Quench

As fires consumed our beautiful mountainsides and darkened the sky with its suffocating smoke… I prayed for rain. 

And, in praying for rain, I prayed for an end to these difficult, uncomfortable conditions.

The heat of the sun combined with heat of the fires.

The air was rank and burned our lungs. Many of us coughed.

The breeze, heavy with ash, offered no coolness… no relief.

And there was no end in sight.

When one fire left, another started. It was a cycle… a pyromaniac’s roulette.

No one really felt safe. We all prayed for rain.

But days passed, and none came. 

Until today. I drove with the windows down. I heard it patter on the windshield, the roof. I smelled it. I felt it cool my skin. It felt refreshing. It felt new. It felt laden with possibility.

And with how good the rain felt, I wondered why there ever had to be the fire, the heat, the hard stuff in life. And then I thought about how good it felt to just… feel the rain. Like an old friend, I welcomed it back into my life. I let it quench my thirst.

It felt like refreshment, newness, and possibility.

And then I understood why we must have the drought… we have the drought so we can experience the quench. 

A drought isn’t *just* an opportunity to master anxieties, to conquer fears. It’s a period of without so that when we receive again, it feels so good. It’s a chance to practice happiness in all circumstances. It’s a reminder to feel gratitude when we receive.

Why do we really have the hard times in life? I don’t know. I’ve heard people say that everything happens for a reason. But… I’m not so sure that I completely buy into that notion. I’m sure that we can find reason for most things, but I think that when we expect to find a reason in all things, we can often get stuck looking for the reason while overlooking the lesson... the pursuit of the “why” becomes nothing more than a noble distraction that obscures the lesson we were meant to receive. And, sometimes the pursuit of the “why” can lead to disappointment, especially if we don’t find it in what we consider to be a reasonable time-frame. It begets confusion, irritation, and… often ingratitude.

I don’t know why fires littered the land like confetti after a New Year’s party. 

I don’t know why some lost their homes, and others did not. 

But I do know that when the rain came, we were all grateful.  

Under Pressure

Setting: Brunch with a Ladybird-Friend

I hadn’t seen her since there before there was snow on the ground. See... she lives in the motherland (my western-edge-bearing home-state of California), and I live... here, in NOT California. Of course, we’d kept in touch via miscellaneous modern technology (thank goodness for text messages and emails!), but we hadn’t had a for-realsie face-to-face conversation in months… which in girl-time may as well be eons.

Luckily, we are those-kind of friends.

You know… those kind.

The kind that can go months without talking (in real-life) and still not miss a beat when they see one another again.

So, of course we skipped right over the idle chit-chat and jumped into the meat-(tofu?)-and- potatoes-conversation…

… relationships.

See, my friend has been married for a little over a year now. So her wild dating days are over. And, although my dating days can’t really be classified as “wild,” she still kindly pretends that my stories are at least interesting.

As I recited through my list of potential suitors to-date, I couldn’t help but feel lucky.

I couldn’t help but feel that I had learned.

Because, although I had been in a relationship break drought (two years is a drought, right?), I had not allowed another man to enter my space that would try to change me or control me since the ex-fiancée.

I had not allowed myself to be put in another long-term compromised position.

I thought about my last narrow escape with a relationship… undoubtedly, it was an upgrade from my engagement. I mean, right off the bat, the new fella and I had far more in common than the exancee.

But, in the end, new fella tried to pressure me too. He tried to make me into something I wasn’t ready to be. And he didn’t want to wait for me to be ready. It was now or never.

With my ex-fiancée, I compromised. I said okay. I made us into what he wanted us to be. BUT this time, I did not. I simply asked for what I needed… time. Time to process my feelings about the situation. Time to come to terms with the idea of being a plus-one again. I hadn’t been in a ‘real’ relationship (you know, the kind where you actually try to build something together) since the ex-fiancée. It was a jump for me. A big jump.

It was time that I needed. It was time that I asked for. It was time that he couldn’t give me. And that was okay. Despite our bizarrely common hobbies and perspective, our needs were different. And, given our situations at the time, we were not able to fill each other’s needs. So we parted ways. And it was okay. I was okay. There was nothing I could have done better, or differently. It just was.

It was like a two-part test… my ex-fiancée taught me the course material, and the new fella proctored the exam.

I passed.

I had learned.

I had learned to ask for what I needed, instead of catering to what I thought a man wanted. I had learned not to fear rejection when asking for something that, frankly, might not be what the other desired. 

And, not only had I learned, I realized that this parting of ways with the new fella had opened me up to feel all of the feelings of rejection that I had harbored from my ex-fiancée… feelings that for years remained buried under a layer of pride and false dignity. Feelings that for years I was just not ready to deal with. It was pretty unexpected, and I felt as though these buried feelings burst from their grave without any warning. It was messy, messy, MESSY. And it was a mess that took a couple of months to heal. But, when it did heal, I was stronger than I ever was.

In fact, for the first time in more years than I care to list, I felt normal. I felt like me again. Yes, I had learned.

And in that moment, in this conversation with a very dear friend, at this little river-side diner nestled in the canyon…

I knew that everything would be okay.

I smiled.

She smiled.

We both knew it was going to be okay.


And then, gosh golly, I ordered us a brusert (brunch-desert) to celebrate!



P.S. Ever had that happen to you… you know, where a breakup from one ex-suitor makes you feel the breakup from a previous ex-suitor?

We Teach, We Learn

That which the caterpillar thinks is the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly.

Sometimes it feels like life is ending.... like our whole world is crashing down around us. 

Sometimes it is metamorphosis. 

And, sometimes (dare I say most times?), what feels like an end is really a beginning. 

A butterfly I saw in Austin, Texas.

I believe that we are put in situations to learn. 

And it seems to me that some of the most overwhelming lessons involve some sort of heartbreak. 

Trust me, I know. I’ve haven’t been in many heartbreaking situations… but I’d easily argue that fact with “quality over quantity.” My most then-heartbreaking situation started with cheating and ended with being jilted on my wedding day (yeah, bruiser, I know).

Although this story brought much heartache and pain, I do not judge or harbor resentment to the perpetrator for these hurts. Instead, I learned to trust in the fact that we are all on this journey of life together, and we are all learning. And as much as it hurt my heart, at the time I hoped that it would bring learning, at least to me, and hopefully others.

I can’t account for what others might have learned from this situation, but I know I learned a lot - specifically about resentment and letting go (although I learned many, many other things as well - but I will talk more about them another day).

The easiest way for me to explain my thoughts about resentment/letting go is with a little visual (enter Mountain-Hiker-Brandy). Sometimes I imagine life to be like a mountain climb. Sometimes there are switchbacks, where the same steps are (seemingly) repeated before progress is made. Sometimes we must cross through a valley. Sometimes the route to the top is not the most efficient or expedient. Sometimes we must backtrack to find our way forward. Sometimes we need to sit down and take a break. Sometimes we get so thick in the forest that we can’t see more than a few feet ahead of us – let alone the way to the top! Sometimes we must clear our own path and trust in guidance far greater than us. When we harbor resentment, it’s like putting stones in our backpacks. It makes our load heavier. It tires us. It distracts us. It makes it harder to commune with the divine. It makes it harder to get to where we belong, to where we are intended.

And it hurts us. Not just because the load is greater but, in harboring resentment, we are no longer authentic to ourselves. Because no one can be authentic and consumed with resentment at the same time.

And it doesn't only hurt us... it also hurts others because, in reducing ourselves, it makes us unable to serve in the capacity that we otherwise could.  

No one is immune from the toll of resentment.

And we all deserve so much better than the burden of resentment.

Even as my world felt like was ending, on that bitter supposed-to-be-wedding-day, I learned. They weren't easy lessons, but I learned. And I believe that we can all learn from our situations.

Who, or what, teaches us?

What do we observe to learn?

What have we observed to learn today?

Who, or what, do we teach?

And... do our actions align with the lessons that resonate in our hearts?

Do we teach the beautiful lessons that each of us carry within our hearts? And how do we teach these lessons… with an overwhelming force, like a gusty wind that breaks our pupils in submission, OR with a quiet “knowing” that allows the student to observe and learn in the same way that we might learn from the butterfly? 

Although the lessons often vary from person-to-person, and moment-to-moment – the fact that there are things in the world to teach us, and there are things in the world that we are to teach remains constant. 

“When the student is ready, the teacher will appear.” – Buddha

Sometimes we will knowingly be the student, and sometimes we will knowingly be the teacher… either way, we must always be ready with an open heart, an open mind, and trust in something far greater than us. 

Because sometimes the greatest lessons we teach are those that we never intended to teach – those that we taught from the midst of the Refiner’s fire. 

 

♪ Getting to Know You... ♪

I’ve gotten a few inquiries wanting to know a little more about this  Business of Brandy noun.

Understandably, all (read: both) of these emails could be from well-intentioned family members that just want to make me feel warm, fuzzy, and popular inside. But… I’m (conveniently) allowing delusion to override that thought so I can progress to making a list of interesting things about myself. 

20 (Not-So) Little-Known Things about the Business of Brandy 

1. I am a vocabulary junkie. Okay, maybe that one was obvious. Probably not. Because, unless engaged in a game of Scrabble or Words with Friends (modern Scrabble), I don’t think I use nearly as many adult-type words as I should.

2. I love the color green. Pretty much any shade, it doesn't matter. 

3. The Bird of Paradise is my favorite flower.

4. I am an Gandhi fanatic. I just adore him.

5. I believe in a higher force that guides, shapes, and teaches us to remember who we are.

6. I am a yogini.

7. I am left-handed. I write left. But I throw right. But I bat left. But I shoot right. But I eat left. Now I’m just confused. And you probably are too. Sigh.

8. I have a dog. She is a Shiba Inu. Her name is Opie, which is short for Optimus Prime. I commonly refer to her as my dog-ter.

9. Opie's command to go to her kennel is simply “Go to Jail.” 

10. Since I was a child, when asked the classic “If you were stranded on a deserted island and could only bring one thing, what would you bring?” I would always say “A boat.” I never understood why more people didn’t say a boat.

11. I was suspended from school for the first, last, and only time in Kindergarten. There was a boy that picked on me mercilessly. I mean, I would come home with scratches and bruises. It was pretty bad... and the school never caught him, so they never did anything about it. So my dad taught me how to hit. I don’t know that anyone ever expected me to practically use this lesson, but I did. Which resulted in a black eye for the bully at school and a suspension for me. (UPDATE: This bully and I buried the hatchet 20 years later by becoming Facebook friends... thanks, Facebook!).

12. I love Corvettes. Love them. LOVE them.

13. I was a full-on vegetarian for about as long as I could go without sushi. So… not very long. I still eat a semi-vegetarian diet, but fishes are okay.

14. I love tea. I could go without soda, juice… pretty much every other drink on the planet. But don’t take my tea! On a side note, most of my friends find my “mature” drinking habits strange.

15. Adding to seemingly bizarre drinking habits, I don’t drink alcoholic-type beverages – making me the go-to designated driver amongst my friends.

16. I love breakfast. Breakfast, breakfast, breakfast. Yum, yum, yum. I could eat breakfast anytime and love it. Especially waffles. And crepes. And eggs. And oatmeal. Oh breakfast, I love you so!

17. I love the outside. There is very little that tops camping, hiking, and campfires. I also love to cook outdoors, and I love the challenge of making what I call “gourmet meals in the wilderness.” My most interesting feat in the “camp kitchen” so far? Making orange-chocolate-lava-cakes in the campfire, using nothing but a campfire, water, cake mix, a small Hershey bar, and an orange. Delicious!

18. After much encouragement from friends, I tried the whole Twitter-thing… and failed at it, miserably. I just can’t seem to be bothered to incorporate one more social medium into my life. Call me old-fashioned, but I think a blog, email, and Facebook is about as modern as I get.

19. I love my birthday… strictly for the fact that the day-number and the month-number are the same (i.e. 1/1, 2/2, 3/3… etc.). Some people might find this slight affinity for numbers strange. I think some doctors might refer to this numerical fascination as "OCD." But me, well, I wish there were an even number of letters in the term "OCD," because it would be better that way.

And now for number 20…

20. This probably does not come as much of a surprise, but… I love to read. And I mean L-O-V-E to read. This passion does not stop at books. Since I was a child, I’ve read pretty much anything I could get my hands on – including the backs of cereal boxes at breakfast and shampoo/conditioner bottles in the shower.

P.S. What are some of your interesting quirks? :) 

rEVOLUTION

Here’s a little compilation of my random thoughts on evolution. No, not the controversial to-teach-or-not-to-teach-in-elementary-schools type of evolution....

... personal evolution...

... like how we evolve throughout our lifetimes… which I completely, totally, 100% believe that we do.

From my baby, Yoga Project.
Photo Credit: (the very talented) Adam Reeves Photography

Sometimes this evolution is for good, like when we adapt ourselves to a new skill or hobby that is going to serve us and our future. Like waking up early to work out… assuming that it is an “I like to work out in the morning because it clears my head and prepares me for my day,” and NOT a fear-based hobby – a la “I must work out or I will get out of shape.”

But... sometimes this evolution can also be for bad. Like when we learn a new enabling activity, or self-denial, or acclimate ourselves to some other crippling hobby.

The concept of personal evolution is an understanding in change over time.

Personal evolution is an understanding that the place we presently occupy… essentially where we are now... is a springboard for the place we can be tomorrow - just as every yesterday was the beginning of our placement today.

The essence of the natural world is change. It is a never-ending expression and re-expression of itself. As we are a part of nature, we too, are constantly experiencing change. But what is the direction in this change? Do we move forward, or backward? Do we allow ourselves to be wishy-washy and afraid - coming and going with the latest trends, constantly affected by the daily occurrence of life and allowing our circumstances to make a living for us? Or do we take a stand and demand the life that we want, the life that we are capable of, the life that our souls yearn for, and make a living? 

Do we allow a life to be made for us, or do we CREATE a life for ourselves?

We are constantly evolving – in our practice, in our intelligence, in our emotions, in our understanding… and we can always evolve into something more or something less – that choice is ours.

However, if we choose positive progression, as we evolve into more mature beings, our ability to express ourselves and establish presence increases. The choice for positive progression increases our overall quality of life. 

And, as with any choice, the moment we boldly make the decision to live life instead of allowing life to live us, we are carried in a direction that far exceeds the capacities we ever thought possible – in a good way. We are carried in the direction of our dreams.

Regardless of our decision – to live or be lived, the universe collaborates and synergizes to make that choice possible.

Many of mankind's historical progressions were never thought possible... until one person lived out his/her dream. It only takes one person, one luminary, one dreamer, to change the course of the world. (Think Benjamin Franklin – until he harnessed the power of electricity, people never dreamed that illumination beyond candlelight was possible… but with one key, one kite, one storm, and [arguably] one death-wish, he changed the course of the world. He did not allow the world to set his limitations and live his life. He made a choice, and the universe synergized to see it through.)

This same “power” exists within each and every one of us. Our souls yearn to be free, to live the lives of our dreams.

We must only choose what will determine the nature of our evolution – our soul, or the world?

Progression or regression?

Positive or negative?

Invisble Mom

I promised I would write a mom-post for Mother’s Day. However, since I will be heading to the middle of nowhere… where *gasp* cell phones and internet-machines might not work, I thought I would post it now. Even though it is early. So… without further ado, here it is.

 

And…

sweet mother, I have no idea how to write this post.

But I promised I would write it (see R-E-S-P-E-C-T, where I talk more about the jilting, and also make the promise to write this post for Mother's Day).

Honestly, I secretly hoped that it would just… come to me, and I would have this amazing post.

But… nothing.

I mean, how do you write about the time you were a mother… until you weren’t anymore?

It’s pretty damn hard, I will tell you that.

It’s a lot harder than I thought it would be. And, trust me, I was already pretty sure it wouldn’t be easy.

So here’s my best. Because that’s what ya’ll deserve. 

I won’t leave, I promise.

My mother raised me to never make promises I couldn’t keep.



I broke that promise.

And it wasn’t just any promise.

It was probably the most important promise of my life.



I don’t even remember how it all fell apart… there really was very little warning. My last memory of her, of Bug (that's what I used to call her), was drawing pictures, spinning her in an office chair in the conference room at her father’s building (after hours, of course, so it wasn’t horribly immature). And then, just like that, it was over… like it had never even happened. Sometimes it all feels like a blur… like one of the most challenging, but happiest dreams of my life.

I used to be a mom… which really means that I am a mom. At least, that’s what everyone tells me… once a mom, always a mom. I kind of agree with that statement. Because even when you don’t have your little one anymore, you always think about your little one… even when it hurts so badly that you (almost) desperately wish that you could forget… that you would just… stop… thinking about her anymore.

The truth is, even though this loss is (by far) the most painful I have ever endured, I would never trade it. Not for the world. Even if Doc Brown rolled up in the DeLorean, offering to whisk me away to a time where it would never hurt again, I would decline (I would probably ask him to take me to my 24-year-old self so I could borrow it for my 20th High School Reunion and look absolutely FABULOUS for my age, however).

But, no, I wouldn’t trade the precious memories I have of that sweet baby for anything.

I mean anything.

I love her, you know.

With a love that, frankly, I didn’t even know existed.

With a love that, frankly, I didn’t even know I was capable of.



My ex-fiancée had a daughter.

Yes… the ex-fiancée that stood me up on our wedding day.

The ex-fiancée that traveled a lot… for work. You know… “work.” Yes, he really did work when he traveled, but he had no problems simultaneously keeping his options open with the ladies.

And, while he traveled, I took care of the little one. Aside from phone calls, her birth-mother was out of the picture (although she also loved Bug very much). At any rate, oftentimes, it was just us. Not always (he had a wonderful mother and a couple sisters-in-law that were life-savingly helpful with her), but it wasn’t uncommon.

I learned what it was like to be a single mom. And I learned it fast. And it was not an easy adjustment.

Allofasudden, there was a life other than my own to care for. I mean, of course I had Opie… but taking care of a child is slightly more complex than pouring food in a dish twice a day, opening the door to the yard, and going on walks…yes, slightly.

And it was easily one of the most difficult, most rewarding things I’ve ever done in my life.

Of course, there were times that I wished for a break.

If only I knew then what I know now… how very limited my time would be with that precious little one…

I kick myself for such thoughts, now.

Until Bug, I’d only fancied the idea of motherhood. It was something that I’d do when I got around to it, you know… in the way that someone fancies anything else that they are conventionally supposed to do, like buying a house or setting up a retirement account. But it was never something that I’d actively pursued. I figured it would just... happen... at some point.

No, motherhood is not for everyone. It may not be for you. Who knows? It might not even be for me (in any sort of permanent sense, and not for lack of desire). But… I really hope it is one day. It is the most humbling, trying, gratifying path I have ever walked in my life… and I look forward/hope to pick up that journey again, one day.

So how did I go from a casual-approach-to-motherhood to adamant-hope-for-motherhood?

Well… simply put, my three years of motherhood taught me more than all of my pre-college schooling. It taught me more than my college education. It has taught me more than, frankly, anything else I’ve ever experienced.

As a mother...

1. I learned that parents aren’t prefect. Not my parents. Not your parents. Not your parent’s parents. The classic saying that “children don’t come with instruction manuals” is true. And this knowledge was very helpful because, until then, I’d had some very strong feelings about what my parents did right and what they did wrong. And, don’t get me wrong, they made their fair share of mistakes. But I only understand now that I was making those judgments based on the expectations that they were perfect and that raising children is easy (neither of those are true). Simply put, they did the best they could for where they were as human beings in this very human experience. I understand that now, where I certainly didn’t before. And, because I understand that, I can let go of my notions of right and wrong and simply love them, regardless of the past. It is so liberating. 
2. I learned that I don’t have all of the answers. And, even if I do have the answers, sometimes I don’t know how to explain them to a 1st grader. Even though I thought of myself as an intellectual. Even though I had a piece of paper hung on the wall that “said” I was an intellectual. I will tell you this… children don’t care about what we have on the wall if it doesn’t mean that we can communicate with them. I thought I was smart until I had a daughter. Of course, this doesn’t mean I think I am stupid now - my self-esteem is remarkably intact. It simply means that I think I’m smart enough to know that I still have a lot to learn.
3. I learned love. Universal, unconditional love. Love in a way that I never even knew existed. Bug could have kicked me in the leg, or worse, and I still would have loved her. She could do no wrong. I mean, she could do wrong, but it didn’t make me love her any less. This new understanding of love really did a number on me theologically, as well, because I really started to grasp the idea of an omnipotent being that loves each and every one of us the same way.
4. I learned that I didn’t remember the capitols to all of the states. Embarrassing, I know.
5. I learned that, despite the way I was raised, I could be a good parent. Until then, I’d always struggled with the thought that I’d raise my children exactly as I was raised (because that’s what we always hear from society). No offense to my parents, because I trust they did the best they could for the people they were at the time (see #1), but I wanted to break the chains and do things a little... differently. I just didn’t know that I could. And… now I know that I can. I can raise my children how I see fit, and I am not condemned by history.
6. I learned to take time to play… to take time to imagine. Bug and I used to play pirates, and we would run around the house and jump on furniture like a bunch of swashbuckling scallywags. I always had a vivid imagination in my youth, but somewhere between High School and College, it was suppressed. Boy, am I glad to be best friends with my inner child again… poo jokes and all.
7. I learned how to sacrifice. I went without sleep. I spent my hard-earned money on her. I even sacrificed my happiness for her by sticking around with her father for much longer than I ever should have, just trying to make it work. And, yes, there were times I would think about how tired I was. Or I looked at the bank account with dismay. Or, I even wondered why I was still with her father. And I only had to think about her, and it made whatever it was disappear. Because it didn’t matter. I had her. And that was enough.
8. When I first started attempting to parent, I thought the whole idea was to raise the child to my level of the parenting. I was so wrong. In the end, I learned that I must (try my very best to) raise my level of parenting to her.
9. I learned that even when I did everything “right,” the outcome was still out of my control. In a sense, I learned to let go. Even if I’d gotten through the nightly homework-dinner-shower-reading-prayers-bedtime routine, I still couldn’t make her fall asleep. And, boy was that little one a grumbly-bumbly to get up in the morning when she hadn’t gotten her sleep!
10. I learned that “Last Vagiste” is a much funner way to spell “Las Vegas.” I also learned that the non-word “funner” can really be a fun word to use, sometimes.
11. I learned that everyone is here to learn and we all learn differently. Try as a might, I couldn’t force knowledge on Bug. I had to remind her to make her bed, or to put away her things. It was a frustrating adjustment because I was certain that, at some point, it would click and she’d just do it without the reminders. But… she never did. And it wasn’t until I sat back and thought about the condition of my own bedroom… was the bed made? No. Sure, I pulled up the covers. But heaven knows I didn't make-make the bed (like tuck in the sheets and all that jazz) unless there was some possibility that an outsider will see it (I still live by that... policy *sheepish giggle*). I can’t speculate on her motivations, but... playing outside is just way funner than making the bed. I learned to let go of the expectation that she would remember on her own because... frankly, that expectation only led to frustration (and frustration really affects your patience and, therefore, parenting). This knowledge has also been applicable in my everyday life (even now) as it’s helped me free myself from a lot of expectations that I probably shouldn’t have had in the first place… like expecting that everyone else on this planet is going to live their life just like mine, or know the things that I know, or do the things that I do. Because that’s just not how life works.
12. I learned to live in the moment, and embrace the now. Children sing, and laugh, and play, and draw for no other reason than because they can. Right now. They live each moment to the fullest, without shame or embarrassment. They seek the simple pleasures in life. They get excited about the first butterfly, or a rainbow, or a ladybug… things that I’d trained myself to overlook in my young adult years. But I saw the first ladybug of Spring a couple of days ago.... and it was awesome! 
13. I learned that, when you are holding hands, squeezing the other person's hand twice means I love you. 
14. I learned that I still have so much to learn.

Of course, I could fill shelves with books of my musings as a once-parent. But I will stop at that (for now).

In the end, I lost her.

Out went the baby with the bath water. 


I regret it.

But I don’t think I had any other choice. There was nothing more I could do.

I certainly don’t regret losing her father. I’m grateful to not have to live with the infidelity, the reading-into-every-word he said, the games, the manipulations. I’m also grateful to not have to live with the nasty emails from his new-bride-and-friends (who he met while we were still engaged... they thought it was particularly wonderful to make fake Facebook accounts and send me encouraging messages like: “You’re so ugly, you should just kill yourself,” and “We think it’s funny your man left you at the altar.” No, I’m not making that up. And, no, I never met any of those people in real life).

But more about that another day.

For now, it’s Bug.

And I do regret losing her.

She was innocent.

She did nothing.

And I miss her.

Every day.

Deeply.



It’s Mother’s Day weekend… to all of you mothers out there, Happy Mother’s Day. You have a hard job... a ridiculously underrated, marvelous job. I thank you for being a mother. Always, always, always savor each moment with your little ones (even the hard ones) because you never know how much longer you will have with them. I know I certainly didn’t.

And… to my sweet baby, my little Bug, wherever you are... I think of you. You will always be my first daughter. Thank you for being part of my life. All of my love,

Mommy Brandy

*two hand squeezes*

P.S. I'm not going to lie, this post was a tough one. I hope you like it. Feel free to share your thoughts, though, because I'd love to know what ya'll think. 

Stand

My name is Brandy, and I have Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis.

My name is Brandy, and I also have a life. 

She’ll never be able to run properly, and she'll be lucky to run more than a mile straight. 

She won’t be able to play softball again. 

She really shouldn’t ride horses anymore.

All three of the above I heard from the doctor when I was eleven. 

When I was officially diagnosed with J.R.A. 

There it was... in both of my knees, both of my ankles, a wrist...  

Juvenile. Rheumatoid. Arthritis. 

I’d been experiencing symptoms for about a year – ever since my knees swelled up to the size of grapefruits the previous summer, so I thought I would be relieved to finally know what was wrong with me. 

I mean, it was a diagnosis that I’d literally been waiting for a year to hear... a year of doctor’s visits and blood work, experimental medications and physical therapy. 

And, somehow, I’d hoped that once we knew what it was, we’d be able to cure it. 

But there is no such cure for JRA. 

At the time, it felt like a death sentence. 

I have a vivid recollection of my mother driving me home while I sat in the front seat of the family Dodge Caravan, crying (however discreetly, because I wasn’t ever really much of a crier in my youth). I didn’t say a word, but believe you me, I wondered… “Why? Why me?” 

This was not my choice. I hadn't done anything to be this way. I'd just been a kid, living a normal kid life, until I was told I couldn't anymore. At that moment, I would have given anything to go back to the way things were a year before. I would have given anything to not feel broken anymore. I’d have given anything to have optimism for my life, because, for a little while, I definitely did not. 

It felt like life, as I knew it, was over. 

And, in a way, it was. 

Of course, I moped for a hot minute in my pre-teen angst. Most assuredly, the hormones didn’t ameliorate the situation. 

Eventually, I came to terms with my condition. I thought about it and, even at the ripe young age of eleven, I decided that a sedentary life of “you cannot's” wasn’t what I wanted. 

I had to make a choice. 

So...

I chose to run... and I set my sights higher than a mile, straight. 

I chose to play softball. 

I hope they bring it back for the 2016 Olympics...  

And I chose to, occasionally, still ride horses. 

Ultimately, I chose life. 

And not just any life… I chose the life I wanted to live. 

And you, or anyone else can, too.

Yes, it’s taken a little more body awareness. Yes, there are times that I need to take it a little easier on myself because it hurts. Yes, there are times I even need to give myself a break. 

Sometimes I have had no other choice than to be patient with myself because I can’t quite do what I know I am capable of (I’m sorry, I know I just ended a sentence with a preposition. Sigh.). 

But, as I’ve chosen to live beyond my disorder, these times have become fewer and further between. To date, it’s been months since I had my last ‘really good’ bout of arthritis (probably since about February of this year). 

Regardless of the situation, our bodies are here to serve us... not to limit us. Sometimes we have to learn how to do things a little differently than 'everyone else,' but a unique approach doesn't make us any less capable. It doesn't mean that we can't fight, and it certainly doesn’t mean that we can’t win. 

Because, when it all comes down to it, it’s a whole lot better to stand than it is to lay down and die. 

But it all starts with a choice... 

Yoga with arthritis.

 

P.S. How will you live life today? Me? Well... I'm going to post this... post, and then I am going to do a few lifesaving technical writer things, and then I am going to play catch, and then I am going to train for my next big run, and then I am going to recover with some yoga, and then I am going to be grateful that I have the ability to do all of these things.  

Awaken

It is a time of peace.

A time of understanding.

A time of reckoning.

It happens to everyone, but it doesn’t happen for everyone.



There comes a time in all of our lives... in the midst of all the insanity, the fear, the beauty, the bliss… all of the things, good and bad, that would distract us from who we really are… 

...when we awaken.



Slight Side Note…

Yes… good and bad things distract us.

And, when we are distracted, we become confused. We forget. We identify ourselves by our circumstances.

Think about it…

“I am a writer.”

“I am happy.”

“I am upset.”

“I am…”

When the truth is, we may be experiencing these things, but they are not who we really are.



When we awaken, we realize this… and many, many other things.

This time of awakening can come in many different ways.

For some, it is a peaceful understanding… like a breath of fresh air, it saturates the body and soul with realization. Suddenly, it’s like anything previous to that moment is irrelevant because it wasn’t really living, anyway.

For others, it is a struggle. It is a fight. Like a child throwing a tantrum, we fight back. We grasp to the way things were. But, in the end, life silences the tantrum and awakening wins.

No matter how it comes, awakening allows us to see life with what feels like new eyes, a new soul, a new spirit. But, the truth is, it is the same eyes, the same soul, the same spirit… it is only a new understanding. And this understanding liberates our eyes, our souls, our spirits, to see things as they really are… to see truth.

And we are free.

We recognize the paralysis that can come with hope, and we stop hoping for things to change. We stop waiting for happiness to magically appear over the next horizon. Instead, we cultivate happiness here, in our present moment. We recognize the impermanence of the now and the possibility of the future, and we see the significance of each, but we no longer predicate happiness as circumstantial. It is real. It is now. It is this moment. And the next. And the future.

We realize that, JUST LIKE EVERYONE ELSE ON THIS PLANET, we are not perfect (which can be a very bitter pill to swallow). In realizing our imperfection, our awareness facilitates an understanding rather than a despair. We accept that not everyone will always love, appreciate, or approve of who and what we are… and that’s okay. Just like us, they are entitled to their own views and opinions. But, on the converse, we also understand that there ARE people that will always love, appreciate, and approve of who and what we are… despite our imperfections. And that, too, is okay. We learn to love ourselves as we are, not as we wish we were.

We learn the importance of being someone that makes us happy instead of looking for someone/something to make us happy.

We stop complaining and blaming other people for the things they did, or didn’t, do for us. We learn that it doesn’t matter, because it really doesn’t. Whatever did or didn’t happen may have influenced our development, but it isn’t who we are. And we don’t have to carry that burden unless we choose to.

We learn the importance of saying goodbye. We accept that some things were meant to journey with us forever, and some things were only meant to be for the temporary. In this process, we eliminate the temporary… including those people (or things… it can also be things) that may have hurt us, or caused us to be self-destructive. We do not do this to be rude, or hurtful. We do this in a spirit of love and gratitude… love for the person (or thing) and gratitude for the lesson. We hold our heads high and we release.

We realize that we must trust what a person shows us, not what we wish them to be. It is okay to see the best potential in a person, but it is not okay to become so attached to that potential that it blinds us to reality. We learn that people don’t always mean what they say, or say what they mean... but we must trust what they show us. And sometimes they show us what we don’t want to see. And that’s okay. We must accept that is where they are on this journey. But we only accept it, and acceptance does not mean that we must keep it in our space. We learn that it is up to us to fill our lives with all of the beauty that surrounds us, and we decorate our lives accordingly.

We open ourselves to new experiences, to different viewpoints. In exposing ourselves to these new, unique worlds, we learn love, tolerance, and acceptance. We learn the difference between wanting something and needing something. We abandon old teachings and values that we’ve outgrown, that no longer serve our purpose, or that we never should have had to begin with. We learn who we are and what we really stand for. We cultivate authenticity.

We learn about love. Not love as we think we know it, but true, real, honest love. We learn to look at relationships as they really are, and not as we wish they were. We learn that there are as many definitions of love as there are people on the planet. We learn to pursue romantic companionship with those that have similar romantic ideologies.

We stop waiting for others to join us. We become comfortable with doing things on our own for no other reason than we like to. We learn that alone does not mean lonely.

We stop trying to manipulate situations, people, and outcomes. We learn that some things are out of our control. We learn to trust in a wisdom that is far bigger than we are. We stop trying to make things happen in our own time, and we trust that things will happen as they are ready… if we try to make a flower bloom before it’s time, we only end up with a pile of torn petals and a broken flower. Life is no different.

We learn that there are two ways we can leave something… better or worse. We vow to only leave things better off for having known us.

We learn that life isn’t always fair, that we don’t always get what we think we deserve, and sometimes bad things happen to good people. We replace the natural, cynical response to this understanding with faith and trust. We learn not to take everything so personally. We learn that life is not out to get us, and that sometimes things just happen. We learn to do the best we can and we trust that we will understand in time.

We learn to stop rushing to the next person, place, or thing. We learn to just be, and relish in the transitions. We appreciate where we are in each moment. We start taking time for life. We recognize the beauty in the world we live in. We sleep with the window open when it rains so we can hear the sound of rain. We watch the sun set. We embrace the beauty in the ordinary.

Then, we begin to take responsibility for ourselves. We make a promise to ourselves to stay true, authentic, and honest. We understand that we are at a turning point: that with this awakening, we have been given wings... but the choice to crawl or fly is entirely ours. 


And, so, it is either with fear in our minds or courage in our hearts that we decide…

Crawl?

Or

Fly? 

P.S. As always, thoughts please! I'd love to know the lessons you've learned in your own moments of awakening. 

How to Return Home from a Roadtrip: A Beginner's Guide

Sometimes I don’t want to write things that are serious (insert over-exaggerated arm-fold and pout-y face). I mean… I have lots of serious things to say. And I’m sure they are all really… smart memorable therapeutic wordy. But… today... I am going to write a step-by-step on how to *properly* return home from a trip to Southern Utah. Pay attention, because there will be a quiz. Maybe.

 

Jericho Sand Dunes... Muad'dib! (Anyone get the "muad'dib" reference, or am I the only sci-fi nerd left?)

Step 1: Pull into driveway.

Step 2: Grab everything from back of car. I mean everything. Load up your arms until it feels like they are going to fall off because heaven forbid you should make more than one trip from your car to your house.

Step 3: Successfully fill your arms with everything. Realize that this one-trip-luggage-carrying-self-torture is excellent training for the zombie apocalypse. Feel accomplished and mentally praise self. 

Step 4: Get to door of house. Realize that keys are somewhere in this arm bundle.

Step 5: Drop everything. Literally. Just drop it. Don’t be afraid. Everybody is doing it (wait… is that argument even applicable here?).

Step 6: Fish keys out of arm-bundle-turned-floor-bundle.

Step 7: Unlock door. Transfer arm bundle to floor of house (read: kick it from the porch to the kitchen floor).

Step 8: Put nothing away.

Step 9: Pour a goblet of cranberry-flavored kombucha tea and pretend it is wine. You can also pretend to get tipsy at this point (which shouldn’t be much of a stretch – multiple days in the sun + several hours of driving can have that effect, sans real wine).

Step 10: Look in bathroom mirror and realize how gloriously sunburned you are. Take bathroom-mirror pictures of your sunburn and send them to your friends.

Step 11: Get replies from friends that say, “Stop whining, you don’t look that sunburned.”

Step 12: Realize that the camera on your phone sucks. Throw phone. Watch with glee as the back cover and battery fly out of phone on impact.

Step 13: Remember that you still need your phone for important life-related activities. Pick it up and apologize. Reassemble phone. Verify phone’s functionality by sending make-up texts.

Step 14: Look forlornly at pile of things on kitchen floor.

Step 15: Pour another glass of kombucha tea. Decide that you will clean up the floor after you take a shower. Drink tea in shower from goblet. Pretend to be an heiress.

Step 16: Get out of shower. Cover body in approximately three bottles of Aloe Vera. Giggle about the name “Aloe Vera.” Imagine that ‘Aloe Vera’ is how a British man would greet his girlfriend/wife. Get suitable mental image of said British man. Giggle some more. Realize that you are now very cold. Put on pajamas.

Step 17: Walk out to kitchen for bottle of water. Look at pile of things on floor. Wish that dogs could do chores. Down bottle of water. Pour remaining kombucha tea into goblet. Down kombucha tea.

Step 18: Crawl into bed. Sleep.

Step 19: Wake up in two hours, at approximately one in the morning. Spend fifteen minutes wondering whether you should get out of bed to pee now, or if it can wait until morning. Kick yourself for drinking so much tea and water. Hate being an adult. Decide it can’t wait. Get up to use the bathroom.

Step 20: Crawl back into bed. Cuddle up with that sweet, cute pile of laundry that you were too lazy to fold before you left. Sleep some more. 




No kombucha teas, water bottles, or aloe vera plants were injured in the making of this post.

P.S. It's QUIZZIN' Time (I told you there would be a quiz): What's the coolest road trip you've been on lately? Or, the coolest place you've traveled to lately? (I love hearing about new travel destinations.)