Birthday

There was a time when I understood that my birthday would probably not be remembered. I was a child. It hurt dreadfully. Sometimes I did things to remind people it was coming. Gradually, as time passed, I got used to being an afterthought. I knew my birthday would be remembered at the last moment if at all, a cake of sorts would be thrown together, and everyone in my family would work really hard to pretend they had planned it days, weeks, even months in advance. 

I lived many years in resentment. 

High school was different. I had friends who remembered. They gave me hugs and cards, sometimes a small gift. I made a new friend when I was a Sophomore. She was a year younger than I and was the youngest child of a large, wealthy family. My Junior year of high school, when we had been friends for a year, she asked me what I was given for my birthday. I told her, without expression, that my birthday was usually forgotten. It was a family tradition. She was shocked. My very dramatic, emotional friend let me know that forgetting a child's birthday was unforgivable. I laughed and we went to lunch.

The next day, she came to see me. She had presents. Everyone needs presents, she said. One cannot have a birthday without presents. They were not expensive. There was a small bottle of perfume, some fun pens and a fabric-covered notepad, and a few other tiny but fun items to warm a 16-year-old heart. She was so excited that I would have gifts that year. 

She doesn't know that after she left, I cried happy tears because she remembered me, and she cared. And then I cried bitter tears because my life felt terribly lonely. I wanted my parents, my family, to care that I was born. But she had changed me a bit. I held onto that tiny notepad for decades. It reminded me that no matter the message I received from my parents, birthdays are important. MY birthday was important.

So I spent years celebrating with those who cared to join me. Interestingly, Aaron's family always remembered. I received calls and cards and gifts - always sent with love in celebration of me. I let my family know that it wasn't okay to be forgotten. My dad pretended it was just funny (it wasn't). My mom said I was exaggerating (I wasn't). But my sisters said they would remember (they did).

Today, though, I'm thinking. I believe my high school friend. Birthdays are important. I don't forget the birthdays of those who are important to me. And I should not have been forgotten. I think I'll always feel sad that I never felt valued in my family. But I don't feel resentment anymore. I'm a pretty terrific person. My parents missed out on celebrating me too many times. No cards or communications in college. Even when, as an adult, I lived three blocks away from them, my husband, children, and friends sent flowers, took me to dinner, called me, and celebrated my day, my parents were silent unless my mother remembered belatedly and called to wish me a happy birthday before bed. Occasionally, she'd try to give me a gift, but it was often clear that what was given hadn't really been selected with me in mind (seriously, when you eat half a loaf of bread from the farmer's market, then give me the other half, it isn't really a gift no matter how good it might taste - it's an afterthought, and a bad one).

I've never posted my birth date on Facebook. I wanted only greetings from people who cared enough to remember. But most of the time, someone who knew would write a greeting on my page, and other people would chime in. It made me smile.

It is nearly 11am on my birthday. I've actually posted something that points to it being my day. Thus far, my daughter has remembered. My nephew has remembered. But no one else. There are no random people sending me birthday greetings on Facebook. I'm struck by the difference in how I feel about it now.

The truth is, I'm amazing. I've been through many difficulties, and I think I did so with as much grace and success as anyone could ask. I've survived abuse, rape, assault, an eating disorder, and zero self-esteem. And I've been brave enough to do therapeutic work that continues today so that I can be the person who will support my children and love my husband. I've tried to maintain healthy friendships. I've obtained three college degrees. I've worked in many jobs and met many people. In short, I'm pretty happy with the person I am. And while it would be lovely if I could be celebrated on my day by others, I'm joyful in celebrating myself. 

Happy birthday, me. I'm so glad you were born, and I'm very happy that you continue to LIVE.

And so it goes...

It has come to my attention that some of my life's expectations are unrealistic. For instance, I've finally recognized that I will never be an Olympic gymnast or figure skater. And I can probably take trapeze artist off that list, as well. In fact, as I think of the things I believed I would become/do, but never will, the list is not short:

1. House flipper
2. Skydiver
3. Famous musician
4. Some sort of artist--maybe a sculptor
5. Mathematician
6. Inventor of a thing no one can do without
7. Writer
8. Explorer
9. Archaeologist
10. Therapist
11. Big rig driver
12. Software developer
13. Meteorologist
14. Journalist
15. News Anchor
16. Radio DJ
17. Audiobook Narrator
18. Chef
19. Chocolate consultant
20. Dog surfing instructor
21. Waterslide or amusement park ride testor
22. Island caretaker
23. Pilot (plane AND helicoptor)

As I said, long list.

Naturally, some of the careers had to go because with two bionic hips, the chance of on-the-job injury would increase exponentially (gymnast...skydiver... ). Some had to go because I just don't have enough years left to finish the necessary schooling/training. Or because I've finally figured out I don't have the natural talent and/or the drive necessary to accomplish them. Some have lost their appeal. And there are the ones that require enormous amounts of cash or luck to achieve them. But the real truth is, I'm no longer certain that I can do anything I choose, regardless of what it is.

This leaves me wondering what, if anything, is left. There are still things on that list that I would do if the obstacles were removed, and others I would add if I put more time and thought into it. I've never been altruistic or the list would have things like Peace Corps, service missions, or other volunteer work. That's not to say I don't give service when I can. It's just not part of my bucket list. Natalie wants to save the world. She would clean oceans, build schools, and cure all disease. I prefer testing amusement park rides and eating chocolate. Clearly, we're not cut from the same cloth.

Maybe what it boils down to is the feeling that there is an expiration date on my life's adventures. Hmm...I don't love that.

I still feel a need to climb mountains and explore caves. Deep sea diving seems like something I would enjoy. Or maybe just snorkeling in shallow water. I'm not supposed to skydive, but paragliding seems like a good option. Or maybe riding in a hot air balloon. And I still want to see the world. I'd absolutely hike through Europe and be the old lady who sleeps in youth hostels and eats bologna sandwiches. Or maybe peanut butter. I don't love bologna.

As I look over my list, the feeling that I still want to do many of those things is persistent. And I know I can't. It's not possible for anyone, let alone someone halfway through life.

Aaron is ready to settle down for the rest of his life. Retirement with occasional fishing trips and vacations sounds like a great life to him. It just sounds boring to me. I'm wondering how he'll feel about being dragged along on my pending adventures. I'm wondering how I'll feel about convincing him he wants to be dragged along.

A wise person would acknowledge that there will have to be some sort of compromise. It's unfair of me to assume what I want is better than Aaron's desire for the next 50 years to be filled with relaxation and serenity. Still, fair is not something I do well. Nor is compromise. And wisdom isn't even a possibility for me. It is a mystery how I have remained married as long as I have. A less patient man would have left long ago.

In the meantime, I'm gearing up for my next adventure. I don't know what it is yet, but I'm doing it. I'm thinking I might need to purchase a couple of motorcycles and do a cross-country trip with someone. Aaron already said he's out, but I'm betting Natalie will go with me. Aaron can go fishing while we're gone. And sit in a recliner. And sleep. He really likes to sleep.

Jealousy

Prior to going through therapy, I don't think I experienced this feeling. It requires that one feel somehow entitled to something, or that one aspires to something. I don't really know how to explain it, I guess. Perhaps the best way would probably be to explain my view of myself.

Vocationally: I felt that I was competent and capable, but not to the extent that I surpassed anyone else in any field. If I could do something, in my head, so could everyone else. I was unremarkable. Therefore, if someone achieved or was promoted or honored for something I had also worked on, it seemed completely logical that they would be lauded. Because I was unremarkable, there was no reason for me to believe that I might also be exemplary.

Socially: Feeling unremarkable bled through in this area, as well. I interacted with many people. I liked them. I believe they liked me. But I was just one of many. It was unlikely that I would be chosen for my company over anyone else. If I was present, I was welcome. If I was not, I was invisible. For awhile I struggled with this. It felt right to be invisible and colorless. But there was a part of me that was lonely. Aaron always chose me. I didn't really understand why. I supposed it was because I lived with him, so I was always there.

Creatively: I don't believe I felt unremarkable in this field until I met hundreds of others who were just as talented as I. I was an exceptional musician--but only compared to non-musicians. I was an excellent writer - in comparison with people who never write. I was an idea person, an inventive cook, a problem solver - until I was put up against those who actually embodied those attributes. And so, with time, I resumed my unremarkable role.

Being unremarkable removes one from the possibility of being amazing. Not being amazing negates the possibility of being chosen.

Time has presented me with people who see me differently from how I view myself. Some have indicated that they wish to choose me. I don't know how to feel about that.

There is a part of me that hopes they choose me because they actually do see something amazing in me; something that sparks creativity and excitement in themselves. But the overarching feeling is that they have become comfortable having someone unremarkable in their lives. I will always be less than they are. I am the perfect foil against which they stand out. And that's a completely uncharitable belief about people who love me. So perhaps the reality is that they accept my unremarkable-ness and love me in spite of it.

Which brings me to jealousy. It's difficult to feel envy when one doesn't really feel deserving of anything.

Except, occasionally, one of those people who say they love me points out another, truly remarkable person. They say why that person is admirable. And something inside of me wonders why I can't be admirable in some way, too. Maybe that's jealousy? I just don't know. But it makes me uncomfortable. It's a feeling I nip in the bud - not one I care to investigate very closely. But I think I feel it more often now, even though I'm not sure if that's what I'm feeling. This is all very confusing. But I'm left vulnerable and frightened when the feeling comes. I don't know what I'm frightened of, nor do I understand where the vulnerability is coming from.

My therapist always told me he found me amazing. I'm good at doing therapy. Somehow that doesn't seem to be a badge of honor anyone wants to wear. There were some crappy things that happened to me, but I'm very good at getting up in the morning, going to work, coming home, having dinner, sleeping through the night, and doing it all again the next day. That sounds very much like what everyone else in the world does. We all have things that cause us distress. We continue to live our lives. But it's nice that someone finds me amazing. He doesn't practice anymore, but he still lets me email him occasionally and ask him to remind me.

What Happened Next

I didn't get better for a very long time. I was ill until May, at which point, my sinuses had had it. I started getting nosebleeds that lasted longer and longer until I ended up in the ER where they tried several different ways to stop the blood and ended up shoving packing up my nose. The pain was immense. And when the packing was removed a few days later, the bleeding started again. Fortunately, I was being seen by an ENT who knew how to cauterize and who very gently removed the packing (still hurt beyond words).

And then I finally started getting better, probably because school was out and I was no longer being showered with germs from 500 students every day.

I started looking for a new job immediately. I couldn't face another year like the last one. And through the help of Gareth, I was able to land a job at the Huntsman Cancer Center. It was a pay cut, but the benefits (including retirement) were amazing. And I was now in the University of Utah health system which allowed me to see the surgeon of my choice about my ailing hip.

Today I'm 8 weeks post-surgery and sporting a matching set of bionic hips. Everything went well and I'm in the process rebuilding. I ran right up until the day of surgery. Now I'm focusing on bodybuilding and preparing to run again. And I liked my new job so much, I called Chris and encouraged him to apply. His cubicle is right by mine now.

I've been well for almost a year now. I'm still not sure I'll ever catch up on everything I missed out on, and my house might never be clean again. But I'm well. I feel better. I have a good job where I'm valued. Now, if would just stop snowing...

My Whine For the Day

I've been sick for a long time. A REALLY long time.  Months. I noticed I wasn't feeling well the first part of October last year, but Nat was getting married. You can't be sick when your daughter is getting married. It's a Mom Rule. So I pretended I wasn't sick. And Nat got married. And I got pneumonia.

Last time I had pneumonia it was awful. I was also better after about three weeks. Six weeks after I was diagnosed this time, I was still incredibly ill and nothing seemed to be helping. And my choirs had several performances during this time, so I was not taking time off to rest. It was grueling and not helpful in the healing scheme of things.

I finally felt better about a week before Christmas. And then I got sick again. Some stupid virus. My hope was that it would visit and leave. It is now February. If that virus left, another moved in right away. I've been sick without a break. And I'm starting to feel very tired, very depressed, and completely unable to do things that are usually easy for me.

This is unusual. I'm used to feeling powerful and capable. I like to start new things. I enjoy keeping my house clean. I love to cook.

Not so now.

In fact, I'm pretty sure I'm nothing like the person most people know. I just want to rest. My house attests to this, as does my diet. It's been a while since I made a real meal. Which isn't to say I haven't bought ingredients. I have grand plans to make something healthy and delicious. Then I come home from work and think about pizza.

Work... that's another story.

There is a reason I do not have a music ed degree. I love to teach. I do not love to teach in the public school system. So why am I doing it?

1. I needed a job.
2. They needed a teacher.
3. They agreed to pay me a tolerable salary.
4. I didn't know I would get sick.

Every day is horribly difficult. It's one thing to deal with illness when you're alone. When you're in charge of a million students, it's a completely different story. I seriously hate getting up in the morning. I've never said that before. But I've never had a job I hated before.

I love the kids. I adore them. But circumstances are not great for teaching them right now. And I don't want to. I just want to get better.

The end.

8-Minutes Memoir: Cease and Desist

That's actually not the prompt. But I'm shifting gears. I want a different focus for my posts. I like the idea of having a topic given to me, and I like the idea of limiting the time, so I'm still taking prompts from an outside source. I'm bumping the writing time allowed to 10 minutes.

Today: What is your biggest guilty pleasure?

I actually don't know the answer to this, so there may be some groping going on as I try to figure it out. I love getting up in the morning before anyone else and having quiet time. I'll browse websites. Sometimes I'll pay bills or write email, but most of the time, I just do whatever I want to. It's nice to not feel that I have to do anything in that moment, and that if I do, I'll be disturbing those who want to sleep, so it's fine for me to quietly do nothing.

I love buying flowers for other people. When my budget allows it, I'll find excuses to send them to people. If you're my child or someone I love, flowers are standard birthday presents. Alex got a dozen white roses this month because those are his favorite.

I love being alone. There's something wonderful about just being in one's own company. I attribute this need to years of practicing for hours. I learned to concentrate and immerse myself in the music I was learning. I also got very used to not being with other people for hours at a time. And I like having time to myself even when I have nothing planned.

I love cooking with coconut milk. Dairy if mostly off-limits to me, so cream sauces and cheeses and all those goodies other people swoon over don't appeal to me. Or rather, I know if I eat them, I'll be sick for far too long, and I hate being sick. So any appeal that might initially present itself is quickly nipped in the bud. Coconut provides creamy sauces and is a vehicle for many different spices and herbs. I use it far too often to be healthy. Sometimes I substitute the coconut cream for the milk which means I doubled the calories and fat and negated any possible nutrition in the foods. It's worth it.

8-Minute Memoir: Games

I've always loved them. As a child, I just wanted to learn how to play. I loved the colors, the tactile sensation. Winning didn't seem to matter and rules were fluid in my head. Much of the time, I was thinking about ways to change the rules in order to make the challenge greater or include new ways to play. As I grew older, winning, of course, was important, but I always felt slightly disappointed when I did. It meant the game was over; we were finished playing.

As an adult, I realized that I could learn a great deal about people by observing how they played games. I would often throw the game simply to provide me means to observe how my opponent would react to winning. This was often the case when playing online Scrabble with a person I could not see. I'd play three times, lose each time, and learn how my game partner thought and reacted. I would also learn their strategies which made it easy to beat them in subsequent games. Needless to say, I have few continuous Scrabble partners. Danny, alone, continues to play with me. For him, the game is less about winning and more about finding words on his tray.

I have two children similar to me in that they love creating and bending the rules. I have one child who hates it. To him, changing the rules means the game is no longer fair or fun. I once put together two Monopoly boards and invited my children to a game of double Monopoly. It was played, loosely, in the same way that the REAL game was played, but, of course, there were two sets of property, lots of money and houses/hotels, and four dice. In addition, I randomly announced "gifts" (because I was the banker) and distributed money whenever the whim took me.

Alex and Natalie thought the game delightful. Within 15 minutes, Chris had pronounced the game "stupid" and refused to play. This might be because I had just proclaimed a new rule because I was not only the banker, but the rule maker. Regardless, the random nature of the game left him frustrated and angry. He was so upset that we never again played Double Monopoly. Which is not to say I stopped making up rules and games. I was just more structured about it. After all, the point was to play with my kids, not make them unhappy.