The New Pad

April 27, 2013 4 Comments

Since the age of eleven, I’ve needed these:

I guess I am pretty brand specific about this stuff

I guess I am pretty brand specific about this stuff

In the past year, as my fibroids grew to epic proportions, on the heaviest days of my period I was using a super plus tampon with an overnight pad and that would last me all of about an hour.   There was a day at my new job here in Toronto when I got stuck on some long customer calls, couldn’t get up to go to the bathroom for over an hour and ended up taking a $25 round trip cab ride home to change my pants.  My last period showed up over a week early, likely because of the knocking around my uterus got during my recent surgery.  It was awful and heavy and lasted about eight or nine days.

But around the day of my second Lupron shot this month, I was supposed to get my period and…nothing.  I have the notion that my last period in March is the last one I’m ever going to have.  With cautious joy I have packed up everything but some panty liners and put them in a closet, ready to be donated to the work place “oops I just got my period unexpectedly” stockpile.  I’m not counting my chickens until they’re hatched–until my uterus is actually out–but it seems pretty likely that the Lupron has succeeded; that in addition to the night sweats, headaches, moodiness and fatigue, I am also experiencing the one desired side effect of my body being in a menopausal state–no more periods.

Right now, as I live with less money than I have in a long time, the thought of not having to spend $50/month on sanitary products and birth control is pretty sweet.  But more than that, knowing that I will never again have to contend with basically hemorrhaging on a monthly basis, makes me almost weep with joy.

I got my period right at the end of 5th grade and it was awful.  When it first started, it would stretch out for two or three weeks at a time and I’d get back pain so bad I couldn’t stand up straight.  After a while it mellowed but it was still always this thing that could strike and ruin my life at any time.  In 6th grade, during music class one day, while we were all seated on the white tile floor, I sprang a leak.  As we all got up and moved to another part of the room, a boy called out “someone’s bleeding!”  I had tried to wipe my telltale blood away with my foot but hadn’t quite managed.  No one said anything and the music teacher moved on.  I was fortunate to have been layering my clothing that day so I took off my white sweatshirt (how ironic) and wrapped it around my waist.  I even remember that I was wearing pink capris (back then we called them knickers) and that the stain was a quarter size “o” on the butt of my pants.

I didn’t realize quite how bad off I was though.  When we went back to our regular class room and sat down for a spelling test I almost immediately passed out.  I heard the first word and woke up for the end of the test.  Of course I was too mortified to tell my male teacher what was going on but thankfully, as a father of three girls, he figured it out and I was sent home.

I’ve never comprehended the world of women whose lives were not turned upside down by their menstrual cycle.  When women would talk to me about not even being sure if they had tampons at home or not it amused me.  Mine was always a stockpile situation.

In Korea I was lucky, lucky, lucky to live near a grocery/department store big enough to even carry tampons let alone super tampons.  As my period got worse around the end of my time there it became harder and harder to do my job the way I was supposed to–never leaving the classroom, never leaving the kids alone.  There were moments when I stood in front of my students knowing I had just leaked through all the barriers and wondering how fast it was going to show up on my jeans.  The spectre of leaking in some public place or even just all over my pretty sheets has always been with me.  And now, it’s not.

I am really, really excited about life without a period.  The plan is to keep my ovaries so I’ll still get PMS, but I can deal with a little rage.

However, I’m not free of the feminine protection aisles yet.  With all the action going on around my kidneys and bladder, these days I’m rocking new pads:

Because there always seems to be a problem with my lady parts

Because there always seems to be a problem with my lady parts

I am quite seriously counting the days until June 4th.

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Dressed to Heal

April 17, 2013 6 Comments

I was jealously reading another blogger the other day as she described putting on jeans a mere three weeks post surgery.  Until I read her blog post, I sort of assumed that my inability to wear anything with a waist band nearly four weeks out, was completely normal.  I’ve been living in two pairs of sweatpants and a pair of leggings since the day of my surgery, and while my fashion options haven’t been wide ranging I’ve managed to mostly look presentable.

But as I read this blog post, I was worried by the thought that maybe I was falling behind in the race to recovery.  Maybe I’m not healing fast enough or well enough.  Maybe I’m a bad patient somehow (this despite the fact that I’m working full days from home right now).

So immediately after reading the post, I hurried to my bedroom to try on jeans.  I could get them on, though they felt snug, but it was clear that buttoning them was going to hurt.  I carry all my extra weight in my belly so my avenue of attack in pants shopping has always been to buy low riders and wear them under my gut rather than trying to find a rise long enough to fit over it.  That’s just how I find it comfortable to wear pants–like a dude.  I’ve been very happy with this way of purchasing clothes but never dreamed of the problem it would present with a bikini line incision.  Basically the waistbands of all my pants now sit right where the surgeon cut me open.

Realizing none of the jeans in my closet were going to be an option again for a very long time, I tried a pair of pants that had always been too big in the waist.  I took care to shove them down a bit–as far down as I could get them without exposing my pelvis to the world–and went out for an appointment with my urologist and to run a couple errands.  Bad idea.  Very bad idea.  I was in a stupid amount of pain by the time I got home.

That evening on the couch, in a pair of basically waist-less sweatpants, I had to laugh at my vanity and competitiveness.  The way I always need to be ahead of the curve on everything–even recovering from surgery.

The question remained though, what would I wear back to the office?  I go back to work in four days and never once during this process have I been okay with the idea of  continuing to rock my recovery wardrobe in an office as chock-a-block full of fashionable folk as mine.

I was downtown running errands last week and since I’d decided to meet a friend a bit later I went to the closest mall to kill some time and look for some pants; thankfully I had success.  I managed to pick up a pair of slim leg khakis with a fleece, draw string waistband.  They ended up being $13 and while they don’t fit great, it’s hard to argue with $13 and a fleece waistband.  When I found those pants I’d already tried on about seven pairs and was starting to get a little discouraged because I really needed something a little more nondescript–something I could wear everyday and no one would notice.  That’s when I stumbled into Old Navy’s maternity section.

Those pants with the over the belly panel are the best. thing. ever.  What comfort!  What ease!  I managed to find a pair of skinny, dark wash jeans with the over the belly panel.  Wearing them is like all the comfort of a legging while managing to look like I haven’t given up on life.  And because the over the belly panel keeps the pants up better than a belt (so far) my ass has never looked better!  I could see maternity wear becoming a lifestyle choice.

I couldn’t help but comment to my friend on the irony of buying maternity wear on the road to a hysterectomy.  I actually found it so hilarious that I accosted the poor dressing room attendant with the irony of it as well.  Thankfully she laughed rather than looking at me like I’d grown a second head (which would have been entirely appropriate).   I’m blaming it on the drug cocktail coursing through my veins; I’d appreciate it if you’d go along with that.

According to my surgeon, as of today my incision is looking great.  I just need to be patient and wait for my inflammation to subside some more.  I need to wait for my body to get to a place where buttons and snaps don’t feel like a form of torture.  In the meantime I’ll be dressed in ironic style.

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To Be or Not to Be…Without a Cervix

April 10, 2013 Leave a comment

I don’t even remember what I was reading when I stumbled across the idea of whether or not to keep my cervix when I have my hysterectomy in June.  I’d already confirmed with my surgeon that I was keeping my ovaries and I was pretty pleased about that–no hormone replacement therapy for me–but this cervix thing has thrown me for a loop.  As with so many things that have to do with women’s health the answers are not clear cut.  Back in the day when pap tests were still not the norm it was customary to remove the cervix to avoid the risk of future cancers.  Now that regular pap testing is just what we do, it’s much more common for women to keep the cervix, but not everyone is in agreement about that being the best course of action.

Kinda what a cervix looks like

Kinda what a cervix looks like

Reasons to let that cervix go?  No spotting.  If you keep your cervix it’s possible that some uterine tissue remains behind which can cause spotting here and there.  Most forum posters though, indicate that the spotting is indeed just that–spotting.  Nothing to worry about and definitely not a full on period.  I already mentioned that removing the cervix eliminates the risk of cervical cancer, but that doesn’t mean you can’t get a vaginal cancer.   Also, for fibroid havers like myself there is one final issue; if your fibroids are on your cervix, then you may not have much choice in the matter.

Reasons to hang on to your cervix with a death grip?  Well this is where it gets really anecdotal.  Some women report decreased pleasure during sex after having the cervix removed.  I happen to be a pretty big fan of great sex so anything that affects my level of pleasure is a big deal to me.  Of course for just about every woman who says sex is worse without a cervix, there’s a woman who says it’s better.  The other big reason cited for keeping the cervix is the possibility of vaginal prolapse down the road.  Don’t know what vaginal prolapse is?  Oh, that’s when your vagina falls halfway out of your damn body.  If you’ve never seen a picture of a prolapsed vagina, seek it out with caution.

So I’m *terrified* of vaginal prolapse and leaning heavily towards keeping my cervix, but my biggest fibroid, the one that’s the reason for this hysterectomy, is tucked down around my cervix.  Ultimately I may not have much of a choice about keeping my cervix, future fallen vagina or not.  I shall be speaking with my surgeon next week and I’ll see what she says but this is definitely a new source of stress for me.

In the mean time, if you or anyone you know has had a hysterectomy, I’d love to hear your experiences with having kept or not kept your cervix.  The longer it’s been since the hysterectomy, the better.  It’s not so much about how I’m gonna feel two months later–I’m sure I’ll still be rejoicing the removal of my fibroids–it’s the long term effects of the surgery that I’m most concerned about.  So please use the comment section and weigh in.  Apparently I’m all about more confusing anecdotal evidence.

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I Need to Piss Like a Race Horse

April 2, 2013 2 Comments

It feels like my incision surgery (that’s what I’ve decided to call my useless March 12th surgery) was just yesterday, but it wasn’t.  I know that because I will likely start working from home next Monday.  Half days for the first week, full days for a second week and then back to the office starting the week after.

During this surgery, none of my fibroids were removed because the doctor didn’t want to do anything that would cause blood loss when another surgery that would absolutely cause blood loss was around the corner.  What did happen though was that two ureteral stents were put inside me.  Stents are basically tiny, flexible tubes that help to ensure that things drain properly.  For months the fibroids have been squashing my bladder making me constantly feel like I need to pee but also making it hard to actually empty my bladder.  My surgeon was concerned that on one of my ultrasounds it looked like one of my ureters–the (natural) tube that runs from your bladder to your kidney–was swollen with back up.  This is problematic because it can cause damage to the kidneys.  To avoid this, you have stents put in your ureters.

If you haven’t guessed already, stents are inserted through your urethra.  Yes, piles of fun.  The urologist who would perform this procedure, Dr M.,  wanted to do it prior to my surgery to get some drainage happening in advance, so that the stents could come out a couple weeks post surgery.  I would be awake for this procedure but there would be a local anesthetic used.  The doctor assured me that it wouldn’t hurt putting the stents in and that they’d just make me feel like I needed to go to the bathroom.  The procedure was to take 15 minutes and I’d be able to go about my business once it was done.  As I booked the date with his receptionist I asked again how fast I’d be up and at ‘em after the procedure.  Her answer:  people have different tolerances to pain.  Her tone said “I really couldn’t give a shit about you or your pain tolerance.”

The urologist was mostly wrong and the receptionist was mostly right.

The attempt to put in the stents was the most painful experience I have ever had the misfortune of suffering.  It was akin to having to pee worse than you’ve ever had to pee in your life but having no ability to do so, in addition to pressure being put on your bladder through your urethra.  I cried like a baby on the table while he attempted to get a tiny camera into my bladder which was to be followed up by the insertion of the stents.  After about ten minutes he asked me “how often are you going to the bathroom?”  “A lot!” I cried out while squeezing the nurse’s hand.   I guess it hadn’t crossed his mind to ask this back in his office when I wasn’t weeping.

A couple minutes later he declared that there was no way he was getting in there and stopped the procedure.  At the beginning of the process, they had pumped my bladder full of liquid and it came splashing out of me right then.  Embarrassing, but oh the relief.  Dr M. explained that while a bladder should normally look like a balloon, mine looks like a pancake.   I felt like I could have told him that without years of medical training.  I used to be one of those people who went to the bathroom maybe a couple times in a work day.  Now I’m in the bathroom hourly or maybe every couple hours on a good day.  Walking makes me feel like I need to pee so even though I just went to the bathroom before I left for work, by the time I arrive 15 minutes later, the urge to go again is irresistible.

In theory I was supposed to be able to get on with my day after that (attempted) procedure.  In fact, I could barely walk.  I used the bathroom, painfully, three times before I left the hospital and then took a cab home; the five minute walk down my street from the streetcar stop was not going to be doable.  I slept for most of the afternoon and when I woke up the intense burning during urination wasn’t as awful as it had been.  The urologist let me know that he’d have to put in the stents while I was under during my myomectomy.  And ironically that’s the only thing that happened during my March 12th surgery.

On March 13th one of the urology team came in to tell me the stents could stay in for 3-4 months but if we went past that time frame then they would have to be removed and new ones put in (he assured me they’d sedate me if that had to happen).   He also said that they shouldn’t cause me any more discomfort than what the fibroids were already causing.

Bullshit.

The sensation of needing to go to the bathroom is worse now by a stretch.  For a while just shifting in my sleep would bring on the sensation so intensely that I had to get out of bed and take a trip to the loo.  I can’t sit without a pillow under my butt because the pressure on my bladder is too much.  Sometimes the pain from my bladder is bearable and other times it’s a nightmare trying to find a comfortable position to accommodate it.  In fact I’d say that my bladder and the stents have caused me more discomfort overall than my actual incision.  While I was still in the hospital, when the nurses would ask about my pain, I’d often say the incision was fine but that my bladder was giving me a lot of trouble.

Initially, post surgery, the pain during urination was so bad that when the urologist’s receptionist told me this was “normal” and that I would feel this way until the stents were removed, I almost started to cry on the phone.  When she heard my voice catch she asked if  was okay.  I was surprised that she cared enough to ask.  It wasn’t that each trip to the bathroom was unbearable,  but that the thought of it hurting that much for nearly three months was unbearable.  She said that if I couldn’t handle it to come in earlier than my scheduled follow up appointment and talk options with Dr M.  Thankfully it’s gotten better but it’s still really frustrating that the urologist’s predictions are at one end of the spectrum, his heartless receptionist’s are at the other and neither turn out to be entirely true.

There’s been a constant disconnect between my urologist’s declarations about these procedures and the reality of them.  In his world having stuff crammed into your body by way of your urethra is totes comfy.  In reality it’s been wildly painful and the stents being in are really uncomfortable.  It’s conceivable that someone like me, with big old fibroids crushing their bladder, experiences all of this stuff differently than someone who is having this procedure for another reason.  But it’s not like Dr M. is super young; surely he’s come across patients like me before.

And so now, going back to work, even from home, is scary.  I feel like I need to put myself in as good a situation financially as possible because I will likely be on EI for my entire recovery period after my June surgery.  But I’m a little freaked out at the thought of sitting on this sore bladder for 8 hours a day for the next two months.  It makes me want to have my myomectomy/hysterectomy tomorrow.  It makes it feel like two months is too long to wait.  Two months is a long time to need to pee.

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My Summer of George

March 24, 2013 2 Comments

It’s been hard to come back to writing here.  So much is going on for me right now but I’ve never wanted this blog to just be a newscast of my life.  I’ve wanted it to make people think or relate in some way.  To write that way though, I have to be at a point where I’ve gleaned some lesson or at least have an inkling of the lesson to be learned, and lately it’s been really, really hard to get there.

To recap, once I managed to stop hating Korea, I had a fantastic time and wanted to go back for a second year.  That didn’t work out.  First I couldn’t find a job, then I found out that I had two large-ish (11 and 6cm) uterine fibroid masses that needed removing.  Knowing that by the time I recovered from surgery, it would be nearly a year before I could go back to Korea, I gave up that dream.  It wasn’t something I was thrilled about–part of the reason I wanted to go back was to continue a relationship with a man there–but I also felt like it was time for me to restart my life here.

So I needed to find a job here, because while I was grateful to be living rent free under my sister’s roof, that arrangement had an expiry date on it.  I found a job and given my two interviews, one of which was four hours long, I figured this was a company I might really grow with.  Let’s just say it might not be turning out that way.  So that’s been both a disappointment and an area of real stress.  I love most of my coworkers and the vibe of the place is cool (think six packs of beer on Saturday shifts), but the work is stressful, I don’t make enough money and there’s that age old disconnect between the department head honchos and the front lines.

In the midst of moving to live with a friend for a couple months until I could find my own place, my ex in Korea stopped speaking to me.  We’d had a really amicable break up.  He knew about my upcoming surgery and the difficulty I’d had in resettling in Canada and fully supported my not returning to Korea.  He wanted to remain friends, blah de blah blah.  Maybe I should have known better, but he had always, always been such a stand up guy while we dated, that I really didn’t think this would go sideways.  But it did.  A mere week after all those promises to keep in touch, radio silence.  I wondered if his phone had been stolen, if his computer had been stolen, if one of his kids was in a coma, if he was in a coma.  I sent a zillion texts and then after confirming casually through a tutor I set up for his kids that all was well, I concluded that he just didn’t want to talk to me anymore.

I probably knew from the outset that he wasn’t the one.  Or even one of the ones.  But he had been good experience, something I really needed after all the bad ones.  And I felt confident he wasn’t going to repeat what has been an ongoing pattern in my life, with men–that they just go away.  It was understandable with former lovers who weren’t boyfriends, that they would just go away at some point.  In those situations I was perhaps setting myself up for hurt.  But this time I thought it would be different and so it was a blow to have the guy I’d just sent this beautiful letter about how he’d shown me how healthy a relationship can be, just go away.

It was in the first week of January that I finally took the hint (the radio silence had started mid-December) and I just thought “what a fucking awful way to start the new year.”

My one victory was that I found a place right in my price range for rent, walking distance from work, relatively quickly.  My joy was dramatically dampened though when my new home showed up on the Toronto Bed Bug Registry.  The reality is that I can’t afford any more rent and I didn’t have the time to keep looking because I had to move before my surgery, so I bought caulking and a bed bug proof cover for my mattress and hoped for the best. So far it’s been fine; hopefully it will remain so.

And so we come to the present, two weeks after the most useless surgery ever.  When the surgeon opened me up, she found another larger (18cm) fibroid mass playing hidey-hoo down around my cervix; this mass had never shown up on my ultrasounds.  The surgical team tried for a while to get it out but eventually another gynecologist was called in for a second opinion and it was determined that to get that fibroid mass out, my uterus had to be removed.  We hadn’t anticipated anything like this so of course my doctor didn’t have my consent to go ahead.  She spoke with my sister and mother who were on hand and the decision was made to close me back up without removing anything for the moment to avoid blood loss, since another surgery would be necessary anyway.  So I woke up to an incision, from which I have to heal, for virtually no reason.  In June I’ll have all the fibroids and my uterus removed.

It is utterly surreal to realize that I’m having a hysterectomy at 37.  I feel like I’m too young for that, but I guess this is actually the age when this sort of thing happens to a lot of women.  I opted for a more invasive surgery to remove the fibroids initially because I wanted to leave myself the option of kids, but I’ve never felt like I wanted to have kids at all costs.  Case in point; when the symptoms from my fibroids had me thinking I was preggo during the summer, my first thought was not, “start a family,” it was “end this pregnancy.”

I’m okay with losing my uterus.  I’m okay with not having kids of my own.  I’m less okay with having to go through another surgery in two months.  I’m less okay with the hit financially and the uncertainty around my job (my employer is not obliged to keep me on in this situation and I won’t know for sure what’s going on there until later this week).  I’m significantly less okay with how my lack of control is being rubbed in my face.

I’ve been trying to see the silver linings.  When my family doctor only gave me a two month prescription of the pill I was pissed because it meant I’d have to go in and see her during my recovery time to get another prescription since I was on my last pack.  As of three days ago I’m off the pill forever.  In fact I’m on a drug right now that’s supposed to put my body in a menopausal state ( so as to shrink my fibroids a bit ahead of surgery).*  When I picked out my Ikea bed frame I was going for cheap and cheerful; I never anticipated how having a massive wrought iron head piece would help me pull myself up in bed while I regain my core strength.  As a perfectionist I like to get everything right; with a second surgery I get a chance to do everything “right” the next time around.  Also, thank goodness for Canadian healthcare.

More silver linings:  I’m absolutely getting my money’s worth on my cable TV and internet right now.  I have time to read and write and think about what the next step will be when I’m past both of these surgeries.  In fact I have that time twice over.  If I did have my dream job right now, being off for 12 weeks in my first eight months on the job would likely have been a problem; so maybe it’s for the best that I’m not an indispensable wunderkind right now.  I haven’t lived in the same province as my parents since I was 15 years old; having my mom here round the clock for three weeks has been eye opening in many ways, but significantly health wise.  Her health isn’t great and it’s been a bit of a warning that now is the time to really get my ass in gear taking better care of myself so that I don’t end up with a bag o’ meds like she has to carry around.  And of course, it’s been fantastic to see friends and family rally to support me during this time; you know who your friends are in a crisis and not one of the people I told about the surgery has disappointed.

So lots of silver linings–but it’s still pretty damn cloudy.  And to be honest I’ve been surprised at that.  I think after breaking out of my rut and running off to Korea and just working so hard to make so many changes personally, I figured I was in the clear now.  I’d paid my dues and it would be off to the races fulfilling my potential now.  But instead it’s been this.  Not getting to go back to Korea, a job that’s less than awesome to make ends meet, not one, but two surgeries in three months and continuing shite in my love life.  I met some friends for dinner recently who I don’t see but maybe three or four times a year.  Whenever we meet I always feel keenly that I am constantly the single one.  While their relationship statuses float a bit, they’ve mostly been in long term relationships in the time that I’ve known them.  When I saw them in the summer, I remember feeling like, for once, finally, I wasn’t the single one, even if my boyfriend was 6000km away.  Seeing them again a few weeks ago it felt like I’d regressed to a place that I thought I’d gotten past.

See, for a long time, my unhappiness and my situation in life seemed to be entirely about my own decisions or lack thereof.  Right now though, my struggle is almost entirely about things over which I have very little control.  And I’m having to fight to find the happy in the midst of it.  I guess I figured that if I stopped making bad decisions or letting my indecision be my decision so often, life would get less shitty.  Apparently I was wrong on that score.  That’s been a pill much harder to swallow than anything else.  This was supposed to be my time.  This was my summer of George.

Somehow I have to make it my summer, maybe even my year, obstacles and all.  While sitting on the toilet crying the other day, I whispered to myself that if I wasn’t strong enough to handle this, it wouldn’t be happening to me.  That’s what I’m going with right now; that and silver linings.  Somehow, some way, something good will come of this.

*Fun facts about the drug I’m on to shrink my fibroids.  It’s called Lupron, it’s an injection and it costs $400 per injection.  Luckily this is being covered in various ways since I’ll be getting the shot two more times before my June 4th surgery.  Woweee!

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The Other Kind of Love

February 14, 2013 1 Comment

Today many smug couples pretend they don’t pay Valentine’s any mind because they have that luxury and lots of single people pretend they don’t care while caring a great deal.  For once, I’m in neither category.

I’ve been coupled two times in my life on Valentine’s Day.  The first time I was with this fellow Shawn.  I picked him up at a bar and he was totally, totally unsuitable.  I don’t even recall what we did or did not do on Valentine’s Day.  Three years later I had another entirely unsuitable boyfriend.  He was out of the country for Valentine’s Day–or so he said.  I’ve since come to the conclusion that he was likely married.  He would have been hard pressed not to spend that day with his wife.

I’ve always had this really weird relationship with Valentine’s Day because it falls so close to my birthday.  Often coupled friends aren’t available for birthday merriment because they’re with their significant other.  I have been single far more years of my adult life than not and so it always feels like my singleness is being cruelly highlighted on a yearly basis by the proximity of my birthday to a day all about couples and the stuff they buy for each other.

Even in Korea, where I wasn’t particularly concerned about it since most of my friends were single, my inadequacy was made clear by how few Valentines I received from my students.  I wasn’t anybody’s favorite girl or favorite teacher.  Fail.

I have this adorable new journal that asks me if I’ve kissed anyone today.  While I somewhat resent the conventional nature of the question, I haven’t filled it in yet, because you just never know.  Though it’s not looking good.  The closest I’ve come to a hot encounter so far today is yelling hello to my roommate’s unnaturally good-looking–and married–dog walker.   Yesterday I met him for the first time and I was hideous.  Today I was drying my hair when he came to pick up the dog and I missed my moment to show him that I can, at times, not be hideous.    Alas, deep conditioning takes time (though my hair still feels like straw).

Tonight I will have a fabulous birthday dinner with dear friends and I know it’ll be a wonderful time.  I am single, but today I have not felt particularly single and I know I won’t tonight.

For once I don’t feel left out on Valentine’s Day but instead feel very part of the best relationship possible:  the one you have with good friends.

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#reverb12 – December 31

December 31, 2012 Leave a comment

Clean Slate: Tomorrow begins a new year.  What will you do with your new beginning?

You  might be wondering what happened to the reverberations from the last eight days.  Yeah, I’ll be honest.  It takes time to  sleep off Christmas dinner, move house and still be working throughout.  And I just wasn’t feeling that inspired.

When I started #reverb10 a couple years ago, my life was in such a state of inertia, it seemed like it was gonna take a land mine to move me forward.  Luckily that didn’t turn out to be the case.  A month of soul searching blog posts (after a lot of therapist assisted soul searching) and I was well on my way to making many much needed changes.  Eventually I quit my job, sold most of my stuff and left the country and enjoyed a fantastic year in South Korea.  I think I needed that month of blogging though to move me from the stand still my life was in to a place of forward momentum.

I have not quite yet reached perfection (I know, shocking).  There are lots of things I need to work on mentally, significant goals for me to achieve and big hurdles to clear.  My homecoming has been challenging on a lot of levels and I think it will continue to challenge my patience, tenacity and sense of calm for a while yet.  But I’m also feeling more and more like this is where I’m supposed to be at this time in my life.  That this bit of trial by fire is what precedes the next big thing and that the next big thing is gonna last a lot longer than a year.  But I haven’t needed these blog posts to see that.  That was already clear.  So this time I’ve been kinda “meh” about the whole reverb thing because it hasn’t been a need for me the way it was two years ago.  And that’s a good thing.

I grew a lot in the past year and while it hasn’t made me impervious to disappointment or glib in the face of difficulty, I’m much better at staying the course and I feel significantly more focused about the future.  Not something I could have said even on December 31st, 2010.

So tomorrow begins a new year and what will I do with my new beginning?  Exactly what I have been doing–just more of it.  More working towards the things I know I want to have in my life.  More not settling for anything less.

새해 복 많이 받으세요!  Happy New Year!  Hope it’s your best yet.

Filed under Crises of an Existential Bent Tagged with , , , , , ,

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