Tuesday, December 31, 2019

Progress is a Path, Not a Destination


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Character Development

Progress is dancing to the same song I used to cry to.

- Flux by Orion Carloto


This past year was not a kind one, not an easy one, not a pleasure. It was painful and abrupt, at times; exhausting and never-ending at others. It was too slow, yet too fast. It was rough and rocky around the edges, painful to the touch more often than not. And even though there was beauty and joy intermingled in the ugliness, it wasn't quite enough to outweigh all the heaviness.

If 2019 had been a person, it would've been some dark god, some ominous higher power that zipped and zapped whoever it wanted, whenever it wanted, cursing them with a flick of its wrist.

That's how it felt to me, and to many of my friends who also had some of the roughest times of their lives these past twelve months.

This year has been a struggle - and I am not sad to see it go. While I know the turning of a calendar page doesn't actually change anything, there is unbridled hope in the thought that 2020 might be, can be, has to be a better year.

My last blog post was in June. If you're a long time reader, you'll know I've never taken this long of a writing break. I've never even taken an unannounced break because this little tiny blog is a passion project for me. What I've discovered is that everything must come to a halt sometimes, even the things you're truly, deeply passionate about, when healing is your number one priority.

No matter my love for the written (or typed) word, I couldn't muster the creativity to write. For a while, this lack of being able to craft something was yet one more thing that bothered me, one more worry, one more concern, piled on top of all the other things I was trying to face.

But what I've learned, and am still learning, is this:

Progress is a path, not a destination.

Healing doesn't happen overnight. It doesn't happen in days or weeks or even months, sometimes.

Healing happens in its own time.

Do all the things you need to do: Go to therapy. Cry. Scream. Get angry. But don't rush the process. Dig your heels in and say, "No, Life, I want this over with and I want it over with now!" and I guarantee you Life will dig its heels in even harder and add on a couple lessons about patience, thus extending your healing process.

The same logic applies to goals or, shall we say at this special time of year, resolutions. Whatever you're setting your heart to accomplish in 2020, remember:

Progress is a path, not a destination.

Give yourself time. If you make a mistake or fall short of your target, get back up and keep on walking that path. Everything you need to learn and achieve can and will happen when you put one foot in front of the other and keep on going.

You've got this, friends. I believe in you.

Farewell, 2019.

You taught me a lot. About life, about myself. About the grace in falling apart, the serenity in letting the pieces land where they may, and the peace in letting go.

I'm letting go of you.

Here's to 2020, a new year of possibilities. Come what may.


Sunday, June 2, 2019

The Question Series: Purpose and Meaning

What's the point to all of this?

The Question Series
Society6
Catarina Garcia Artist
My Friends,

Lately, I've had more questions than answers. More wonderings than certainty. More doubts. However, the one thing I know (when I know nothing else) is that there's at least one other person out there somewhere going through the same thing I am. Wondering and questioning and hoping they're not alone in their thoughts.

They're not. I'm not.

Let's ponder these questions together.
_

Life can feel really hopeless at times. It can feel confusing and overwhelming and down right pointless.

I was on a tour bus not that long ago, driving down the beautiful Great Ocean Road in Melbourne, Australia. The Great Ocean Road is a giant stretch of land that is purely, sinfully gorgeous. The ocean views, the wildlife, the landscape - all of it breathtaking. All of it seemingly meaningful. It was a long day, so I had plenty of time to look out the window and think all the thoughts one could possibly think. It's both a wonderful and terrible thing to do, thinking.

Consider for a moment one of the smallest of creatures, yet one of the most vital: the bee. They pollinate the plants which in turn give life to us, to our crops, to other animals that live off the vegetation, like the antelope. The antelope, who is the lion's dinner, and the lion who helps keep the population in check. Who, although king of the animals, will one day perish and turn to dust and thus, return to the earth providing nutrients where a new plant will grow for a new bee to pollinate.

A perfect circle of life.

Nature's purpose is clear and defined and connected.

The purpose of human beings, on the other hand, is far more complicated.

We build great things, achieve unbelievable feats, and collectively, as a race, we've done some awesome stuff. But individually, with so many of us now on the planet, it can be hard to look around and really know why you're here and what you're meant to do. Are you destined to be a farmer who grows crops to provide food for others? Or a scientist who solves the mystery of black holes? Or maybe you're purpose is to raise a child that will one day grow up to change the world in some significant way? The possibilities are endless.

The possibilities can feel overwhelming.

And lonely.

And devastating, especially if you've spent time chasing something that never comes to fruition.

Have you ever seen someone and thought, 'That person is doing exactly what they were placed on this earth to do'? It's rare, I think, and I've only see it a handful of times where in my gut I honestly felt that knowledge rise up and nod in acknowledgement of the force in front of me. Take Christina Aguilera, for example, whose voice is other worldly. She was meant to be a singer, through and through. She might also be a great friend and mother and joke teller, but her voice is a clear gift to the world.

The other challenge we face in finding our place on this big blue orb is the sheer volume of our species. Back in the day (and I mean way back) there were only so many humans. Therefore, it was far more likely that each person contributed to society in a way that really felt meaningful at the end of each and every single day. Everyone had something they were good at or that benefited others, so it was easier to stand out for whatever skill or craft you brought to the table.

But now? Now there are billions of us. Standing out among the masses is much, much harder. Knowing your skill or craft or purpose is seemingly impossible. Purpose; an intangible idea we chase. Some people are lucky. They know exactly who they are and what they're meant to do. For most of us, though, we are continually on the hunt, constantly in search of an answer to our reason for existence.

Maybe humans, collectively, are meant to love. Maybe our purpose is to perfect the art of loving one another. Maybe it's kindness; maybe we're supposed to keep trying trying trying until we perfect the act of kindness.

Or maybe each and every one of us does have a purpose that may simply not be clear in the moment. Maybe our purposes are all connected together like puzzle pieces. In the bigger picture view, everything we're doing could be vital. Absolutely essential. However, because life is long and things take a while to come to fruition, we may rarely, if ever, get to see the full and complete puzzle.

For instance, let's say you're the best animal care giver in the world. Maybe you raised a puppy that, in turn, a veteran adopted that then brought him or her so much joy. Joy they never thought they could feel again. And maybe, because of their new found joy, they ventured out and found love. They went on to get married and have a child, and that child went on to learn piano, which in turn led them to create one of the most beautiful pieces of music ever heard. This child went on to become a master pianist bringing happiness to all who listened to their music; animal care givers and veterans alike. All because you took care of a puppy that brought joy and hope to a person who needed it. Full circle. Puzzle complete. All because of you.

It's hard to say what we're here to do. I don't even know this for myself. But I do believe we owe it to ourselves, and maybe the universe, to try...something. Anything. To dream and reach and stretch so far we feel like we might break, but to do it anyway because the "something" we're chasing makes us feel alive, brings us joy, and helps us reside in the knowledge that we matter.

Because we do. You matter. I matter.

We matter.



Sunday, May 12, 2019

The Reflection of Shadows: Piece by Piece

The Reflection of Shadows
A collection of moments

Piece by Piece
(written to a tune)

Once upon a time, not that long ago,
I found a little bean,
A little seed starting to grow,
I found a puzzle piece, a perfect fit to my
Puzzled heart-
This was our start.

Not that long ago, yesterday it seems,
A special holiday,
A new beginning,
The journey of all journeys, we were on our way,
You and me-
That Mother's Day.

Piece by piece
We came to be
And
Piece by piece
We built our family
And
Piece by piece
We found our way-
You and me,
My little Bean.

Once upon a time, not that long ago,
I watched you learn,
I watched you grow,
I watched our little puzzle of a life become complete,
With each new piece-
Each memory.

Not that long ago, yesterday it seems,
I watched you grow old,
I saw you changing,
I held you in my arms as I raced against time,
Destined to lose
What was mine.

Piece by piece
I fell apart
and
Piece by piece
Our puzzle warped
and
Piece by piece
I lost my way-
Without you
I'm not the same.

Once upon a time, not that long ago,
The tears came fast,
Reality came slow,
The pieces of my heart that you'd once made whole
Shattered in
A whispered "No."

Not that long ago, yesterday it seems,
I was holding you,
You were looking at me,
We were playing, you were happy, we were making memories,
You and me,
My little Bean.

Piece by piece
I'm starting again
and
Piece by piece
I'm starting to mend
and
Piece by piece
I'll find my way
Back to the puzzle
We built that very first day.

Piece by piece
I'll heal my heart
and
Piece by piece
I'll remember the start
Of
You and me
And the life we built-
It was perfect,
You made it perfect.
You were perfect,
My little Bean.


Wednesday, April 24, 2019

The Reflection of Shadows: Hurricanes

The Reflection of Shadows
A collection of moments
Society6
Hurricanes

We all have dark and stormy days,
Emotions crashing wave by wave,
Threatening to overtake
The best in all of us.

We all have hurricanes inside,
Raging through our precious lives,
Halting us amid our stride,
Challenging our strength.

So will you let the pain remain?
Will you drown and suffocate?
Or will you, maybe,
Headstrong, bravely,
Umbrella raised and raincoat ready,
Drenched in fear but not in shame,
Run into the rain?


Friday, March 15, 2019

Before and After Goodbye


Before

The flip-flap of ears in the morning, letting me know you're awake. The cuddles in your bed, where you had decided to stay all snug as a bug. Or you at my bedside urging me awake because it was breakfast, breakfast, breakfast time and how dare I still be in bed when you had gone a full night without eating!

Your little foot placed on mine, waiting as I made your always complicated meal. The good stuff takes time though right, munchkin? 15 minutes and then it was a feast.

The Office Song I'd sing after breakfast when it was time to get to work:

"Office time is the bestest time! Office...office!"

Your genuine excitement. Every. Single. Time. Running next to me, then passing me and waiting in the room so I could pick you up and put you on your chair where you'd either curl into a ball for your morning nap or grab your girlfriend and have a little make out session. Or in the winter, when it was cold, when I'd wrap you in blankets and you'd prop your little head up watching me work until you drifted off.

The middle of the day when it was not remotely time for dinner, while in your mind 2pm was a perfectly acceptable dinner hour.

The walks all around our neighborhood, around the lake when we went to visit gramma and great gramma.

The car rides. You, an immediate car ride lover from the moment we took our first drive home together.

The way you played with careless abandon, leaping into my lap. Certain I would catch you anytime, always. You were right.

You, wanting to go outside, then back inside - outside, inside, outside, inside, outside, inside. Bored that I was busy at work or just wanting a little sunshine or a mini adventure in the backyard. A woof at the backdoor when you were ready to do it all over again. Your little face peeking through the very bottom of the window of the door, just enough of a view to see me coming for you.

You wanting up in my arms. "Hop Up" you knew, with a little hop and a scoop and then snuggles as I held you.

And the kisses. The endless kisses from me to you. Millions, I'd imagine, over the years. You were something I could never get enough of.

Your wardrobe that reached far and wide, season to season, with special care given to Halloween and Christmas. The array of styles you could pull off were many, but sweater weather was my favorite. And your love of loose dryer sheets, rolling around in any that tumbled to the floor when I was pulling out the laundry, your little shirts and jackets and, one of my favorites, your Christmas pajamas.

Summertime. Swimming in the pool, lounging in the sun. You, having become such a good swimmer these last few years, but still primarily just wanting to swim into my arms so I could hold you. And your favorite: swimming after your brother who you finally (finally!) just accepted as family, trying to catch up to him in the pool as he splashed around after a toy, then circling back into my arms. Over and over and over again.

The night time activities. First, one more potty break. Then "toofbrush" time, the ultimate battle of me trying to cover each precious toothy while you tried to lick the toothpaste off my fingers. And finally, the tuck in. Holding up the blanket for you to crawl under, telling you I loved you. And the way you always, always, always ended up sleeping like a person, with your head sticking out of the covers and, often, one little arm tucked around your sheet.

And those little arms, oh...those little elbows. Those little big feet that smelled like buttered popcorn. But the elbows, baby cakes- I couldn't get enough of your teeny tiny elbows.

We really were two peas in a pod, weren't we, pumpkin? Short legs, food allergies, tummy aches. You, a smaller, furrier version of me in so many ways. I could swear you had my blood running through your veins.

Your personality, so big and bold and loud. Ever the conversationalist, my Samson. An answer for every question. A demand as to why something was something. A protest. Your little paw pressing on Ryan, halting him every time I held you and he got close. "Just you and me, mom." That was the running joke. It was also the truth.

You and me, pumpkin. You and me.


18 Months

Mornings, as of late, where a mini-pharmacy had taken up permanent residence on our counter. Pills for every ailment that had finally started making a difference. And before that, puppy vitamins, true puppy vitamins, that I'd occasionally forget but that you never would.

The mornings when you didn't want breakfast. Where your little body was fighting what we later found out to be Cushing's disease. And you, so steadfast. Your bad days were minimal in comparison to all of the good ones, still so many good ones. One day to the next, you were still my happy little man. You never let the disease dampen your spirit.

The short walks that got shorter. Where I'd carry you half the way just so you'd get some exercise and fresh air. You, so happy to be out anywhere smelling all the smells. Deciding what you'd claim for your personal park that, in our minds, you were always building. Always choosing - this tree, that bush, those flowers. Oh, the flowers, Baby Bean, the flowers.

Never have I seen, and never do I expect to see again, a dog so interested in the smell of a flower. Gently sticking your little nose in each and every bloom, with your eyes shut and a smile on your face, breathing in the fragrances of what so many of us take for granted. Not you, though. Never you.

Street Gang Time: Our running joke when Ryan was trying to wear out Rocco with his never ending puppy energy, where he'd zig-zag the street, over and over again. And you always wanting to be a part of that fun with the boys. "Gotta go, mom. Street Gang Time." And off you'd trot, leaving me on the sidewalk stretching out your leash as far as I could as you zig-zagged right along.

The end of every walk, your little legs picking up the pace, trying to beat us all home because you knew what came next; a puppy treat.

The planning of plans I never wanted to consider, like when your life jacket broke at the end of summer last year and instead of buying a new one for the following year like I first started to do, a pause. A terrible wondering of whether or not it would get used, be needed.

That thought that led to more thoughts. Thoughts of how I had to make every single moment the best one ever. Every holiday with every outfit, pictures for future memories, more kisses.

Your nicknames. The volume of names I had for you and your capacity to know all of them. My urge to write them down, carve them into memory so I would never forget a single one.

Samson. Bean. Sambean. Beans. Beanie. Beanie babe. Baby cakes. Teenie tiny beany babe. Beanie McWeenie. Weenifer. Beanifer. Weenston. Ween. My little man. Pumpkin. Munchkin. Munch-ka-doodle. Samsabeans. Teenie Beanie McWeenie. Pumpkin doodle. Babe. Mommy's little man. Muffin. Kiddo.

And the names other people had for you: Sammy. Samsonite. Sam.

The soft pitter patter of your little feet, your little toenails clinking on the tile in the middle of the night when you wanted water, when you wanted out, when you were not tired at all because you'd slept too much during the day.

The sleepless nights. Where your little body ached and you would find me, late in the night, with a
little scratch at the bed. "Up," you said. And up you went. Into bed with me, me who would lie in any uncomfortable position as long as you were comfortable and comforted. And when there was no comfort, out to the living room, you and I, where I'd wrap you in a blanket and hold you upright in the only position where you found some semblance of peace, your little head tilting to one side finally in sleep, only for you to wake up later and for us to restart the process over again.

The nights where holding you didn't help and we'd pace the house together, go outside, inside, outside inside.

Back to bed, finally.

Me, learning to listen ever so closely on high alert. Never fully asleep. If you so much as breathed too hard I was ready, leaping out of bed for whatever you might need. Peering at you in your bed wondering if you were awake, if you needed me.

This whole time, every vet, every appointment, every person we met remarking in amazement, "He's how old?!" In shock, because never have you ever looked your age, sweet Bean. You stunned people with your eternal youthfulness, your eternal young man-ness. The vet specialists telling us you had the organs of a puppy, so shocked, not expecting such a sight.

I lived off of that comment for months, so full on hope and assurance.


3 Months 

The energy you had. The attitude that was full force. You were better. Really and truly better and we all reveled in it. Except for the time the doctor put you on those steroids that made you want to drink 10,000 gallons of water and go outside every three seconds. But we kicked those to the curb pretty quick didn't we, babe?

And the kisses, not just from me this time, but from you. Kisses every time I picked you up. Then more kisses. You were bursting with happiness. With bliss. With joy from relief of all your varied symptoms. You were happy, kiddo. Full to the brim.

I made plans; a family vacation to the puppy beach in California sometime before summer.

The hope I carried every day. The way the past year and a half felt like some long, exhausting delusion. Something that couldn't possibly have been real. Just a bad dream. Nothing serious because you, my brave and tough and strong little man, you could beat anything.

The deal I'd made with God. "18, that's all I ask. Give me until 18."

The deal He broke, or never committed to, maybe. Asking doesn't mean receiving, after all.


After

The quiet. The endless, aching quiet. Your personality was bigger than our house, bursting at the seems, and now - nothing. There is no flip-flap of little ears, no pitter patter of little feet, no scratch at my bedside. There is no bark in and out...in and out and in and out.

I don't even know what time it is.

Dinner was announced by you every day at almost the exact same hour and now I have to remember on my own. Something I should be able to do but somehow can't. You were the music in my daydreams, the soundtrack of my life. Your silence is deafening.

The memories that wash over me day and night:
The way you'd eat from a spoon "like a people" we'd say. A big chomp and then you remembering it never worked quite like you'd hoped, so you'd lick at it instead. Still, the attempt was made each and every time a spoon was presented. 
The little sound game we used to play. A little grunt from you, a kiss or a grunt back from me. Then you, then me, then you, then me - over and over. 
Your little cheeks, puffing in and out. The ladies at the vet office who absolutely loved it, who reminded me of it when I'd forgotten, having grown so accustomed to your little habit.
The up and down on the sofa, your chair, anywhere you wanted to be because you had finally (finally!!) learned that jumping from high places terrified your mommy, and that jumping, in general, was strictly forbidden because of your long little back. At least that was a path we never had to walk down, right kiddo? 
Your excitement when gramma was coming or when we were going to visit. The way your whole little body squirmed with joy.
You, my mini-me, following me everywhere I went. Always keeping an eye on me to make sure I hadn't left the room. Your little head peeking over sofa cushions while I made dinner in the kitchen. Those little eyebrows of yours. That little face.
The naps and the sofa snuggles, where you'd crawl right up next to me and I'd put my arm over you, pulling you in. Or when you'd curl into my legs, curl into a little ball. When you'd rest your head on me and doze off. 
And now, the Before and After. Everything I do punctuated with the thought:

Before Sunday. 

After Sunday. 

The grocery list I'd written that had your items on it, no longer necessary.

The notes in my work calendar, my planner: Walk the boys.

The term: The Boys. No longer valid. Causing me to crumble the second I see it, think it, attempt to write it out of habit.

Your sweater, the one you were wearing the day my heart shattered. The one sitting on top of the washing machine right now, most likely never to be washed. It still smells like you, my sweet baby.

The beds and the blankets, your bowl, your girlfriend. The medications and dog food and even your toothpaste. Tiny pieces of you all over the house. The worst of them being your spot on the sofa marked by a pillow and blanket. I've fallen asleep there almost every night, except for when Ryan forced me into bed because it was good for me, or some nonsense like that. I've laid my head there and cried every day. You used to snuggle your head next to mine right there, Beans, right there.

The awful memory that I desperately want to forget. The arch of your neck from what, a stroke? A  blood clot? And you, still so excited to see me and gramma and still trying so hard to fight.

The images on the screen of cancer spread through your little body. Cancer that I'd been so happy had never been an issue, suddenly appearing everywhere out of nowhere, seemingly haven taken over in just a span of what, days? Minutes? Seconds? The span of before and after.

The questions. The endless questions that I still face. Me, thinking over and over again, regardless of what they kept saying: He'll shake this off. He always does. This will be fine, this will be fine, this has to be fine.

And the question that will most likely always plague me: Why? The never ending why of it all.

The fear of forgetting. Anything. Everything. I'm trying here, now, to capture every moment of almost 16 years, impossibly.

You have been the keeper of my heart, the owner of my joy. The very best thing to have ever happened to me. I knew you before you were mine. I named you in my heart, so certain of someone I hadn't even met yet. I found you on Mother's Day. Such a small thing, you were. A little bean. Your belly the main component of your teeny tiny body, with the littlest legs I'd ever seen trying to hold you up as you wobbled about. That day you made me a mom and every single day since then you have given me purpose. And love. So much love, my little Bean.

We'll end just like we started, 
Just you and me and no one else.
I will hold you where my heart is, 
One life for the two of us.









To all of our friends and family, thank you. The outpouring of your love and support has touched us dearly. The messages and the calls, the beautiful flowers, and the daily check in's to see how we've been doing have been so kind, so loving, so warming in this dark and cold time. We're beyond blessed to have such supportive people in our lives. Samson loved you...his aunts and uncles, his buddy's, his BFFs. You all had a special place in his heart, too.


Friday, March 8, 2019

The Reflection of Shadows: Try

The Reflection of Shadows
A collection of moments
Society6


Try
(written to a tune)

It's a waste,
All our haste,
In this fervent fevered race.

Every toil,
Every task,
Trying to juggle every ask.

"Meet the deadline-
Speed it up!"
You can never be enough.

You can never be enough.

You can never be enough!

Give an inch,
They'll take a mile.
Pretty soon they'll take your smile.

Once a person,
Now a number,
Getting lost in all the clutter.

Days will pass,
Months will fly.
Is this how you saw your life?

Is this what you want in life?

Is this all there is to life?


Then a stirring
In your heart.
An idea, a fresh start.

Questions rising,
Courage lifting,
Once upon a time is shifting.

Long ago plans
Dreams gone by,
But it's not too late to try.

It's never too late to try.

Give your dreams another try.



Friday, March 1, 2019

The Reflection of Shadows: One Day They'll Wake and See

The Reflection of Shadows
A collection of moments
Society6

One Day They'll Wake and See
(written to a tune)

Don't go hurting,
Don't go hurting-
Please don't hurt yourself.

Don't go hurting,
I see you hurting-
But please don't hurt yourself.

There's
Nothing
Wrong
With
You.

There's
Something
Wrong
With
Them.

They see the world in black and white.

There's
Nothing
Wrong
With
You.

There's
Something
Wrong
With
Them.

They need to open up their minds.

I know you're hurting
I know you're hurting-
Please don't quit this fight.

I know you're hurting,
I see you hurting -
But please don't quit this fight.

There's
Nothing
Wrong
With
You.

You're
Perfect
Through
 And
Through.

One day they'll wake and see.

There's
Nothing
Wrong
With
You.

You're
Perfect
Through
 And
Through.

One day the world will see.

One day they will believe.

One day you will feel free...

I know you're hurting,
I see you hurting-
We need you in this fight.

I know you're hurting,
I see you hurting-
We need you in this life.


Monday, January 28, 2019

Monday Mantra: Start Here

mantra is a sound, syllable, word, or group of words that is considered capable of "creating transformation".

Every Monday I will post a new thought, idea, or focus for the week. When you need a breather from life, when you need a little inspiration, or when you're about to jump over the conference table and strangle your co-worker, remember the mantra.


Monday Mantra: revolution; noun. A dramatic and wide-reaching change in the way something works or is organized or in people's ideas about it.
Becoming me. It's been no small task. I had to be 195 people first.
Hi friends,

I'm having a little...lifealution? Revolifetion? A life revolution. I'm actively trying to re-organize my life into new, better, wiser pieces.

Last year was busy in so many good ways, but the end kicked my butt in a most majestic fashion. Truly, awards should've been given to the universe. I mean the flair, you guys! The timing! Unbelievable.

In a matter of three months, the following happened:

I broke a toe right when I had two trips happening, both of which required extensive walking and climbing of very, very, very steep hills.

A few weeks later, I had a very minor medical procedure that was supposed to have a very minor healing time. Of course, that wasn't the case. To aid in the healing, I was supposed to wear compression stockings for a day or two. If you're unfamiliar with compression stockings, just imagine trying to fit your legs into skinny jeans 14 sizes too small that only come up to your thighs. Things bulge all over the place in weird and interesting ways. Then you have to figure out how to wear regular clothes over them, which is impossible because nothing looks normal about a body in compression stockings!

I planned everything out so it would happen over the weekend and I could be back to normal come Monday.

I ended up having to wear those bitches for a full 7 days. A work week, you guys. A WORK WEEK.

The day after I took the stockings off I fell so magnificently in my back yard that I busted my knee cap open. Badly. The impact was so bad I literally limped for weeks. I kid you not, it just fully healed this month.

December, all by itself, was a doozy. First, my husband and I got stuck in New Zealand (not a terrible place to be stuck, I know) because of flight problems you can't even imagine (don't worry, you won't have to imagine them; I'm saving that story for another day!).

The whole month was rough because my furry baby tore his ACL and was still dealing with an illness, which resulted in a gazillion vet appointments, medical bills, and many long sleepless nights.

And then, right when the year was ending and everything was slowing down so I could finally catch up, I got the flu. The flu then caused my vestibular system to get out of whack, so I started 2019 all jacked up and a little discombobulated.

Pretty sure I'm forgetting a few things, but you get the gist.

I normally like to use the end of the year to prep myself for the new one coming up. Because I had no choice in the matter this round, my new year is just starting. I just organized my calendars. I just took down holiday decorations. I just got October, November, and December to-do items accomplished.

I just realized I needed a change.

That's how it happened. That's how it's happening still.

I realized that trying to start everything on January 1, right along with the calendars, is ridiculous. I need more time. I bet you do, too.

The immediate jump from holiday festivities, and holiday eating, into nothing but smoothies and spinach? Nope. Not happening.

Why do we set such a hard and fast deadline to start all the new things, and to start them perfectly, after such a full, crazy-busy time of year? It's bonkers, you guys. Bonkers.

What if we eased into the new year? What if January was the warm up month and February was the real start? What if we allowed ourselves some space to breathe between all the fa-la-la-la-la-ing and the nothing-but-kale diets?

Say it with me, my friends: We deserve better. For ourselves. For our sanity. For the love of leftovers from the holidays.

Today, I decide how my time will be spent. Today, I begin a step towards living outside of what the calendar has deemed "a new beginning." Today, I decide when my beginning really begins.

Let's work together to build our own clocks, our own calendars, our own personal time frames.

Start here with me, friends. Design your own beginning.