Pre warning: I am jetlagged, I am excited to the point of manic and this whole blog just popped into my head as I was trying to go to sleep. I can feel a ramble coming on. I am going to write whatever comes into my crazy head, uninterrupted.
The reason? It isn’t very profound. It is really just so I can actually sleep, and because when an entire blog pops into ones head, one does not ignore it. They put it on the internet like any self respecting self indulgent Gen X child would do, with a dash of a hashtag and the dot of a full stop, sprinkled with wordy words and too many verbs.
I sit here on the balcony listening to the waves on Waikiki beach, breathing in the Hawaiian night air. My children are all sleeping jet lagged and exhausted from all of the excitement. You see, I am ticking off an item of my bucket list. I am creating amazing memories with my little tribe. Life is coursing through my veins more vibrant and intense than the blood that keeps pumping. I wagered with my brother and my husband 2 years ago that if I was still alive I would take my children to Hawaii, a place I have felt a connection to for so long now. So you got that right? It happened. I am sitting here in Hawaii, on Waikiki beach, listening to waves. So full of wowness and can’t-believe-it-actually-happened + a bit of: oh shit this sort of excitement isn’t good for me and a teensy bit of Wow-again. This is basically my mindset at 2.00 am.
So this is my message in a bottle to the person sitting in a lab somewhere right now, drinking coffee to stay awake, grappling with the missing code just on the edge of their brain, they are within a moment’s reach of that discovery, the discovery that could save thousands of lives, please hurry. I am so grateful to you for being smart enough and doing the hard yards to do medicine, to dedicate hundreds if not thousands of hours of study into something so technical. For the parent or mentor that inspired you or urged you to get that education, thank you so much. But hurry. Because I am in love with my life and as much as I am not frightened of my next grand adventure, I have so fallen in love with this life, I have discovered what it is to be fearless and have even more faith than I thought possible, and am feeling the benefit and reward for that now. SOS: NOT READY TO LEAVE, POST HASTE.
This wee bit of faith popping up across many parts of my existence right now, feels like a great investment I accidentally put deposits into when all I was trying to do was survive. The accidental investor, how weird is that? It is paying back into my life ten fold and then one thousand times over again. I feel like all I was asked to do is take a step under the water and breathe in deeply. I was frightened at first, but then once my lungs filled and I discovered I could breathe, I got down into the depths, there were hidden kingdoms and caverns with bright lights and treasures beyond imagining.
I am still here to argue with my children and guide them through their teenage years. I can reach forward in the aeroplane and plait her hair. I can grab him even though he is too cool for mother affection now and give him what resembles a head lock and a kiss. I can discuss the universal argument with my eleven year old about who reigns superior? Batman or Superman? Was Atari REALLY that good? Retro Mario is actually fairly superior.
I am still here to pat my dogs and look into their big brown eyes, knowing on some other level and some other place there are words they can speak that say: I know, I get you. I am still here to kiss my best friend and ask him how his day was, cracking jokes between us until we can barely breathe, sitting up until the late hours hoping together and saying wow, 20 years, has it really been THAT long? How lucky are we? He still thinks my farts are funny and he isn’t sick of me yet, how on earth can that be? He still looks at me with lovesick eyes, and he puts up with all my mess. Look to be honest, it is most likely conjunctivitis and he may have a nervous twitch with my messiness but you know I really am THAT good at denial now. Art-form, seriously. AND I am sitting in Hawaii, did I mention that?
Don’t get me wrong I have had my emotional upheavals, actually they are more shit creek-ish than upheaval-ish, an upheaval to me now seems more like a shopping trolley in a headwind on pension day. Denial- how good it can be. The sweet nectar of forgetting for a moment or three gently sipped three times daily with a straw.
No one I meet needs to know, I can pretend to be normal. Aneurysm or not, feeling normal has been really hard you know?
Normal doesn’t come easy to me, it never has. I guess the moment I came out of the womb missing body parts it was safe to say it wasn’t going to be a walk in the park. It took most of my twenties to overcome the first 13 year of my life. I gripped onto whatever fragments of joy I could find, in what felt like a very hostile, alien world, in which I never really felt part of. I am not the only one either. I listen to people telling me this all the time. Isn’t that interesting?
People shocked me every other day, and I never really knew what was coming, or could never predict people’s actions. I was constantly fed the confusing perception that I was either completely naive, too sweet, too trusting, too smart, knew too much, too funny, too skinny, too fat, too impulsive, too exciteable, too positive, too deep, too this and too that. Like sand-paper and bubbles they just don’t go together do they?
In my travels I have found, when you rely on the messages other humans give you, to define who you think you might be, well…it’s all just too confusing.
I was very often in a state of hurt and bewilderment and belief that the world is a harsh and horrible place, a place i just have to get through, keeping the rest of the world at a safe and manageable distance, so it wasnt “too close.” How times have changed.
What does it look like now? Now I don’t rely on anyone to validate who I am. I know who I am. God knows who I am. My Friends know exactly who I am. Yes I used a capital letter for the word Friend. The good ones deserve it. Most of my family know who I am (most lol). My husband knows who I am, and I really care about the opinions of two certain mentors in regard to my grammar use and writing, if I am totally honest. These are the only opinions that sit with any weight in my heart. Anything else isn’t worth thinking about, as it is a vast investment in pointless negative self indulgence, getting in the way of getting the shit done, that you are here to get done.
A use-by date has that affect on you.
A treasure box has been presented to me this last year, helping others in a new business that sparks my mind in beautiful ways every single day. To the point of obsession, I take this weird device called a pen and make marks on a page. People pay me to do it. How crazy cool is that? I get to genuinely help other people in a impacting and positive way, it’s too self-indulgent to even say out loud really.
I know I get hyped up about it, call it delayed career discovery, or mental mum goes back into the workforce as a distraction from possibly dying and found it to be more enjoyable, and fulfilling than she thought possible. Fulfilling, how overused is that word? Can we come up with a new one? What about the word icecream? I am serious. Unexpected success is like the shock of biting into an icecream and the cold hits your teeth, but when it’s your favorite flavour, you can’t stop. You get used to the shock of the cold and get on with the business of Icecream. We could walk around saying “OMG I am so like, totally feeling Iceacream right now.”
I am being paid to write. My grade 6 teacher told me I would be a well paid writer one day, that I would have books published because I was a natural. Well Mr. Wegmann, it only took me another 29 years to step up to the plate, but I got there eventually. If you are out there somewhere I send you love and think of you every time I have a moment of doubting my ability to write. I remember your words and think that maybe this writing thing is meant to be. I remember a friend of mine called John who writes seriously good shit and when he told me I could write it was one of the happiest dats of my life. It was like DaVinci telling you, you’ve got a good head for encryption, or Van Gogh telling you that you aren’t too shabby with a paintbrush. I think of my two beautiful uncles who after the second brain surgery urged me to get serious and no more mucking about, ‘you are here to write, get on with it.’ If you are paid to feel Icecream, then get your Mr. Whippy on.
From the time I was old enough to form words into sentences I have been told I can write. Whether I am any good or not is really none of my business. It’s all I have ever wanted to do, and it’s what I have always been lead to do. I just got myself all tied up in the ego of ‘not good enough’ for the first few decades. Only a species like a human would create a snobby egocentric elitism attachment to making marks on a page with ink. Truth is, something whispers in my heart like an old friend that writing is the thing I promised I would do this time round before I got here. Told you I was crazy. Batshit. Jetlag sucks.
Now I am just trying to get some sleep before I completely embarass myself and so I can get ready for the days to come. What does one do when they have amazing children with wicked imaginations, and an ongoing curiosity about palaeontology mixed in with a very real Steven Spielberg love affair? You go on a Jurassic park horse riding trail into the heart of the Hawaiian jungle of course. We are going on a dino hunt. The eleven year old keeps breaking out in the soundtrack, so cute.
I wonder if somewhere right now on the other side of the planet there is a researcher sitting in a lab formulating the cell depth required for non-rupture of a traumatic fusiform aneurysm, that just starting humming the sound track to Jurassic park , but they aren’t sure where the urge came from. #extinctmyass #sidestepping
PS- My favorite is Salted Caramel if anyone was guessing.