Two long years ago, my life changed dramatically in the span of thirty minutes. Before, I was generally happy with my life, moving forward with my education and career, though at times overwhelmed with an over-active social life and a greater than usual helping of desire to do everything I could possibly fit into twenty four hours. Having more than one job, putting myself through school, soaking up all the art, music and culture I could find in NYC, traveling the world and ultimately, pushing my body to comply seemed normal to me. The thought of not finding a way to do something I wanted to do (even when that something was everything all at once)-- no matter how impossible or how long it took—was alien to me. It simply would not have occurred to me. Being basically a type-A/over-achiever was not just something I reveled in, it was deeply imprinted in my bloodline. I realized that there were other ways to live a life, but I didn’t realize there was another way for me to live my life. In hindsight, I can entertain the possibility that it would have to take something drastic happening to slow me down. Indeed, there were hints. In Brooklyn , I live on a street that also has a firehouse. Whenever I was dashing off somewhere, the firemen who stood outside would say hello as I whizzed by. One time, one of them yelled after me, “Hey, slow down!” The irony that first responders were telling me to slow down was lost on me. And, so instead of seeing the yellow lights—if there were any, the signal before me unexpectedly changed to red.
I am tempted to say that I would have made other choices that fateful day—I would not have gone to CA, I would not have spent the day in the horrible desert, I would not have walked through the cactus garden, I would not have gone to that restaurant, I would not have ordered what I ordered, I would not have driven passed the first hospital I saw believing I would be fine, I would not have not known I was having a severe allergic reaction, I would not have accepted the medications that were used to save my life even though they played a role in my body fundamentally changing, I would not, I would not, I would not… Had any of those events been different, my entire life might be different right now. But, it is not and it is pointless to play the “if only. . .” game. It is easy to assume that my life would be a whole lot better and easier and everything-er, had I not developed a pretty complex food allergy problem and autonomic nervous system issue that has caused over 20 health care practitioners to utter some version of “I have never met anyone like you.” It was amusing when I used to hear sentiments like that from friends and boyfriends for other reasons (I just assumed that maybe they didn’t get out too much) and it was gratifying when I’ve heard professors say that (“What? No other student has ever contextualized Sherlock Holmes and Immanuel Kant in the same paper? Well, okay, but that was kind an obvious way to go… “) and at times, it was embarrassing when bosses would say that (“How can you possibly teach math so easily when you still can’t figure out how to load paper into the copier correctly?” “Uh, I am better at abstractions than practicalities?” True story.) But, it is a whole other ballgame when people who are supposed to know how to help you with your health are at a loss. And, it might be easy to lapse into being depressed about such a thing, but I never seem to take the easy way in anything and don’t consider that an option—especially, if it’s not going to yield the kind of life I value.
Instead, I again have recreated my life. My scope of the world is smaller than it was two years ago, but my focus is far sharper. I move more slowly, but the trade-off is that I see a lot more along the way and let others see it with me. Facing down life and death having a tussle about you in the same moment is a potent antidote to being afraid of any beautiful or not-so-beautiful parts of yourself. I don’t wonder about my purpose, I don’t have many lingering doubts about my worthiness or my ability to bring love and beauty and joy and passion into the world through me, though remember with compassion what it was like when I did wonder. What I have gained for all I have lost has been clarity, hope, and an awareness of grace—we’re all in the midst of the unknown in some capacity or other. It is a bit like waking up in the middle of the night disoriented and not knowing where the lamp is—but sensing that there is a sliver of streetlight chasing its way through the curtains at the foot of your bed and instead deciding to turn your gaze towards that.
This not to suggest that I don’t feel levels of discontent given my present circumstance or that I do endeavor with all of the resources afforded me to change it, but it is to state clearly that I have discovered something powerful and potent about the human experience—it is possible to hold within more than one conflicting thought or emotion and to choose which one one wishes to focus upon, even if more than one is present. There are moments when I catch myself saying or thinking, “I want my life back,” but I know deep down there is no going back—only going on and eventually, maybe coming full circle. Like the seasons transition from Spring into Summer or Summer into Autumn, I am the same and yet have been changed by what has come just before. There is only going forward from this point, from this season, from this week, from this day, from this hour, from this moment. My task then becomes not to fight the seasons, but to move through them with as much honesty, gratitude, love, humor and passion as I can—knowing that this time in my life, too, will change.
