When I Grew Up

I don’t think I can come up with the full list of things I wanted to be when I grew up. So obviously none of the have panned out. However, I’m still waiting to “feel grown up,” never mind actually be grown up, so something could pan out eventually.

There was that time that my high school guidance counselor assumed that I would become a nurse because my mother’s a nurse. My mother then asked the guidance counselor if she had ever even met me before this one meeting, because if she knew anything she knew I would never be a nurse.

Point: Mom

Then there was that one time I was reviewing my health history with a nurse practitioner when he jokingly asked why I never considered become a physical therapist, my answer was “because I wanted to learn something new,” obviously.

I think I’ve had similar goals for why I wanted to be whatever I wanted to be at any given time.

I wanted to make a difference in people’s lives and maybe help them see things a little differently.

It’s hard to say if I’ve achieved this goal but I’m working on it.

I’ve realized I spent a lot of time (probably far too much) trying to be something I’m not. It wasn’t that obvious, it was certainly subtle from my prospective, but with each change I’ve made I feel like I’m getting closer to what I’m supposed to be as grown up.

The funny thing is, if you have a weird sense of humor, I feel like who I’m meant to be as a grownup has been following me around for quite a while just waiting for me to turn around and embrace it.

So, what did I want to be when I grew up?

If you can think of it it’s probably something I thought I wanted to do for at least 5 minutes. None of it has panned out as of yet, somewhat thankfully I admit.

And let’s get real for a minute, I have CP I can’t just have any job I wanted (actually that applies for everyone regardless of ability). So, there were countless things I wanted to be when I grew up that I knew would never happen, so let’s all be thankful I was never interested in Ballet, for example.

I did want to be an Olympian. That was one of the few things I convinced myself I could do, even with CP. I just figured I’d automatically be one of those heartwarming human-interest stories you see between events and commercials.

This was before being rejected from even trying out for the swim team & before I knew there was this thing called the Paralympics for athletes with a variety of disabilities. I don’t want to close the door on my dreams of Olympic glory, but it may be a little late to make a run for Rio (and I’ll probably be too old for Tokyo?)

When it comes down to it I wanted to make an impact on people’s lives. I wanted to make them see things differently or think of something they’ve never thought of before. I never wanted to be someone’s inspiration, but if that happened along the way who am I to disagree.

Now all I have to do is grow up

*A similar version of this post was published on November 21, 2014

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Why I: Am Choosing The Back Burner

I’ve been joking for a while that anyone who’s actually following my blog is watching its slow demise.

Honestly, I feel like I’m stringing people along instead of just making a decision (NOTE: if my intuition is correct tell me, especially if you have any strong opinions either way).

Here’s the truth, I’m really enjoying school. Like, if I have any free time at all I want to spend time working on assignments, at least 90% of the time anyway. Why bother putting off “little” assignments that you can get done pretty easily, if you had the time.

The exception being major papers, midterms, and finals, I’m not that far gone. And does anyone really look forward to that stuff?

If it were up to me I’d go to school full time and continue to freelance, because that’s been awesome too. Plus, my advisor, professors, and formation director are fully aware of my goals and more than ready and willing to support my simultaneous pursuits.

It’s a great ideal but it’s just that, my ideal. I have to work in order to make the rest of this work.

It’s a lot to fit in in any given day, but I’ve been able to make it work. In fact, my time management skills have improved greatly (although there is still plenty of room left to grow). So it’s not that I don’t have the time. I could make the time for something if I made it more of a priority.

Here’s the thing, my blog and who I am as a blogger needs to shift or maybe transition would be a better word. I’ve shifted topics from here to there and back again, so that’s not new to me. But I’m not getting the feeling that “Keep Calm & Blog On” is the approach I should take here.

I don’t want to stop blogging. That doesn’t feel right either. I would just be leaving a bigger gap where I’ve tried to fill a void. Nor do I want to overfill the void by telling you everything that’s been filling up my life and how it relates to having CP. I’d rather share the soapbox, if I have to stand on one at all.

So, I need to figure out what I’m doing here and more importantly why, at least when it comes to blogging.

Ideally, and I think what I’m heading towards, is more of an integration of all of my projects. Just how to go about that, if that’s really what’s meant to happen, is the challenge here.

But there’s one thing I have to do first, step back and think.

I’m choosing the back burner, because it feels right.

*A similar version of this post was published on December 30, 2014

Normal Is Nice

Fall means a season of follow ups, and usually a mix of emotions.

The emotions are still there, but I’ll get to that later, or not.

The follow ups are still there, and they will be for the foreseeable future, but they’re different.

I was sitting in an exam room waiting, actually I was staring at the sink, when I thought of a poem.

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Yes, I was waiting a long time. Yes, I do get philosophical the longer I wait.

I remembered waiting to be told I had healed enough that I could stand up, and then feeling pain shoot up my legs as they took on my body weight. It was pain, the very reason why I put myself though all of this, but it was different pain, and I was happy about it.

As the weeks of rehab turned into months my feelings towards standing went from happiness to anger, as happened in every stage of my recovery process.

Every follow up I’d wait, and wish someone would find something that would make me better, a more improved version, faster.

That never happened, at least not yet. And no one ever declared me “recovered,” not officially, that came with some self-acceptance.

I sat in the exam room, again, but with a different expectation.

The expectation of normal.

“Normal is nice,” I kept thinking.

And it was, the follow up went as I expected, and I wasn’t upset or overly happy over it.

It was normal, and it felt nice, to be OK with this (not so) new phase of my life.

Regardless of how you feel about standing, normal is a nice place to be.

Defining normal, that’s the hard part.

Here I Go Again, I Guess

Remember when I said my future as a podcaster was up in the air?

Well it still is, I think.

Dan and I recorded a podcast mainly discussing the future.

If you listen to it you know that we tackle the quality content vs the content for content sake discussion.

And the time it takes to put a podcast together.

Then there’s the matter of throwing something into the void and hoping someone hears you.

But if nothing comes back to you it becomes like screaming into a void, eventually you get tired.

The thing is I’m not just talking about podcasting either.

I have a blog (which you’re reading).

A career.

A ministry to devote time to.

I love creating content for people but I’ve come to realize that I’m not a content creating machine, at least not in the literal sense.

Like many podcasters who recently took hiatuses, like Sean & Greg & Jennifer, I realized I need to take time for myself and things I enjoy rather than focusing all my attention on what others may want to hear about without actually knowing for sure.

I am not a factory if my heart’s not in it people can tell so I need to focus on quality of content rather than quantity of content.

So, for now, or forever, podcasting will be lower on the priority list (for me anyway).

Things could change however.

Here’s how:
-Send feedback whether it be on the podcast or my blog.
-Send topics, again whether it be on the podcast or my blog. It’s a lot easier to create content if you have a topic you know someone(s) is interested in hearing about.

Review Session

I’ve been riffling through my past writings, for various reasons. I can’t say it’s been all fun rereading everything but it has been interesting.

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Two years ago I was pre-surgery*

One year ago I was post 1 round of Botox*

*I did indeed have to search the archives to remember this

This year the MDs & Ph.D.s are pretty much hands off.

Progress indeed.

Things aren’t prefect.

But a CP body isn’t your typical definition of perfect.

“It doesn’t get easier or harder. It just gets different.”

The idealistic picture I had in my mind two years ago is a distant memory. As in so distant I barely remember the picture, other than I had one.

The real picture is coming into focus.

I’m sure there are things that could use fixing. In fact I know there are. They’ve just been put in the “wait and see” category, and it looks like they’ll be staying there.

Do I want them fixed?
Of course.
But I don’t know how much difference it’ll make overall.

Plus I’m in pretty awesome physical shape.
Going in for more work would mean “tearing down” my hard work.

That’s the biggest negative for me.
Further improvement would come at a cost.

I’m not 100% with how things are.
I’ve made that pretty clear to a lot of people.

But who is really, truly, honestly happy with themselves 100%?

Even if I can still see room for improvement that doesn’t mean I have to bow to the surgical gods for it.

A big revelation for me I admit.

I can manage my own trajectory.
Modern medicine will always be there.

*A similar version of this post was written on September 2, 2011

On 2 Years

8 years ago my life was at a turning point in my life. I had been in pain for so long and I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to do something about it. 2 years out I wrote about the progress after the turn. I thought I would see my life more differently 8 years after than I would 2 years later, although there are a few things that are different now the general sentiment is pretty much the same.

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A lot of people see scars as defects, at least detection of defects.
I look down at my scars and see differently.

Improvement.
Teamwork.
Hard work.
Skill.
Courage.
Faith
Obedience.
Accomplishment.
Risk
Hope

Just to name a few.

It took a long time to even get to that point 2 years ago.
Lucky for me there are times I’m like a dog with a bone.
Although I did feel like quitting plenty of times.

All I wanted to do was be who I was.
Rewind the clock.
Not be in constant pain.

It didn’t even occur to me that a fixed body would mean possibility & ability to actually become better. Even when the idea was presented to me I had my doubts, actually I didn’t think it was possible, just someone being hopelessly optimistic.

To borrow a line from Soul Surfer, “I don’t want easy, just possible.”
Well someone did, it just wasn’t me.
I was just waiting until I felt back to normal.

But when I wasn’t paying attention I was getting better.

Climbing up stairs without pulling myself up or using a handrail
Stepping off a curb
Being able to dress myself without falling over
Jumping
Walking backwards & sideways
Stopping at a street corner before crossing
Finally learning to walk with my heals with some consistency

All things most people without much thought at all.

It took a lot to get this far:

1 failed Baclofen trial
10 hours of surgery
Months of PT
Months of Pilates
Self-motivated pool sessions
Weekly one on one gym sessions
2 rounds of Botox

But I did it.

Everyone kept telling me the hard part was going to come after. I have to say they were right, as I’ve said; two years ago, the hardest thing I had to do was take a 10 nap while everyone else either worked or waited on me.

“We’re done,” meant “Your turn kid.”

But like the getting better part, the hard part happened when I wasn’t looking.

As Hemmingway wrote in, The Sun Also Rises, “Gradually, then suddenly.”

If I did this, what else can I do?

*A similar version of this post was written on September 13, 2011

Grad School: The Last Summer

This summer was bananas, all kinds of emotions going full throttle bananas.

I can’t believe I’m actually writing about this.

I learned during my first summer than students often mark their time by summers, and there’s a certain satisfaction that comes with saying “this is my last summer.”

I’ve watched many of my classmates go through their last summer, each has been different, each having their own positives and negatives. I knew what I wanted to do and what not to do. I wanted to end on a good note and have the best experience possible.

I even consulted people and made a plan to have a full yet enjoyable summer.

Very little of the plan went according to plan, as is usually the case.

This summer went much like last summer in the respect that a lot of my classmates and I had the same classes so we spent plenty of time together over a short period of time (although not really because we started courses around the same time).

One thing people get wrong about distance learning is that it’s isolating. Yes, there is an element of that but, if it’s a small program you’re anything but isolated. In fact, I think there was only one person I didn’t know before class began (and I kept referring to her as “the new person” which is completely false in terms of remaining course load).

The first week was fairly relaxed, compared to previous years, it was the only time I didn’t have a morning class. A luxury I had been wanting for years but the opportunity never came about & I chose to forgo the meal plan again so while people were down at breakfast and/or hurrying off to class I was still in bed indulging in well overdue Netfl!x binging.

And by noon I was bored out of my skull.

I took care of a few things, like tuition, scholarship requirements, etc. It was nice to get all of it out of the way but it didn’t take very long so it was shaping up to be a long week and it was only day one.

I did the majority of my course work before arriving and my first presentation wasn’t until the end of the week so I was able to watch everyone’s and make adjustments (and practice, over and over).

If you follow me on Inst@gram you saw how much detail I put into my presentation, although it may have come off fairly low-key.

The week closed well but I couldn’t help but keep thinking about my presentation. It could have been better, I think, so there was plenty of work to do before I turned in the final project (hell there’s still a lot to do & grades are in).

The weekend was pretty low key considering how much work lay ahead. I think what helped was the fact that we were all in the same boat so if someone was struggling (which I was, I just didn’t know it) there were other people to pick you up (and in my case 3 or 4, I can’t remember).

Pro tip: Make friends with someone who can pack anything (& nearly everything) in a suitcase without

Because my presentations (or really practicum requirements) were scheduled for the beginning of the week it meant that I had a lot to do in the span of less than a week. I wasn’t a big fan but at the same time I liked the idea of being done on Tuesday, because the 2nd week of classes came with a mandatory early wake up & Theological Reflection at night.

This summer was unlike any of my previous summers for many reasons but mainly because there were many group activities outside of class. Meals, for the most part, were together. We saw more of the outside world, together. Whenever someone was going to do something they asked who wanted to come along. In one way, it was how we made the most of our final time together.

This was the summer I couldn’t wait to have, my “final summer.”  It’s something that gets hyped up in one way or another by everyone, even yourself. There are certain rites of passage that you don’t get to have until that “final summer.” What often gets overlooked as the emotions that come along with it, at least for me.

While I’m not done with school yet the experience is certainly coming to a close. The blessings have been given the good byes (even if just temporary) have been said.

It’s time for a new group to start their countdown to their own last summer.

Summer Shedding

My summer has been full, as usual (but more on that later). My room is full of files of stuff that just reinforces my fullness (and lack of organization). But there were 3 shirts in particular that just kept sticking out to me, and recently I’ve had enough.

By the end of the day I ended up getting rid of nearly half of my clothing & shoes, starting to dispose of old prescription medication, and cleaning out my inbox.

I felt better that the deed was finally done but the piles seem to have reappeared, or maybe these are just the piles under the piles.

I’m sure you’ve heard of spring cleaning but this is more like a summer shedding.

I started with the three shirts and by the end of the day there was a mountain of clothing and shoes at the top of the stairs, and some of my drawers still can’t close easily.

For a long time I was worried about getting rid of a lot of things all at once because I had be told, and multiple times, that if someone gets rid of the majority of their belongings at once it’s a sign that the person is contemplating suicide. (I recognize the flaws in this logic upon hindsight, and current trends of minimalism)

Although I’ve gotten rid of a lot of stuff I still plan on doing it again, and soon, sort of a “round 2,” in case I changed my mind on something(s).

Truth be told there’s a lot of stuff I would like to rid myself of but I can’t, at least not anytime soon.

As much as I was dreading getting rid of so much stuff at once I felt much better about it once I got started. I did get sentimental about things but I was able to get past most of that and see the bigger picture.

Not to mention wonder why on Earth I saved so much stuff. What was my reasoning for it, at one point in time?

I kept finding myself jealous of people who have had to move multiple times in their lifetime.

I’ve been fortunate to be able to have a “home base” my whole life so even when I have moved I haven’t had to worry about taking everything with me (or worry about having somewhere to put it all when it came back).

What’s that they say about the grass being greener?

I don’t think much of my life will change from this experience, other than the fact that I’ll probably do deep cleanings more frequently, but I’m close to embarking on the next step of my life. I can’t have a bunch of “stuff” to leave behind if the opportunity presents itself.

10 Minutes, 10 Hours, 10 Days, 10 Weeks, 10 Months, 10 Years

The memories that pop up on social media seem relentless this time of year.

I don’t mean that in the negative way that it sounds either, but I’m not sure I can really come up with more adequate words.

August is the month I flew to Portland and made my way to Washington State.

August is the month I made my final preparations for a full year of rehabilitation.

August is the month friends got married and others took their first vows, on the same weekend no less.

August is the month I first went Chicago for a week, not knowing that it would become a yearly event.

August is the month friends took their final vows.

August is the month I’m buried under numerous deadlines, and social engagements to juggle on top of that.

It’s so many memories crammed into on month that it’s hard to keep track of how long ago they each were.

Whether they were 10 weeks ago, 10 months ago, or 10 years ago…….

They all seem 10 minutes, 10 hours or just 10 days, away.

It’s getting harder and harder to remember when they all occurred, other than it was August; I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not.

I’m sure at some point it will all even out, but that’s not the case, at least right now.

For now, I’ll let the memories run together, until others join them.

I Can See (It’s Not A Miracle)

I put my goggles on the same way each time, or at least I try to, it’s part habit, part superstition. So, when someone asks me about my goggles, like my coach did in the fall, it sometimes catches me off guard.

“Are those prescription goggles?”

I look down at my rainbow-colored goggles that clearly don’t have prescription lenses.

“You should get some, they’ll change your life.”

I’ve worn glasses since I was in preschool but I’ve always made do in the water; the back line was always wide enough and black enough to see, and after a few laps I can judge my approach pretty well, I know what numbers look like all blurred so I wouldn’t get into the wrong lane, or so I thought.

I looked up prescription goggles online and they aren’t any more expensive than the non-prescription ones, but I still put it off, for some of the seemingly irrational reasons available.

Like, not knowing what my prescription actually was. Honestly, until this process of goggle buying I did not know anything about my glasses. I have a guy who knows and I’m more than cool with that. After I called him and sought his advice I made a reluctant purchase, because they weren’t going to be my ideal goggles.

When they arrived, I looked at them with displeasure; they looked like the goggles most people wear (and now I know why). I spent money on something I didn’t really want and now I was just going to lose them, it was only a matter of time.

I wore them to practice, and I could actually see. I could see the clock, the lane numbers, I could see the walls from further away, and it turns out that black line wasn’t so clear before after all.

(It reminded me of Shelly’s post about her son’s experience with goggles)

I can even see the board after a race, which I always wanted to be able to see, but I really have mixed feelings about it.

But things still weren’t perfect. I still wanted my old goggles for one reason, they’re mirrored.

I’ve worn mirrored goggles since their invention, or close enough. It’s what I like best, and it turns out they do have added functional benefit, like keeping lighting glare out of my eyes. So, I bought another pair of goggles.

They still aren’t what I want but they’ve made things so much clearer for me, literally, so I really shouldn’t complain about it. Truth be told I’d probably still be wearing the same rainbow-colored goggles if my coach hadn’t noticed such a seemingly tiny detail.