The Lessons I Keep Learning...

In my short 28, nearly 29, years of life I have crossed paths with many different people with a plethora of experiences from which to glean knowledge and guidance. There have been those whose wisdom and nurturing spirit helped carve my path and others who have simply shone the light. Perhaps the most significant of these people, however, have been those whose intentions were not geared towards my transformation or betterment at all but rather those who offered just a basic life assertion intended for the moment in which it was shared and that moment alone.

One such person, so poignantly described, was my high school softball coach. I have written about her before in other environments but it seems that the sarcastic jabs she took at me as a 16 year old still find their way into my life nearly 13 years later and their intent, now deeply translated, continues to ring true.

I was a Junior in high school and well on my way to reaching the many goals I'd set for myself at that time. Some of them, like getting good grades, taking an interest in a lot of different things, and becoming 'well rounded', were important to my mom while others, like being a 4 year Varsity Softball player, were of no significance to anyone but me. Still, having started varsity as a freshman, I was determined to "letter" all 4 years and be captain no less as I entered the off season between volleyball and softball. Like most 16 year olds I knew I was working, trying to save up a little money to buy a car and do other teenage-specific things which my family could not afford to pay for. As we rounded the corner on the new year and I began to prepare myself for winter conditioning I met an unfortunate puddle of grease which quickly claimed the normal and pain-free function of my left knee.

On the first business day of January, softball conditioning only 5 weeks away, I went into the hospital to have my knee scraped and suctioned and my miniscus carefully reassebled. The surgeon, who has now performed total knee replacements on both of my mom's knees and one of my grandma's, came into my hospital room and exclaimed that the surgery had been a success but before the relief and excitement could set in he continued that for the rest of my life the functionality and dependability of my knee would deteriorate and strongly suggested that I discontinue any activities which would put additional stress on the joint- simply put, I should stop playing sports. With that I shot him a more than disapproving look and formally asserted that his recommendation, while respected, was not an option.

As soon as I was cleared to do so I began physical therapy and worked very hard to rehabilitate my knee and the rest of its supporting cast. I remember that my least favorite part about physical therapy was having to break up the scar tissue, so much pain, so little time! Softball conditioning began the second week of February and I saw my doctor the week before to get clearance to start with the rest of the team. Begrudgingly he agreed that I could start light workouts and intensify them as I felt comfortable so I did.

The pivotal moment came one afternoon at practice. I had survived winter workouts, made the team, and was preparing for our season opener. At that time the weather in Ohio was still less than desirable so we often practiced in the gym, something I never enjoyed. After running the stairwells to get "warmed up" (something I always hated anyway)and a few excruciatingly monotonous sets of suicides coach lined us up for shoe string and deep drop fly ball drills. For those of you who don't have any idea what I'm talking about this drill basically consisted of coach throwing a ball low and short for you to sprint forward and catch on your "shoestrings" and then she would immediately throw a ball deep for which you had to stop on a dime and drop back to catch. That kind of forward and reverse motion was difficult for me on my bad knee, especially after stairs and wind sprints. After practice I was all but in tears as I went to the trainer to get an ice pack. Coach waited for me outside of the trainer's office and when I emerged she asked me how I was feeling. We chatted for a little while about what I felt good about and the things I was still struggling with and as I prepared to leave she said, "It'll only hurt 'til it stops".

She, of course, meant the workouts and my knee, but those words resound in my ears whenever I face adversity of any kind and, without fail, reveal themselves as accurate. Recently her wisdom was tested, however. Though I had held her logic's feet to the fire through every trial I had not yet encountered the total masacre of my heart and when that moment came this cornerstone of triumph met its first real opposition.

For months I've labored through the anguish that befalled my heart wondering each day if the clouds would ever part. Timidly a ray of light would humbly carve its way through from time to time but ultimately the dismal climate reigned. Still, in the back of my mind I could still hear Coach Tuck's words and as the new year opened I felt them breaking free from the clutches of defeat and beginning to chant. A few weeks ago the clouds parted and like a previously chained dog being taunted by a squirrel, the sun burst through and the chain snapped. The heart break hurt, and it hurt, and it hurt, and it hurt, and it hurt, until it stopped.

I remember the first time I ran without pain in my knee. As excited as I was I was also terrified of reinjuring myself and the feeling of my heart running free again is just as scary. Luckily I know that even if I get hurt again it'll only hurt 'til it stops!

A Parenthetical Statement...(commentary within commentary)

There are many moments in my life that I can point to and say, "In this moment I learned (insert lesson here), and through this trial I gained (insert positive reflection here), and I now realize (yay for light bulb moments)," but few of those moments begin or end without some outside influence. This past weekend, however, is one of those moments I will likely remember eternally and have no one to blame or, honestly, thank, but me.

It started out like any other weekend. My work week concluded (not too soon I might add)and I travelled to the gym with great enthusiasm for yet another workout. I labored through my cardio (my least favorite part of the gym experience) and then enjoyed the pleasure of my muscles screaming for me to stop as I worked my way through the third installation of my circuit lifting routine (kindly put together by a friend). After the gym I went home, showered, had my usual bowl of cereal for dinner (don't judge me I'm single), chatted with a few friends until the wee hours ("wee" is a relative measurement like "ish" and "yay")of the night before begrudgingly succumbing to the fatigue that should have closed my eyes hours earlier.

Saturday I rose with an ambition unlike any I've felt in a long time. (Okay, so, maybe I struggled at first to get out of bed but once I was up I was on a mission)It was time, I decided, to cleanse (please note that I did shower the night before so this was not the most literal statement)and as I set my mind to the completion of that task I was overcome with emotion, so much so that I actually fell to my knees at one point and just let it pour out of me. It has been some time since I've experienced that kind of crushing force and yet, with all of the tears, the silent sobbing, there was an equal, and almost overpowering, peace that wrapped me up and gradually soothed all that ailed. I wept for a little as I purged pictures, letters, and other keepsakes from my "space" all the while listening to music about taking control of your life, moving on, enjoying what is, etc...(I hope this blog will show, in time, that I love words and, more precicely, the pictures they paint and emotions they evoke AND provoke. Lyrics are, in my opinion (duh, because this is my blog (and I just did parentheses inside of parentheses, inside of parentheses))the most profoundly emotive words of all). I cleared from the present what the past had left behind and, for the first time in years, felt I had room again for a future.

Triumphantly (fist pumping, Eye of the Tiger slowly rising in the background)I conquered the day and set my sights on the evening. What the evening brought I couldn't have planned for. For nearly 2 years I had stared at a board that stands 88 inches tall and wanted to paint it (okay, so I didn't literally stare at it for 2 years, that would be a big waste of time)but never made the time or had quite the right vision. Apparently Saturday night was the night I'd been waiting for and with my limited supplies and even more limited talents I focused on plotting out the hours of free therapy ahead.

I scaled and measured the image on paper first (always the perfectionist) and then converted a similar graph onto my "canvas". With each calculation, each line, each initial stroke I felt another layer of sadness peeled, another restraint broken and after, I stood over my, still imcomplete, masterpiece and felt a similar force of emotion as the one which had crippled me earlier but this time it broadened my shoulders and perked the corners of my lips instead. The painting, which I hope to reveal later when it is completed, will not be gallery worthy but it will be an ellegant result of the most timultuous years of my life.

My "art" has always been my writing. Poetic and rhythmic use of vocabulary and philosophical mumbo jumbo (since I used philosophical it is okay to use a colloquialism such as "mumbo jumbo" to complete the thought)has been my loyal and, often, bitter companion for as long as I can remember. I share the ramblings of my mind and accept that many will enjoy its eccentricities (maybe that's a word, maybe it isn't but do you care enough to look it up?) and some wont but the painting, well, the painting soothes me and I could share it with the world or with noone at all and it will still have changed my life. So, I point to this moment in time and I say, "In this moment I learned that the true beauty of art is the soul that creates it, and through this trial I gained a sense of self that is simply invaluable, and I now realize I am stronger than I ever gave myself credit for(yay for light bulb moments (no seriousl, YAY))"!

The Goddess Tears...

weep my dear
but not in vain
weep for sorrow
weep for pain
and when the tears have fallen
through
weep for nothing else but you
for all the tears you weep to shed
the hours and days and years you dread
though eyes are puffy
and cheeks red
they do not define you
but instead
cast the cross from upon your back
replace with strength you once lacked
and joy and presence filled with peace
and a gentle spirit underneathe
awake with faith in self renewed
break free of past at once subdued
and embrace the smile in the mirror
it's you.

An Introduction...

I am transitioning. This is the true state of my life for most of what I can remember and while it is often unsettling it is also strangely freeing to be continuously moving from one "place" to the next sciphening the wisdom and experiences from everyone and anything encountered along the way. I am a product of my environment, a composite of the lives that have touched me, and, most importantly, an artist whose strokes are not always smooth but whose depth is created by the texture of uneven lines and shadows of blended color.

I have written many words over the years none of them more or less important than those I intend to share here and all of them a direct relation to the transition I was meandering through at the time. Today I transition from my semi-adolescent Myspace blog to a blog without distractions, a blog with carefully and purposefully selected readers and overall a desired audience of one- me.

The platform on which I write is not the only transition. I am transitioning from a girl, long led by the emotions of those not deserving of the responsibility, into a woman with strong, capable legs, walking along and forging a path of her own. For the first time in a long time, or maybe ever, I am content to be alone and I credit my new discovery that I am, indeed, NOT alone with this new found sense of independance. I am, in fact, surrounded by some of the most insightful, caring, genuine people I've ever known and they have selflessly labored at my side reminding me with every tear and trial that I am loved and supported.

So, I transition, and as with all transitions there is sure to be triumphs and tribulations- I invite you to experience them with me and share your own as well!