to be in a picture though.

If life were exactly the way I wanted it to be, I would like to do this every morning. Sit on a dock and read and drink lots of coffee.

Puppy sat in the pillows of this chair all day, just happy to be with us. Dad was doing a little work and Puppy was bored of him.

My first sunset in Florida. I'm a sucker for a pretty sky.

Dad poking fun of his food throwing habit. I placed it on his head, but, unfortunately, it had some tomato on it. I had dinner with just Mom and Dad this night. Can't tell you when that's ever happened before.

This is actually the third in a sequence of pictures following the birds from the shore to overhead.

I love food. It was like sushi on a sandwich. And I got to eat it while looking into clear, blue water and white sand.

This is my running partner, Molly. Molly and I didn't go to the same beach, and that's why she's crying. She actually thought she was at a topless beach, and her Mommy told her that she wasn't. She should have come to my beach. This picture makes me smile every time I look at it.

I planned this sunset. Not really, but I planned my run down to the minute around this sunset. And when it started to set, I couldn't run anymore. It was too distracting.

Post run.

And now, home. Crawford James greeted me with the most unabashed excitement for his first karate lesson and couldn't wait to try on his digs. A child's excitement is much greater than an adult's. Revel in it.

The pictures can't tell the whole story, and I'm not sure that I can either. I got to have a conversation with my grandmother's best friend, who knew her as a real person. I got to vacation with my parents and my sister (that's it! not 7 people, but 4--and while we missed the others, it was really nice). I got to spend an entire day and night at the beach by myself, and I only cried while watching Secretariat.

It may be true that once you are broken, you are broken forever. But I really appreciate and enjoy all of the things that hold me together.

Weathering the Storm

Today we had a massive storm roll through Chattanooga. Power out, trees down, cars and houses smashed, interstate signs folded in half. Big storm. (Like most things) the storm made me think.

Inside of all of us, we are weathering a storm. Every day we wake up and we battle something. We battle ourselves, we battle our jobs, we battle people around us. We survive. If we're lucky, we find a way to thrive.

In addition, we all have something that provides escape and shelter from whatever storm is raging. A reprieve from the constant head-wind and bulleting rain.

We are all broken-hearted, beaten down, and lost. If not constantly, then intermittently. But I would venture to say that anyone who feels is broken.

Go through it not around it.

Take the storm head on in battle. Obsessive despair is endlessly inventive--it has a genius for knowing what a sufferer least wants to hear. Its like being trapped in a box with a loudspeaker that amplifies your own voice, continuously broadcasting your shortcomings. Make it shut up. Live with it, deal with it, and eventually the storm becomes cloud covering. It becomes a sunny day with a slight chance of rain.

Most days, I don't think about my Crohn's. Most days I get to be well and happy and full of energy. And then there are days where I am constantly reminded of limitations. Not necessarily physically prompted, but my mind goes into hyperdrive. I go into defense mode--nothing in, nothing out. Stop contributing.

Only when I am reminded that I am sick, am I sick. Only when reminded, do I let myself believe that I'm sick. So, all of the routine tests and treatments--I'm sick.

Someone from Vanderbilt called tonight and my heart almost stopped beating. They were only calling to do a survey about my last MRE, but in the 20 seconds it took for me to actually pick up the phone, I had convinced myself that they had read the scan wrong and there was something very wrong.

This reaction, of course, was only because of my anxiety about my Remicade on Friday. I'm already on high alert.

Truthfully, Remicade is not a stresser for me. It is, however, a reminder.

It is also the single most humbling experience I have on a regular basis. The people I sit with are weathering much rougher storms than I. They are doing chemo, treatment for nerve degeneration, blood transfusions, etc. I've never sat with anyone my own age, with my young body resilience.

When I first started going to treatment, about a year ago, my mom would come with me and sit in this tiny chair in the corner for the 4-5 hours that it took. Eventually, she figured I could go on my own. The first time I came in without her, my nurse, Mina, said, "She finally trusts us enough?"

Yes, I guess that's what it was. I didn't realize it at the time, but when Mom was there with me, I was really sick. I was weak. And we had no clue what this treatment was going to do to me or for me.

Mina calls herself my mom. She takes care of me every time I go for treatment at the IV infusion center. She gives me my IV, injects my steroids, takes my blood to the lab. She covers me up in a blanket when I fall asleep from the medicine. She takes my temperature, blood pressure, and oxygen levels every 30 minutes and never wakes me up. She shows me pictures of her kids (she has a son my age), makes sure that I'm being a responsible adult, and asks me real questions besides the medical ones. All of the other nurses know that I am Mina's.

Mina is a weathering the storm pro. When she met me, when I met her, I was in bad condition. The doctors were trying everything to avoid a second surgery, but I had a camera pill stuck in my small intestines (that had been lodging for about 30 days at that point). I couldn't keep food down, I was heavily medicated, and Remicade was a last ditch effort to lessen inflammation. Mina has seen much worse.

To her, I am a normal, healthy 25 year old. To me, I'm the same: normal, healthy. I think that's why I like her. She is one of the many medical professionals I deal with who actually treats me like I'm going to live a long life.

People like Mina mend broken hearts. She doesn't pretend like it isn't real. She doesn't ignore it. But she gives it no credit. She doesn't let it define me, and she makes me feel like I don't have to either.

The storm doesn't have to define me. It can tear through my heart and beat me down, but I can rebound with spirit. I can find a way to drag myself from the destruction and back into whatever normal is. And normal is so different now than it was before. Normal will be different next week, month, year, too.

Everything will change again. It all cycles through. Beaten-down, torn apart, hopeful, happy, raining, sunny, sad.

Find the reprieve.

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)

i am never without it(anywhere i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done

by only me is your doing, my darling)

i fear

no fate(for you are my fate, my sweet) i want

no world(for beautiful you are my world, my true)

and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows

higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

e.e. cummings

i fear no fate.

Fear plays such an essential part in our lives. To be truly fearless would result in recklessness. Hazards to our society. Without notion of responsibility.

Fear is within us; consuming our thoughts and coloring our perceptions. A horn blares to your right--do you contemplatively choose to ignore it, concluding that it the warning was not directed at you? No, you involuntarily orient your eyes and mind to the sudden stimulus. Fear drives us, binding us to actions of which we seemingly have no control. Fear can cause polarity, removing us from situations that we would otherwise enjoy. A distraction from pleasure.

In fact, biologically, fear turns off our pleasure sensors. Sends us into fight or flight mode. All of your blood is redirected to the parts that are needed--your heart, lungs, muscles, and brain. The rest of your brain is left with only enough blood to keep it on idle, which means you have no capability for rational or creative thought. Its all black or white; yes or no; good or evil. In this state, you do not have the ability to think of the alternate solutions to the situation. Only run or fight.

This, like most things involving our psyche, is developed over time. We are not born with fear. We cultivate it.

Uncontrolled fear hinders us.

As humans we learn. We are presented with situations, and with each situation, we walk away with a new perspective. Good, bad, sorrowful, ugly, happy reactions to each situation we face. We learn by watching others and deciphering how we would respond in such a condition. And often, we grab onto a fearful not me, never again, not ever retort.

When something bad happens, there is an immediate defense mechanism to fear it happening again. But, here's the kicker: there's no way of knowing.

We fear the unfamiliar and we fear the unknown, both of which are limiting and uncontrollable. And we are all guilty of unwarranted fear.

The desire to protect ourselves and those around us can become an overbearing, polarizing resistance to anything involving risk. And there is risk in everything we do. Every choice we make involves risk.

Risk can be classified as anything that could result in failure. In loss.

The fear of failure is paralyzing.

In the past few years, months, days, I have fallen victim to this fear, to being paralyzed by it. I have been suspended in one moment or a string of moments for an embarrassingly long time. At its worst, every day is a battle of my consciousness to combat the fear.

Fear, for me, shows itself in many forms: Anxiety, irritability, and, ultimately, inaccessibility.

It has taken entirely too much thinking time for me to come to a conclusion about fear, though. In whatever form fear takes, it is not a weakness. It is a natural reaction to the condition we find ourselves in. A natural reaction to the condition we see our loved ones in. It can and should be talked about. And when you are ready to talk about the fears you have, then you are ready for battle. Ready to stop treading lightly in life.

I love the ee cummings poem that began this post for many reasons. One reason rationalizes these thoughts about fear. "i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)." While human nature does succumb to fear, it also allows for a comfort zone. Comforting people all around us.

The idea that even in the most trivial trying times, there is always someone there to reduce the symptoms of fear. To bring you back to reality. To give you the rationality to see that we all struggle together.

This comfort zone away from fear permits a feeling of fullness. You can counter fear with love.

My most recent encounter with fear was extinguished by concern. Not necessarily vocally expressed concern, but the people around me letting me know that I was thought of, cared about, concern-able. Just being there to listen for the slightest whimper of a call for help. And we are talking a paralyzing, all-thought-devoted fear. Previously classified as anxiety, this fear was discharged after about two weeks of sleepless nights and distracted days.

I'm running this week with a much lighter load. Comforted and comfortable. Medical science has not failed me this time and my fear of an insubordinate body is quieted for the time being. And I feel very full.

Full of love for the old and new people in my life and full of life, in general. In the absence of fear, there is a feeling of unshakable confidence.

And today is a happy day. Tomorrow will be, too. Because we all have people proximate to us who make sure of it.

Constant

Lately, I find myself getting caught up in words and their meanings. I do teach 5th grade English which includes spelling, grammar and written expression--that explains it. I am so an English teacher.

While I was driving today, the word constant kept banging around in my head. It really needs no definition by Webster's terms. Everyone understands it. It's always, impermeable, completely...there.

To be a constant anything, you've got to have either dedication or mania. Dedication to a task, to a person, to a perspective. Mania in a can't-escape-from-a-thought-or-action kind of way.

But, are you constantly anything?

I like to think of myself as a happy person, but I understand that constantly doesn't really fit there. Constantly happy. Who is? Someone who hasn't experienced anything, ever, I guess.

Unfortunately, I hold myself to an unreachable standard in pretty much every aspect of my being. So, a bad day for me is magnified into complete failure. Rationally, I understand that I, nor anyone else, can expect me to be happy, smiling all of the time--constantly. I don't always run with a rational mind, unfortunately.

If you google constant or constantly (I did), you will find all kinds of quick-fixes for life's most difficult circumstances: dealing with constant crying, a constant complainer, constant back pain, a constant canceler (someone who makes plans and then cancels--we all know them), constant bickering, constant rejection, criticism, even constants in math (which I can't begin to explain).

In my head I have to break it down like this: no person is every constantly anything, but they can be constantly there. And if/when that person is no longer a part of your life, the consistency of your life subsides. So, you have to find new constants, because we yearn for consistency in our lives. We cannot, however, be consistent in the way that we talk or act. To me, it seems that there are many levels of constant.

I had a bad weekend last week. I got to meet one of the most amazing softball players of my generation, and I still had a bad weekend. For that, I felt guilt. And I also felt guilt that I couldn't control the bad weekend, which brought out this amazing force of anxiety that I haven't felt in a long time. I fought it like a world champion, but it still got me.

Essentially, I regressed into the person (or, rather, the thoughts of the person) that I was a year ago. Anxious, emotional, and basically unstable.

Tonight, however, I have experienced revelation in this thought process.

My amicably-divorced-lady and I spent a lot of time talking about my impeccable, constant coping issue. So, I've spent the better part of a year figuring out how to cope without coping. Strange, isn't it? I thought so, too. Until I started thinking about what coping really is.

Coping is refusing to shift perspective. It's mulling over the same problem using the same tactic over and over and over again. Someone (who is not so brilliant and who will remain nameless) once told me that the definition of crazy is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. So, what my lady and I failed to venture is that coping can lead to crazy, at least in my case.

To give myself credit, I don't have to cope nearly as much. Give me a bad weekend, and its another story, but for the most part, I'm pretty much cope-free. I spent much less time analyzing every word that comes out of someone's mouth, their tone, their body language. Lately, I've been relaxed, which is a much nicer feeling. Especially considering that these days, I spend the majority of my time around people that I barely know on a surface level in an environment that I'm not quite comfortable with yet. A year ago, this probably would have put me on edge.

The shift in perspective, the idea of it, is something that I've had many conversations about with my celebratory friends. Usually, we talk about it as it relates to work or to other people. But, tonight, I'm thinking of it as it pertains to constant.

Last weekend, Jessica Mendoza talked about finding something good in the one person that you can't stand. She was talking about a bad teammate, namely, and at the time, I wasn't in the right mindset to take anything away from it. But now I get it.

It is an attitude, a choice. Find something good every day. There's good in every person and in every situation, you just have to be willing to see it. You have to be willing to shift your perspective to find the positive in the worst situations.

Perspective is partially inherited by watching people around us and its partially discovered in environments outside of our homes. Nurture vs. Nature. Does the entire spectrum of human nature always have to go back to this? Whoever came up with that dilemma is a genius. And he will drive me crazy for the rest of my life.

So, while I don't grasp or particularly like the idea of constant, I do fancy the more substantial thought that perspective is a constant ebb and flow of life's focus, and that perspective has control over the majority of every day energy.

And to make this thought process even more complicated, energy* is the outcome. Bad energy, good energy, lethargic, excited, dull, dramatic energy.

*Before I go on, I'd like to say that I'm not talking about auras or magic or dirty-hippie energy, dudes. I'm talking science (in laymen terms).

Everyone has energy, and just like perspective, its constantly changing (hopefully). Energy can change your perspective, your perspective can change your energy. The only constant is the constant. Change. How you respond to change, the energies around you, perspective.

So, back to the part where the ideas started swirling. Over the last year, and without my conscious knowledge, my coping shifted to an awareness of perspective. It moved from a focus outside to a focus inside, where I could control it. In most cases, if I can change my perspective, I can change my energy. If I can feed off of the energy around me, I can change my perspective. You might call this easily swayed, but if you can look past the negative connotations and view it more as a survival mechanism, it might just click.

The ability to see the positive or feel the positive where there really is no positive is a grating task on our souls. That's where the constant interplay of energy and perspective come in, I think. For most people the search for contented happiness is ongoing and often a daily struggle.

In a yoga class last week, our instructor gave us a meditative focus for the day: Breathe in..."I am"....Breathe out..."enjoyable." The intensity of the words or the idea behind them vary in interpretation, but, like most things, the mantra got me thinking. How can something so simple refocus your energy and perspective? Because for the rest of the day, by damn, I was really enjoyable.

Truthfully, no matter how in control (or aware) we are of perspective, we lose it. We let the bad days drown us and wallow in the self-loathing. And then we find our way out. There's always something or someone that pushes that shift in perspective or translates that positive energy.

Lately I've been thinking: If I have the crappiest day, someone else is having their happiest. So maybe my energy has temporarily left me and someone is borrowing it for the day. It's similar to the idea that when something bad happens to someone you love, you'll carry around their sorrow and anxiety for them, hoping maybe they'll feel less of it. If you need to borrow my energy, please do so. I've gotten pretty good at not coping, minus a bad day here and there.

Need to Know WHY

Why do bad things happen to good people?

We ask this question all the time, whether for ourselves or for others. But, really, why do bad things happen at all? And why are we so obsessed with why?

Its either imbedded deep into our genetics or a product of our society--we need to know why.

One of the first questions a toddler learns to ask is, "why?" Son, do this. Why, mommy? We teach our children to ask. We want them to desire explanation.

Why is what drives not only everything we do, but also our emotional reactions to everything that happens to us. Imagine how quickly your frustration at encountering that traffic jam on your way home from work would turn into horror if, as you passed the accident that caused it, you caught a glimpse of a mangled corpse lying beside a totaled car. Or how easily the irritation you’d feel at being told you have to work an extra shift at work each week for the next two months might turn into a willingness to contribute when you learn the reason is that one of your colleagues was just diagnosed with cancer and needs to spend that time getting chemotherapy.

We’re simply far more likely to accept a change if we understand the reason for it. Interestingly, our acceptance seems to hinge less on how much we like the reason and more on how much sense the reason makes to us. Even if the change fails to benefit us—even if it causes us harm in some way—if our sense of fairness is satisfied, we’re far more likely to accept and even embrace it.

But what about when there is no answer?

If you have survived a tragic, horrible event, chances are, you didn't deserve it. No one does. Bad things happen to all people. I think its more comforting to not ask why.

After my last surgery, I got stuck in a funk (as previously mentioned). Most of the anxiety and hurt was born from the daunting question: Why? Why me? Why my family? What did I do to deserve this again?

Now, please let me clarify that I do not, nor have I ever, classified my disease as a tragic, horrible affliction on my life. There are far worse tragedies that I have yet to meet.

But I have come to discover that, like most things in life, there is no answer. We could sit here for hours and try to hash this thing out, but its unnecessary. The healing process, whether physical or emotional, is simply not conducive to why. Why moves you in the wrong direction; its in opposition to progression. If we can move beyond the why and focus on the how, we have become productive.

Forget why this happened to me, to my family. How am I going to make this work? How am I going to continue living an involved, full life?

It is hard, though, to move beyond the why. Especially because its been embedded into our psyche to wonder and because everyone surrounding us in support is wondering why, too.

Can we just be okay with never knowing? Its a scary thought. Part of us wants to believe that in knowing why, we can fix or prevent. I just can't believe that those unaswerable circumstances aren't that way for a reason. This is not to say that "everything happens for a reason," but that maybe we aren't supposed to know. Maybe knowing is worse than not knowing. Maybe knowing opens a world of doors that are harder to pass than the door we are at now.

Last Saturday I participated in my first ever group run for the 1/2 marathon I'm running with Emily's Power for a Cure. First, let me say, it was awesome! I love to run and talk. There were about 8 of us and I just got to bounce around and have conversation with different people. 6 miles went really fast. With that much conversation, and with that many opinions, I've been lost in thought all week. Someone just had to ask, "Why?"

"Do they know why....?"

No, they don't. And they may never. And maybe, after there is time to settle in to this life-altering shift, they will be more at peace in not knowing.

Is there really an answer that would satisfy anyone? Not me. I don't want to know. I don't want to even begin to think of all the reasons that something so bad could happen to people who are so thoroughly good. I have been there. I've seen, at close range, what a loss like that can do to wreck a family, good people, when they get caught up in the many layers of why. And I've also seen what moving beyond why can do to strengthen these people.

My 2 year old cousin and 24 year old cousin died in their sleep. Why? Does it matter? What does matter goes far beyond why. The emotional and physical strain it took from my aunts and uncles to stay in the here-and-now for their children. The confusion of a child who lost the one person they were promised to grow old with.

One of my very best friends lost someone close to him. He was her care-taker, her friend, her cousin, and the one person that understood her best. And there's no reason for it. It happened too quickly, with no answers.

No one, good or bad, deserves it. Bad things happen to all people. If you go through life and nothing bad ever happens to you, well, you're one lucky SOB.

But here's the moral to this lesson: Just do right. It may not be expedient. It may not be profitable. But it will satisfy your soul. You make your own choices.

And by profitable, I mean to say that the shit could still hit the fan no matter how right or good you are. You keep treking along the path of right regardless of why the bad happened.

Learn to let it bend before it breaks.

I am a yoga elf. Seriously. Walking into a class full of long beautiful stretchy bodies that can contort and flow in ways that mine cannot is intimidating. I'm short and frumpy compared to these yoga gods and goddesses.

Tonight as I reluctantly made my way into a completely packed class (I say reluctantly because I have to talk myself into going every time), my self-consciousness was on high alert.

Sara, our instructor, is amazing. She is a guru, I swear. I think she has a mood-reading gift that allows her to personally connect with everyone in the class.

She began class by talking about being uninspired. Perfect. That was the name that I gave myself as I was driving to class, parking my car, and walking up the stairs hoping that my reservation had been cancelled or that I was one minute too late to walk in.

Because there were absolutely no other spots left, I unrolled my mat front and center and kissing the mirror. My least favorite spot. I like to be in the back where I can't see my reflection. I feel like if I can't see the mirror, no one can see me.

Uninspired and self-conscious.

Sara rocked because she tackled both of these issues before we ever got started. As we were sitting on our mats and I was being aware of my bad posture and inability to relax, she closed our eyes and eased us into our practice for the day. And our focus was being comfortable with yourself--being comfortable with feeling uninspired, comfortable with struggling, comfortable with being uncomfortable.

I try to keep my eyes closed most of the time so I can focus. If I open my eyes too much, I feel like I start thinking too much and can't experience the present moment. So, closed eyes and deep breathing.

Deep breathing, if you've never tried it, gives your brain and, subsequently, your body this feeling of altitude. It is a lot like a runners high. Except you are asking your body to do something completely different.

I love to run. I love to feel powerful and fast and to have an achievable, measurable goal. Yoga is completely out of this element.

Yoga doesn't allow me to feel any of these things. I don't know when we will go through our last progression or when I can finally lay my body down in a totally relaxed job-well-done state. I am completely clueless.

So, needless to say, my fumbling body falls out of poses often. This is the point in my post-yoga mind where I can explain why yoga has become a can't-miss happiness point in my life.

Somewhere between achieving flexibility for a pose that I lacked 3 weeks ago and falling out of a basic pose, I had a realization tonight.

My expectations of my body and the reality of my body are forever in a war.

Please don't judge me, but I honestly shed a little tear tonight in class over this realization.

Physical activity--of all kinds--has been a large part of who I am since I can remember. I played every sport offered growing up--soccer, basketball, swimming, softball, track, diving, etc. I never stopped moving. The challenge of teaching your body how to react to your mind's direction and the feeling of triumph when you master a skill is, to me, one of the most rewarding sensations.

In high school, I learned how to run. Rather, I learned how to breathe, which enabled me to run. I went from the kid who couldn't finish 2 miles, to the kid that ran every day. For the sole reason that I could do it.

I was the same way with softball. I studied it like I needed to pass a midterm. And in some ways, getting a spot on the field was more rewarding than anything I ever did in a classroom. I went early to practice, stayed late, watched video, worked every possible camp I could squirm my way into. Softball nerd.

Mastering those skills, enabling my body to be successful and efficient--that is what I love about being active.

If I could have it my way, I would probably be an active-junkie. Not an exercise addict, because the way I feel about it goes far beyond exercise. The simple fact is, my body will not let me.

My yoga revelation comes in here.

I feel such resentment toward my body. My body turned on me when I was 15 years old and I have never forgiven it. I have pushed it to the breaking point over and over and over again in the 10 years since its disloyalty.

I ran a marathon for only two reasons, I think. To cross it off of some imaginary bucket list, and to spite my body. To show it who's boss.

A disloyal body. It doesn't seem right to categorize it in this way.

My body lets me do plenty of things. I can eat whatever I want to within reason. I can work 12 hour days without sitting down. I can run. I can go to sleep at night and wake up the next morning.

I'm still quite disappointed in it.

At the risk of sounding like I'm whining, a few sore points are:

--constantly malnourished regardless of a healthy diet.

--extra effort goes into maintaining hydration and weight.

--vitamin b-12 shots self inflicted every two weeks because I can't absorb it.

--Imuran by mouth daily and Remicade via IV infusion every 7 weeks (both immuno-suppresant drugs)

--immuno-suppresant drugs make me more susceptible to illness/disease

--fairly consistent fatigue

--joint pain

Those are just the sore points. There are a plethora of issues that come with being a carrier of the Crohn's burden.

I am currently experiencing a flare-up. That's what they call it when all of your symptoms are active and it can be brought on by a multitude of things--stress, lack of sleep, change in environment, change in diet, etc. Sometimes there is no clear reason behind a flare. Symptoms include (ironically): lack of sleep, lack of appetite, pain and cramping, change in bowels (constipated to runny), exhaustion, etc.

Luckily, I can have active symptoms without having active disease.

I hate it. I'm pissed at it. And I'm constantly carrying it around, coping with it. Most of the coping is pretending like it doesn't exist.

With that said, tonight my revelation involved giving up some of this resentment that I hold toward my body. Realizing that I have to live with it and I have been living with it and that it would be a much better situation if I was a little more Brady Bunch about it.

So, in Brady fashion, I've got to be honest with myself. There are just some things that I shouldn't do. Not that I can't do them. I'm capable of doing all kinds of things. But if I'm going to come to terms with the body that has defied me, I've at least got to start by being nice to it.

Brandi Carlile has a song called "Bend Before it Breaks." I love this song, but I've never figured out how it applies to me. Its about a lover and that love being over--anyway, Matt and I are great, so it doesn't fit there. It does, however, fit here. And it was the song that was in my head as I was leaving class.

Heavy-hearted.

Its not the old guilt that I felt after my last surgery. The feeling has manifested into a total self-loathing that I was unaware of until this evening. I feel a little like I've been punched in the stomach.

Being comfortable with yourself--being comfortable with feeling uninspired, comfortable with struggling, comfortable with being uncomfortable. Searching for comfort or at least a happy place within the body I have been blessed with.

I'm alright, don't I always seem to be?

Aren't I swinging on the stars? Don't I wear them on my sleeves?

Went looking for a crossroads, it happens every day

And which ever way you turn, I'm going to turn the other way.

Ch-ch-ch-changes

Change is the essence of life. It is being willing to surrender who you are for what you could become.

"We are not the same persons this year as last; nor are those we love. It is a happy change if we, changing, continue to love a changed person." William Somerset Maugham

The quality I most appreciate in a good friend is understanding. Understanding that who we are, as friends, as people, is an ever evolving process of our lives and of our friendship. I've always felt that, as I've grown older, the friends that made it easiest were the ones who wouldn't chastise me for going months without a phone call. The ones who understand that I am as busy as they are. That friendship works both ways.

I really love my friends. Without them, a vital part of my happiness would be lost. As I've said before, there are many different levels of friendship. What I haven't said is this: of all of the different levels of friendship, there is one thing I always expect. It is very basic to a functional friendship. I will rejoice in your successes as you rejoice in mine. And judgment has no place.

I have made many friends in my adventures through life. I met my best friend when we were 3, and regardless of how much we have changed (and lord, have we changed), I know she will be with me forever. I still have friends from elementary school. I see my friends from high school every chance I get. And I go visit my college friends when I get a weekend of non-crazy (which has been slim, lately). I have friends post-college.

My wedding invite list is out of this world.

But to all of these friends, I am a different person now than I was when I met them. If I wasn't, we'd all be a little worried.

When I was 3, I wasn't a real person--so, I've grown up with Emily and experienced every change with her. I'm sure that I am not the same as I was in elementary school, singing Phantom of the Opera on the playground or trading POGS. And I know for certain that I changed immensely through high school and college. I learned how to put on makeup and pick out clothes that didn't make me look like a little boy. I learned how to handle responsibility and how to make smart decisions about every area of my life. I learned who I was. And I've changed since then.

All of my friends have changed. And their changes are entertaining and mature and beautiful. Its when my friends stop changing that it worries me. If you're not changing, don't you feel like you have nothing to bring to the table?

Some friends change and then quietly make an exit out of your life. This is not to say that they are not your "friend," but that they've moved into another category of your life. And this, as in all stages of life, is fine.

I've never understood, however, an abrupt realization that a friend has changed--they've changed and you just don't know them anymore and the friendship is forever altered. This abruptness, to me, is ignorance. You haven't been paying attention to the process. In reality, you have probably changed just as much.

Change is necessary. At least, in my opinion. If we weren't constantly changing, we would be stuck. We would stop learning about ourselves and about our world. We would stop thinking, rationalizing, considering. Stagnant.

I understand that people want stability in their lives. Stability does not have to mean stuck. You can acquire financial stability, stability within your home, stability within your state of mind. Stability can be a soothing, necessary element of life. But there are so many things outside of stability that necessitate happiness.

We all make fun of the old ladies who dress the same way they did in their great decade. Don't deny it. We all do it. Or the old men who are stuck in a trend intended for the cool guys 30 years ago. It's funny. But it's also sad. Because these people made up their mind years ago who they were going to be, what they were going to eat, who they were going to socialize with, and what they were going to wear. And they haven't looked beyond that.

If I still dressed the way I did in elementary school or high school, you'd think I didn't care about my appearance. I'd wear a Starter jacket and a Hornet's t-shirt with shorts too big. And if I dressed the way I dressed in college, you'd think I was cheap. Because I was. I wore whatever the softball team supplied--sweats, t-shirts, a warmup, shorts. And now I can dress however I want to.

I agree that clothing is a weak example. Dress in whatever makes you feel comfortable. But, if I'm your friend, and you're still wearing the same sweater from high school, I'm going to encourage you to let go. Move on. Try something new.

Think differently.

A major component of change is how we think. If we stop considering things from different point of views, how will we ever move on? How can you hate or love something for an entire lifetime?

My parents always baffle me. They met in high school and began dating when they were sophomores. They got married at 22, had me at 23, and didn't stop having kids for 12 years. For a long time, their relationship was in survival mode. Don't screw any of the kids up, remember to pay the bills, work to pay the bills, and get everyone where they need to go. Five kids later, their relationship has evolved. And it keeps changing. When I was in college, I got to experience this rekindling of a relationship I never knew growing up. They became friends again after they got rid of most of us. They had to get to know each other again. They go on bike rides together.

New is hard. Change can be hard. But change is also fun and refreshing.

In the past, change has caused me much anxiety. I cried every day in 1st and 2nd grade when my parents switched me to a new school. And before my first try out for middle school softball, I called my mom crying and she picked me up and drove me down to the softball field (on campus) and pushed me out of the car. Somehow, change began to grow on me.

I didn't go to college with any of my high school friends. Most of my friends went with at least one other person that they knew. I did not. I still can't explain why or how I did this. Or how I never even thought about the fact that I would be a new kid on campus with no friends. But I did it, and I made friends, and I allowed myself to accept the changes in my life. As uncomfortable as they were.

I went to a new school to play my last year of softball eligibility. The only person I knew on campus was my sister, who was a freshman. She was doing all these new-college things that I had already done. I was in grad school. And I lived alone. That's the biggest accomplishment to me. That I did that. That I stepped outside of my comfort zone and allowed EVERYTHING about my life to change. And it was rewarding in ways that I can't explain.

And Matt. I always have to include Matt. You can ask him if you want, but the changes he's experienced with me are hilarious. I went from this little girl with a huge shield around my emotions to a person who asks to be hugged and kissed. Matt has been an amazing catalyst of change.

So, I like change. I've said it before in different words. Evolve. Keep growing. Keep finding new things that make you happy and be willing to move away from the things that don't. Even if it is uncomfortable.

I know I'm different now than when you first met me. I listen to different music, I eat differently, I dress differently, I may talk about different things. But aren't you glad? It's like getting to meet me all over again.