The View From The Top

Flying over Greenland April 2009

Now that I'm firmly planted at the top of the proverbial hill, I have to say that I'm actually enjoying it and do not plan on leaving for quite a while.  The ascent was painful and exhausting, the hill was steep and I was not always in the best shape for the climb.  But now, although my muscles are tired, they are stronger and all of the hard work of living and healing has finally begun to pay off.   The view is breathtaking above the clouds!

Several incidents this fall and winter reminded me of how quickly life can change.   My cousin drowned and miraculously survived; a 41-year old high school friend was killed in a tragic accident; my 30-year-old receptionist suddenly lost her 41-year-old-husband to a heart attack; a former co-worker overdosed and is on a ventilator, not expected to live.  Those split-second tragedies made me more determined than ever to absorb every detail of my life, live every day to the fullest and embrace what I've got before it's gone.  I don't want to take my health, my job, my friends or my family for granted.  I don't want to miss important moments because I'm too self-absorbed to be fully present for others.  If life is like hiking then I know that the descent will be much faster than the ascent, so I'm hanging on to experience every second of a fast and furious ride! 

The greatest thing about reaching the top of the hill is the way it has changed my perspective:

• I've stopped letting others' failures against me define me negatively
• This was huge for me.  For years I simply tried to stop any one's failures against me from impacting me in anyway, but ignoring the crimes, and I do mean crimes, against me meant that I had to deny a lifetime of experiences and how they shaped me.  Since all experiences define me to some extent, I'm intentionally looking for the beauty in the pain.  It has made a world of difference and let me grieve my wounds while emerging from the process stronger, kinder, gentler and more compassionate.  God is miraculously making something beautiful out of the evil.   
• I now understand the difference between arrogance and confidence and the latter has become like a  second skin, at least most of the time!  ;-)
• I am MUCH more comfortable in my own skin and no longer feel the need to pretend to be someone I'm not.  I shattered the mold others kept trying to force me into and it was the most liberating thing I've ever done  
• I'm taking advantage of the fact that I live in a country where a woman can spread her wings and pursue an education even if she never marries or has a family.  I am going back to school.  Phase 1 has begun and I am in the beginning of an 8-month professional certification course.  Phase 2 will begin in the fall when I begin work on my Bachelor's degree - God-willing.  I'm nervous but excited and proud of myself for finally overcoming my fears related to college 
• It's important that someone in this world need me and depend on me, even if it's just an adorable little Yorkie named Zeus! 
• My faith is my own.  It's strong, deep, rich and alive and I wouldn't trade the intimacy I've found in my relationship with Christ for anything in this world

Looking forward to enjoying this view for a long time to come! 

Observations From The Top Of The Hill

►I now qualify for that creepy "end of life" insurance
♥ I'm considering a move to "Cougar Town"
→Mammograms are mandatory - squish, squish!
☺I look MUCH worse but I care MUCH less.... :-)
→↓ I still feel 26.....
....until I look in the mirror, sigh
→↓ Single at 40 is harder AND easier than single at 26....
....but I never get carded anymore
►Acne? Seriously?
→I often hurt myself by the sheer act of........SLEEPING
►Retirement planning suddenly seems much more important
→Life before computers, Internet, DVDs, cell phones, iPods, texting and TIVO was less complicated
☺Under eye concealer is my friend
•Migraines are not my friend
►I watched MTV kill the radio star when I was 11
→↓ I don't really care so much anymore about what others think of me......
.....as a result self-confidence is much easier to embrace
☺I'm worth the occasional pedicure
►Gray hair is more wiry than black hair
♥ Innocence is beautiful
☼Beauty is innocence
→One piece of quality clothing beats five pieces from Wal-Mart
►Fresh flowers are worth every, single penny
☺Money is no object when it comes to comfortable shoes, even if they're ugly!
→ Travel really does broaden your horizons
►Honest faith is better than religious perfection
♥ I know that my redeemer lives....
♥♥ I know that I am loved ♥♥

Arrivederci

I really wanted to write a positive, hopeful post full of sage advice and achievable yet lofty goals, but then I remembered that there is precious little wisdom floating around in my stream of consciousness. And lofty goals? I gave those up after I failed to meet ANY of them in the past decade. Besides, when I TRY to write something meaningful it usually falls into the "what the heck is wrong with that girl?" category, so why bother?

Here's the truth, right now I'm sad because in saying goodbye to the first decade of the 21st century, I'll soon be saying goodbye to my 30s. It's not that turning 40 is all that upsetting - aging IS the goal - and I don't have a death wish. No, it's not the number that bothers me it's not having what I thought I would have by the time that number defined me.

Have you ever heard the saying, "When God closes a door He opens a window"? I guess that's true, except when it isn't. He not only closed the door to my dreams He proceeded to put bars and blackout shades on the windows. And let me tell you, that glass is shatter-proof. The only thing that shattered when I tried to break it was my heart.

Instead of love and marriage and the baby carriage I have, um, well, hm. Oh, oh, oh I have a job and a puppy and a new car!!! All things I love and need, ALL things for which I thank God humbly and frequently, but none of them are the deepest desires of my heart. Don't get me wrong, I do love my job (mostly), and I have amazing friends and many family members close by, but I still live my life in isolation. And my puppy is adorable, affectionate and fun, but he fails to give me the kind of companionship and intelligent conversation I crave. Plus his kisses don't really do it for me, aside from the fact that he isn't human HE EATS HIS OWN POOP. Enough said. To top it off I never did finish college and make something of myself. I just settled into a middle class, dull life that affords me a new car every 10 years or so mixed in with the occasional travel adventure so I don't die of boredom. I've got mediocrity instead of passion and purpose. I often look at my life and wonder, "What's the point?"

This is the spot in the post where I should wrap everything up with a nice little bow. Insert an encouraging Bible verse. Write about how God only has my best interests at heart. State that I'm okay because He's all I need. Sigh. I guess I just don't know how to believe that in this moment of grief. And that's okay. I'm pretty sure that God is much more likely to show himself when I get brutally honest and admit my despair. So off I go to try to figure out how to "do" this life I didn't plan.

I'll end with a link to a blog post that made me laugh until I cried today. The comments are funnier than the blog, and I'm tickled pink that my own comment made an appearance early on. Enjoy!

http://stuffchristianslike.net/2010/01/being-single-during-christmas-at-church/#idc-cover

P.S. - Happy New Year!

Radioactive Fallout

The doctor looked at me and said, I think you have a stress fracture in the right metatarsal. You'll need a bone scan so I can see the extent of your injury. And just like that I was fitted for a cast and drove off to Concord Imaging, my favorite imaging center. They're nice and it looks and feels like a spa when you walk in, which helps calm me down. I'm on a first name basis with Alma now, we swap stories like we're old friends as she injects me with radioactive isotope. When she maneuvers my foot under the camera I refrain from crying out in pain because I have convinced myself that I really don't have a stress fracture but am instead just reacting like a big baby because I want some extra attention. Even though it really does hurt and the doctor himself noted that the pain was severe.

Then the isotope begins to race through my blood stream down to my injured foot. It pools in the exact location that has been causing so much pain and glows an unearthly white on the screen. And I know that I'm not overreacting. The proof is on the screen and I begin to cry. Somehow seeing it in black and fluorescent white gives me the permission I need to feel the pain and my foot begins to throb. When the initial part of the scan is over I cannot walk. Instead I hobble to my chair and fight the sobs that want to take over. And then I pull it together, put on my cast and drive to work.

5 hours and 32 ounces of water later I am back at Concord chatting with Alma. She compares the new images to those from my bone scan in April that revealed a diagnosis of osteoarthritis. This time the right foot definitely shows a new injury and it glows much brighter than the silly old arthritis, highlighting the inflammation. For the next 45 minutes I try to lay perfectly still as my foot is placed in odd positions so the scan can capture all angels for the doctor to review. As I lay there I continue to berate myself for not seeking treatment sooner, for thinking that I'm still 26 instead of 5 months shy of 40, for trying to be brave or ignore the pain until walking was out of the question.

I'm grateful that despite my stupidity the radioactive fallout of this procedure was mild. Yes the pain is severe, but the prognosis is good. I will be in a cast for 4-6 weeks but there appears to be no permanent damage. I will be forced to care for my foot and not abuse it by pushing it harder than I should. That means no more running or extensive walking, but instead biking or God-forbid water aerobics. It also means old lady shoes instead of heels, once I'm out of my Frankenstein cast that is. And my Frankenstein cast is huge - because in order to fit my ginormous calves I had to get a cast made for Arnold, not Angelina. Hey it ain't pretty but at least I already have a costume for Halloween!

My "Frankenfeet" - driving shoe and walking cast.

14,000 Days

Sometimes a day seems soooo looooong and sometimes it seems shorter than my mother. But in reality time doesn't move faster or slower depending on my mood. It stays the same. Tick-tock, tick-tock, 60 seconds makes the big hand move, 60 minutes makes the little hand move and before I know it time has run away from me and the day has slipped into a memory. Over 14,000 days so far and only God knows how many more are to come.

When I was younger my faith was kind of like my ticket to immortality, a way to be assured of an endless supply of days. Of course, it was also the best way I could think of to avoid all of that fire and brimstone the preacher was always talking about, but I digress. There's a popular CCM band that sings "Take me to the other side, cuz I wanna live forever" and I'll admit that living forever in heaven sounds pretty great. No pain, no suffering, mansions and streets of gold. Who would turn that down? It's just that focusing on the "living forever" part kind of misses the point of living NOW. And no matter how long or short the days, I'm still in the "now and the not yet" part of living. I haven't graduated to heaven yet, and BTW I'm perfectly fine with that!

There is still so much to learn before I am finally complete, and while I'm growing toward the woman God intended when he first imagined me, I'm still SO. FAR. AWAY. Salvation is much more than my personal "get out of hell free card." For me it has become more about reconciliation to my Creator; more about a vibrant, passionate and intimate relationship that quenches my dry and thirsty soul and awakens my numb heart to the experience of living. In him I live and move and have my being - what joy I get from a living, breathing relationship with Christ! It's amazingly beautiful to contemplate the mystery of reconciliation. But, part of reconciling involves looking back, which is something I normally eschew.

Popular culture tells us to never look back, to never stop thinking about tomorrow. But I've learned that the process of looking back, although painful, is helpful in determining why I do things the way I do, good or bad. I'm not talking about simply remembering, I'm talking about a serious in-depth examination of life. Many people never do this. They live convinced of their "rightness" about every issue or opinion, and try to convince everyone else of their "rightness" too. They live to control or fix others instead of themselves. Hm, I wonder how I know that? Ha! Now that I've decided to move beyond that kind of thinking I'm experiencing serious growing pains. Yet, time and time again the pain of examination leads to complete freedom and reconciliation with my Creator.

I've come too far to stop now, and I'm determined to complete this process and see where it takes me, no matter if I have 1 or 14,000 days remaining.

Nostalgia

Nostalgia is one of the bittersweet by-products of getting older. Reminiscing about the years gone by; looking back at who I used to be; seeing who I am today; looking forward to who I have yet to become. Sometimes there are tears as I confront the dying dreams of my youth. But usually I find serenity when I start digging in their rubble, because despite pain and disappointment, my life is good, and full, and happy. And for that, I'm grateful.

Last weekend was full of nostalgic digging for me. I felt like I was stuck in a time warp as I was transported to my youth during a reunion concert of one of my favorite artists. Granted, most of the concert-goers were, ahem, "aging", some more gracefully than others, and no one really stood or danced for long, (at least not like they did 20 years ago!) Yet, it was still fun watching the band, swaying to the rhythm, listening (and singing!) every word to songs I've known for 20-25 years. Remembering what they meant to me when most of my life was still stretched out before me. Knowing what they mean now as I approach the middle of my life. Wondering what they will mean when I'm old and gray and spend more of my time remembering than doing. Those 3-minute melodies formed the soundtrack of my youth and they always transport me back in time.

As the last strains of that soundtrack faded I traveled on to Tulsa to attend the wedding of my nephew, a man still in the prime of his life. Youthful, handsome, hopeful. It was moving to watch the man I remember as a little boy embrace his glowing bride. To observe my parents as their pride and joy, my brother, watched his own pride and joy enter a new stage of life. I don't think I've ever seen my brother "beam" as he did on that night. To catch a glimpse of nostalgia as it crossed my sister-in-law's face and momentarily clouded her stunning blue eyes with tears. To sit and know the groom's sister, my niece, as an equal, a fully grown, married woman instead of the girl she once was. It was deeply moving and powerful to watch all of these things with the memories of soccer games, dance recitals, graduations and travels swirling around in my head. How has time passed so quickly?

As nostalgic as I sometimes am for the carefree days of my 20s, other than Laurie moving back, I usually don't ever want things to go back to how they used to be. Too many painful wounds that I'd rather leave alone. So, although I allow myself some nostalgia, I'd rather move forward, learn, grow, live and love. Freely. Openly. Vulnerably. Peacefully. And so I am.

Don't Hate Me Because I'm Average

I saw a print ad for Pantene shampoo the other day and I was reminded of their old commercials. Remember the one that featured a glamorous model tossing her thick, glossy, luxurious mane of hair and uttering the phrase, "Don't hate me because I'm beautiful"?

I detested that commercial because I was painfully aware that I could never utter those words in good conscience. Maybe they should make a new commercial featuring yours truly. I could toss my less than luxurious, graying hair and utter the phrase, "Don't hate me because I'm average." I guarantee you that women throughout the world would relate because from our hair to our makeup to our clothes many of us spend hours trying to look beautiful, and most of us end up looking, well.....average. Like a friend of mine says, "It takes a lot of work to look this average." Yeah, no kidding. For me it takes at least 30 minutes to put on a face that won't scare the masses!

On a more serious note, that ad got me thinking a lot about physical beauty, especially since seeing it again coincided with my near disastrous makeover. Beauty has often been a double-edged sword for me garnering a lot of unwanted attention, and yet I still wrestle with it because it's very clear to me that I do not fit the "mold" of what a beautiful woman should look like, at least not today! But I'm finally mature enough to grasp that real beauty has very little to do with looking "hot" and much more to do with who I am. How I wish my younger self could have understood that true beauty is mysterious and invites others to stop posing and striving and rest in its presence; it's a soothing and peaceful refuge when life is chaotic and overwhelming. And although it is elusive that's the kind of beauty I want to possess.

So while I believe that it's okay to enhance what remains of my physical beauty, I want it to reflect my inner beauty otherwise it's hollow. Perhaps my nephew has the most balanced perspective. He loves me no matter how I look maybe because he sees how much my heart loves his. But he also appreciates physical beauty and tells me when he thinks I look "cute". One night when he was about 6 we had the following exchange as he was brushing my hair and I was painting my nails.

Zachary: You know Wobin, when I am 40 you're going to be old.

Me: Yes, I know that Zachary, but will you still love me?

Zachary: Yes, with a shrug of his shoulders.

Me: But will you still think I'm beautiful?

Zachary: What? That's silly, you are bootiful.

Me: But will you still think that when I'm old and gray and full of wrinkles?

Zachary: Wobin, that won't matter.

Me (about to get what I deserve): But will you still think that when I'm old and gray and full of wrinkles AND I don't have on any makeup?

Zachary studying my makeup-free face: Hmmm, I'll still love you....but Wobin, the makeup helps!

Indeed.

To Dye or Not to Dye

Perhaps it's time to consider obtaining a part time job so I can afford to dye my formerly luscious locks back to the shiny raven hue of my youth. Today at lunch my adorable 9-year-old niece, who will eventually sport gray hair of her own (which I hope to be around to witness, if only so I can gloat) commented that she noticed very little gray in my head full of black hair. Although flattered, only I knew the secret reason why - I have devoted several hours in the last few weeks to plucking out those pesky little wiry, white strands from my tender head!

Since I can no longer honestly list my hair color as black - it's really black and white - I have been considering the pros and cons of hair dye.

Pros of Natural Hair

• Cheap, or to be more politically correct "budget friendly"
• Saves hours of time spent at the salon with a head full of foil
• Green....environmentally friendly....no chemicals
• No root touch-up every 6 weeks
• The gray proves that I have earned SOME wisdom.....

Pros of Dyed Hair

• Shiny, shiny, shiny!
• Saves hours of time spent in front of the mirror armed with a pair of tweezers....
• Helps maintain low unemployment levels in the chemical/cosmetic industry
• Brings the illusion of youth

What a dilemma! Can I really be one of the lone holdouts of my generation? And if I start dying the hair on my head, then what about my graying eyebrows? Must I dye them too or just keep plucking? Then there is the matter of my mustache, if only it would turn gray.....but no, it stays stubbornly black and forces me to break my "no chemical" rule on a routine basis. After all, a girl can only take so much "au naturale".

Until I make my final ruling I have learned to part my hair differently and use mascara to temporarily cover the obvious gray when I don't have time to pluck OR when plucking would leave a bald spot (which is more and more frequently.) If you happen to notice some gray then please remember that I earned it and it means that I'm smarter than I was when my hair was solid black. But if the gray is suspiciously missing then I guess you'll know how I spent my weekend!

Turning Old

I knew it the moment it happened - the moment I turned old. It was last weekend while having dinner with friends. I found myself inexplicably discussing the results of my recent blood work. I did the same thing two more times last week and sealed my fate. Young people just don't do that! Since when did dinner conversation include cholesterol levels???? Since I turned old....

Of course, I've also noticed other signs of age. I now sport numerous "light black highlights" in my formerly jet black hair. I fear I'm beginning to resemble Lily from "The Munsters" because I have a definite white streak. Reading is torture if the lighting is not just right so I now use 3 industrial strength lights, making my apartment resemble a stadium. I also sense that bifocals are imminent because apparently my arms have shrunk and I am no longer able to hold a book at a far enough distance to actually see the words. Then there is all the creaking and popping that occurs when I stand up - especially if I've been sitting on the floor, but I'm not complaining because at least I can still get off of the floor!

If you happen to be one of the lucky ones who catches me lapsing into middle age lingo during dinner, tug on your left ear lobe or something to signal me to STOP IT. Subtly redirect the conversation toward a cool rock band or something young and hip and let me pretend that I'm cool.......and not turning old in a few days. Thanks.