MY TWENTY TWO YEAR OLD SELF

There was a thing floating around last week on Instagram that challenged people to post a picture of themselves at age twenty one. The funny thing about this was that so many of the people in my community only have actual print images of themselves from that time. We were all twenty one in the years before digital. The closest picture I had of myself on hand and printed was taken when I was twenty two. It’s a photo of Chris and I on our wedding day. He’s in a tuxedo and I’m in my wedding suit, a flower headband on my head. I’m holding a bouquet and our marriage license. It is one of the few pictures I have of the two of us where Chris is actually looking at the camera. It is the only decent photo of the two of us together on our wedding day.

We went with unconventional as our theme.

That is the picture I shared on Instagram but with a note that I was twenty two in the photo, but only just barely and that it was the closest I could get to twenty one right now. I’d have to dig through a box if I wanted something from when I was twenty one. There were a couple of people who responded to my post in disbelief and declared that I still look pretty much the same. I responded to these people with gratitude for the kindness but also an assurance that this can’t possibly be true. Though one person argued with me, holding firm to their belief that I still resemble twenty two year old Cindy. And again, I hold firm to my belief that it is impossible that I look the same as I did twenty six years ago.

I am the same weight now that I was then, but take better care of my body now. My haircut is the same, but my hair has more white in it now, but when I look in the mirror, I don’t see a twenty two year old me looking back. When I look at twenty two year old me I see more than the surface stuff and the reason I don’t believe for a second that I still pretty much look the same as back then. This was before I had finished undergrad and entered into the soul crushing world of graduate school. Chris always backed me up, never telling me “you can’t” or that I was doing things wrong or not good enough. I believed I could do anything and in time that confidence would be whittled down to nothing, but Chris would be right there helping build that confidence back. Without him around, my imposter syndrome is magnified for the whole world to see and to point at with critical pointer fingers. I am the house built on sand, continuously rebuilding my confidence levels while new tides come in to wash it all away. That picture was taken when I was at the beginning of what felt like everything, before bad career choices and bad financial decisions. Before I knew real heartbreaking loss. Before I even knew anything about imposter syndrome. Before I learned that I have to be my greatest ally. Before I knew anything about anything.

Aging is living. Living is aging. -Radiant Rebellion by Karen Walrond

That picture is of a woman just beginning to live. If I could go back and tell that young woman in the picture to do things differently, make different choices, would I? There’s maybe one or two things I’d recommend, like don’t buy that time share you’ll never use or think about clinical microbiology as a career. Otherwise, I’d say make the choices you’re going to make, but soak up every single moment of joy, even the smallest thing that makes you smile. Take millions and millions of mental pictures of those moments and there will be millions and millions because you will experience more joy than pain. In fact, I will argue that the amount of joy you experience is what will make the painful moments stand out and sting the most.

I would tell her that some times are not going to be great, but you’re going to be okay.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Short weeks are the hardest weeks and we are in the thick of it here in this household. Both Michael and I have full schedules with work and after work appointments. My calendar is so confusing and jumbled, I’m not doing a great job of keeping things straight. I thought for sure I had a bachelorette party to attend on Saturday, but I met Jen (the bachelorette) for lunch this week and she reminded me that the party is on the 30th. I blinked like a deer in headlights because now I have a Saturday of no obligations. Michael will be gone for a leadership conference, which leaves me to my own devices for tonight and tomorrow. The very first thing I thought was “I’m going to clean my house!” I’ve thought of nothing since but clearing out some clutter and unused things, pulling furniture out from the walls and cleaning out the dust and cobwebs.

The thoughts make me giddy.

I understand the necessity for keeping a calendar, but sometimes those calendars can be deceiving. My calendar feels cluttered and clutter stresses me out. It is also making it difficult for me to keep track of the appointments I can’t miss. So I end up scheduling something on top of something else. Then I have to figure out how to be in two places at the same time and this leaves me gasping for air. All of this stuff to do crammed onto the day makes it hard to see the space of time that exist between the things that need to be done.

I’m really grateful that I got to have lunch with Jen this week. First, getting a chance to see my super cool, tough as nails, take no bullshit friend during a week day is better than therapy. Her energy is the boost I needed to get me through the week. Secondly, I’d be showing up for stripper pole dancing class tomorrow wondering why I’m the only one there or who all these other women are and how do they know Jen if I hadn’t met her for lunch. Thankfully I was made aware of open blocks of time and that awareness really helped to deflate this panic bubble in my chest that just seems to get bigger every day. I spent some time today decluttering my calendar so I could visually see the blocks of time that exist between obligations. I have things to do, but I am not obligated to do all of the things.

This weekend, I’m only doing the things I want to do.

HOURS

Chad sent me a text asking if they could spend the night at our place Saturday night. They had been on the road in eight to ten hour stretches for over a week. I told him that there would be clean sheets and a warm bed for them and tacos. They arrived that evening, road weary, with their two dogs who were in desperate need of leg stretches. I gathered them all inside and then we kicked all of the dogs out to the backyard to bark it out. By bark it out, I mean Josephine had to explain the house rules to Sadie and Mabel. Loudly.

We ate. We laughed. We played games. We laughed even more. At one point, The Cabbage asked us “How do you guys know each other?” Chad and I looked at each other and shrugged. Chad replied “We met online.” Our story that we’ve explained to people so many times has finally become something we can now reduce to a simple three word sentence. That night, I dreamed of landing at an airport and then having to hitch hike home. When I arrived, Chris was there. He was still sick, but he was better. He said “I think the treatments are woking.” I don’t remember anything else from the dream, but I woke up early the next morning to find Chad sitting on the couch in our living room. I sat down at the opposite end of the couch and pulled my feet up underneath me for warmth.

This is the second time this month I have sat in this same position, in my pajamas with sleep crusty eyes and hair poking out at odd angles on top of my head, talking and visiting with Chad. The two of us are always the early birds and we end up whispering to each other while everyone else is asleep. It reminds me of that Folger’s commercial at Christmas when the older brother comes home to surprise the family. His kid sister is the only one that sees him sneak in during the early morning hours and they meet in the kitchen where she settles herself on a kitchen counter while he makes coffee. This is a rabbit hole thought that leads to the ongoing joke Chris and I had about a monkey’s paw, a joke he found so funny that I found a drawer in his desk filled with plastic monkey paw keychains.

Then, all too quickly, we were saying our goodbyes at 7 AM.

It seems inherent to always want more even though our relationship formed on less.

Time, time, time
See what's become of me
While I looked around for my possibilities. - Paul Simon

I thought that was the Bangles for the longest time, but discovered it is a Paul Simon original.

Time, time, time…..

Quality over quantity. This is the real lesson I am learning here.

I think the treatments are working.

ONE FOOT IN, ONE FOOT OUT

It was one of those rare Saturday mornings where Michael was up at the same time as me. So I talked him into breakfast at You Say Tomato before heading downtown to the Asian food market. We had not been to You Say Tomato since well before the pandemic. They closed for a while and went to a meal service business model. Now they’re open on Fridays and Saturdays for breakfast and lunch. This place has always been one of my favorites. It was an early find and Chris and I would go there almost every weekend. We fell for the eclectic and cozy feel of the place because it reminded us of Portland. This was one of the ways we justified our move to Kansas City instead of the Pacific North West. We explored the city and hunted up all the little Portland like pockets. There are , surprisingly, quite a few.

Chris and I would be celebrating our twenty fifth wedding anniversary in March. When Randy and Katrina had their twenty fifth, we all went to Vegas and watched as an Elvis impersonator officiated their vow renewal. It was a great trip. I wonder if Chris and I would be doing something like that, though I don’t see us as the vow renewing type. I bet we would trade Vegas for some place like Costa Rica or Paris. Twenty five years…that seems so strange. I think about that while two different members of our framily are currently having their marriages crumble tragically down around them. Is this another thing that would be happening if Chris were still around? Would Chris and I still be the example we were to others back before it all ended? An example I strive for now in my current relationship.

This is a contract renewal year for Michael and I. We will have been together for ten years in June. Early in our relationship, he said something to me about if we lasted as many years as Chris and I did, he might ask me to stop wearing Chris’s wedding ring around my neck. I wonder if he remembers asking me that or my non-committal response to his request. It is very possible that this relationship might last longer than my last one. The effort I make in my desperate attempt at being in this layer of time is visible and puts me in the not quite the ideal category for a partner. That might be the thing that ends us. He might just get tired of settling for what I really am and not what he wishes I was.

One day he’ll get fed up with the number of times I might mention Chris’s name.

On this particular Saturday, Michael and I sat at opposite ends of a table. He gave me space to write in my Fortune Cookie journal while we waited for our food, then moved closer to share the pecan roll I had ordered on impulse. I was two bites into my egg croissant when I realized Fields of Gold was playing in the background. I paused and drifted back. When that song ended, the next in the line up of Ten Summoner’s Tales started playing. The restaurant was playing the album that played on loop in Chris’s dorm room while we were having sex. I know that playlist by heart. When Michael and I were done with breakfast, he asked “You ready to go?” and I replied “Yes. I’d like to leave Chris’s dorm room now.”

And we left.

Thankful Friday

I have struggled to keep track of days and times ever since we got back from Vancouver. One day last week, I thought I had over slept so that I couldn’t take the dog for a walk. I jumped out of bed and rushed to get ready for work, but when I walked back into my room to get dressed, my clock read 6:20 AM. What it should have read was 7:20 AM. Not knowing what else to do, I finished getting dressed and I went to work. I repeatedly refer to the current day as the day before. This week, I arrived to an appointment an hour early truly believing I was ten minutes late. Michael has spent the last two weeks telling me what day it is and what day it will be tomorrow.

I have also gotten into a habit of not even taking a glance at the weather reports. Wednesday morning, I rode my scooter to work even though I could see dark clouds in the west. I just shrugged and figured they would move on and it was just going to be another typical hundred degree day. Instead, it rained and rained. At around three in the afternoon, Jeff checked the radar and said that now was the best time to get home without getting rained on. I raced home, feeling a few drops of rain hit my face and chest. I pulled Valerie into the garage and shut the garage door just as the downpour hit.

Time is just something I have stopped noticing while I focus on other things at the moment.

The earlier version of me would be really annoyed with myself for not being able to keep track of time. This version of me is only mildly anxious. I have meticulously put things on my calendar and my daily list appears on my desktop. I have reminders for appointments and Michael to remind me of what day it is. I am just organized enough to be able to know what’s happening and when. This is good enough for me. The gratitude here comes in the form of letting go. It’s like I am slowly popping off the restrictive rubber bands that I have wrapped around my own body. Each band represents some ridiculous rule I’ve made for myself.

And it feels really good to break those rules.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

There has been a lot of conversations this week that has centered around time, particularly the passage of time. I have heard parents lamenting on children graduating from kindergarten and those lamenting children graduating from high school. “How can our babies be old enough for this?!?” It is how we talked about Cati graduating. It was how a woman talked about her son graduating kindergarten as we stood in the coffee line together. At times, this whole aging and time passage thing seems unfathomable to us. For me, it is just the passage of time itself that bewilders me. I mean, I can’t keep up what is happening to the month of May and how there is only a week left of it.

This week I had the opportunity to teach a lesson on meditation, just a simple format for getting started. One of the things I like to do for this class is to start with everyone sitting quietly with their eyes closed. I tell them to open their eyes when they think five minutes has passed. There are those who last seconds before opening their eyes. Then there are those who almost make it, but not without lots of fidgeting. It is rare that someone makes it the whole five minutes without movement. I follow up this exercise with some tips on making a meditation practice easier. Things like committing to a time everyday and making a nest so that you can sit comfortably. I have them do five to ten rounds of alternate nostril breathing and then twelve to twenty four rounds of a mantra of their choosing, guiding them to count by pressing their thumb into each digit. That tactile sensation helps keep the focus on what you are doing and something you can always come back to during your practice.

During the moments of stillness, no alternate nostril breathing, no mantra, the part of the practice where you’re just sitting still, those are the moments where you can choose the speed for the passage of time. Albert Einstein showed that the speed of light in a vacuum is the same no matter the speed the observer is traveling. Time and how we perceive time is relative and today, I am choosing to slow down time. That means stopping to savor the moment before mindfully moving on to the next thing. I am doing this in practice today because I have a lot on the calendar for this summer. I have a lot of really good things on the calendar, things I want to marinate in.

I want to be ready for marinating.

TIME TRAVELLING

A few weeks ago, I received a text from Steph about Cati’s graduation and how they would love for me to be there. My first instinct was to say no. I had plans the weekend of graduation. I didn’t feel up to driving all that way. Then I shook it off and gave myself a lecture about making an effort for those you care about. I easily rearranged my weekend plans, packed a bag and headed south. And though the drive was long and tedious, it was worth it. I was there to watch our not so little Catidid walk across the stage and take pictures of her with her family. The smile on this young woman’s face told me everything I needed to know about her future. She was so thrilled to be graduating and is so excited about college. She is focused and driven and inspiring.

Steph’s home was filled up with her in-laws and so I stayed at Steph’s parents’ house just down the road. Jenny and Mike have always referred to me as their second child and they were so happy to have me staying with them. When Steph and I were discussing my sleeping arrangements, we joked and said that maybe Steph should come stay at least one night. We’d have a sleepover like the old days when we’d pull all the couch cushions off of the couch and make a bed on the floor. In some ways, it really did feel like I had travelled back in time. I watched Cati and her best friend, Emma, hugging each other and I remembered Steph and I at that age. Cati and Emma have been inseparable since elementary school, maybe even longer. Their friendship story mirrors mine and Steph’s in so many ways, with the two of them headed off to different colleges in the Fall.

Late on my last evening, I was sitting up talking with Jenny. She said she had been trying to write something in her card for Cati, but was having a hard time coming up with the words. I laughed and told her that I had had the same problem. I had plans of writing a lengthy note of encouragement and wisdom but all I could come up with was a couple of sentences about how proud I am of her. I told Jenny that I didn’t have any words of wisdom to impart, that despite all I have done and been through, I still don’t really feel like an adult. Jenny surprised me saying that she felt the same way. “Sometimes I feel like I’m eighteen years old.” she said. This seemed oddly reassuring to me. It almost takes away my definition of adult.

I am a teenager who sometimes does adult things.