If someone would have told me that I'd spend my 28th birthday relishing in a surprise visit from my mother, a 4am alarm clock, and a club soda and iced tea any number of years ago, I would have guffawed feverishly.
The same could be said for surviving a mere three knee surgeries in four short years.
I don't know what I imagined myself doing at age 28. It's not a particularly daunting or exciting age. It's like month four of ACL recovery - fine, but not fully functional or dysfunctional. It just kind of...is.
Unless I choose to call it something differently. And luckily for you, I do. I'm calling 28 the best year of my life, and it's only been 23 hours. Today I hiked for the first time since my blasted ligament last summer, and I did it with a close friend, my two best four-legged companions, and caught the notorious sunrise to welcome in a new year since I missed doing this personal tradition on THE new year. Essentially, I created a new tradition. Or continued one. However you want to frame it, it felt awesome, fulfilling and special. My knee handled it with poise and didn't put up an ounce of restraint.
Then I came home to a mother who had driven up, in traffic to simply show up on my doorstep and take me to dinner the eve of my birthday. She came with gifts, smiles and a helping hand in the kitchen. Through a year full of heartbreak, injury, and adventure, there was no better surprise that I could have been offered. I spent time with friends, family and myself. I raced through the day happily and without a second of self-doubt.
I spent every moment of my 28th year completely happy. So yes, I'm calling it the best year of my life.
I still thought about my knee. My heart. My job, my life, my family, my friends, others' feelings, and my own. I thought about everything really. I thought about the durability of my knee, the resilience and fervent push of my heart. I thought of the flexibility of my job, the integrity of my family, support of my friends, recognition of others' feelings, and insight to my own. I thought about the person and woman I am, mistakes, mishaps and melancholy included, and I thought about the rise and fall of all of the moments and missed moments that have led me here.
And I thought, damn, life is just so sweet.
Not because I'm healed, because I'm not in a sense. And not because it's easy, because that wouldn't be truthful either. It's sweet because of the constant ebb and flow of wanting, having, needing and losing. I started writing this blog last July to keep me from falling in the trenches of the teethed monster that is an ACL mind warp, but instead I just rode the wave of my life, which included recovering from a knee injury.
Twenty-eight is the best year of my life because it's mine. It's here for me, and it's mysterious and predictable all in one. It's awesome because it's new and uncharted, which means no one has or will walk the path that I take except my future self. I am the absolute only person who gets to float along the minutes and hours and days my way, and that is incredibly special.
I'm now 23 hour and 10 minutes into this new year, and it is STILL the best year of my life.
I'll be honest though, I had a little personal push to set myself up for this day over the past month.
The same could be said for surviving a mere three knee surgeries in four short years.
I don't know what I imagined myself doing at age 28. It's not a particularly daunting or exciting age. It's like month four of ACL recovery - fine, but not fully functional or dysfunctional. It just kind of...is.
Unless I choose to call it something differently. And luckily for you, I do. I'm calling 28 the best year of my life, and it's only been 23 hours. Today I hiked for the first time since my blasted ligament last summer, and I did it with a close friend, my two best four-legged companions, and caught the notorious sunrise to welcome in a new year since I missed doing this personal tradition on THE new year. Essentially, I created a new tradition. Or continued one. However you want to frame it, it felt awesome, fulfilling and special. My knee handled it with poise and didn't put up an ounce of restraint.
Then I came home to a mother who had driven up, in traffic to simply show up on my doorstep and take me to dinner the eve of my birthday. She came with gifts, smiles and a helping hand in the kitchen. Through a year full of heartbreak, injury, and adventure, there was no better surprise that I could have been offered. I spent time with friends, family and myself. I raced through the day happily and without a second of self-doubt.
I spent every moment of my 28th year completely happy. So yes, I'm calling it the best year of my life.
I still thought about my knee. My heart. My job, my life, my family, my friends, others' feelings, and my own. I thought about everything really. I thought about the durability of my knee, the resilience and fervent push of my heart. I thought of the flexibility of my job, the integrity of my family, support of my friends, recognition of others' feelings, and insight to my own. I thought about the person and woman I am, mistakes, mishaps and melancholy included, and I thought about the rise and fall of all of the moments and missed moments that have led me here.
And I thought, damn, life is just so sweet.
Not because I'm healed, because I'm not in a sense. And not because it's easy, because that wouldn't be truthful either. It's sweet because of the constant ebb and flow of wanting, having, needing and losing. I started writing this blog last July to keep me from falling in the trenches of the teethed monster that is an ACL mind warp, but instead I just rode the wave of my life, which included recovering from a knee injury.
Twenty-eight is the best year of my life because it's mine. It's here for me, and it's mysterious and predictable all in one. It's awesome because it's new and uncharted, which means no one has or will walk the path that I take except my future self. I am the absolute only person who gets to float along the minutes and hours and days my way, and that is incredibly special.
I'm now 23 hour and 10 minutes into this new year, and it is STILL the best year of my life.
I'll be honest though, I had a little personal push to set myself up for this day over the past month.
Much like the aimless days and nights where my knee feels useless and without progress, there were some trying times over the past couple of months that led me to wondering what the point of all my hard work was.
I was on the receiving end of a lot of apologies. "Sorry about your knee" or "sorry that I put you through hell." Regardless of the phrase following the word, the sorries seemed unfair and unjust for a girl who was simply doing things right.
That's me. I do things right. I tell the truth, follow directions, drive within 7mph of the speed limit and hold tight to others' secrets. I haven't always been like this, so when I started transitioning into doing things right, I recognized that this would clear away many of the problems that are associated with doing things in a different, slightly more wrongful manner. I would have healthier relationships, muscles and sleeping patterns because that's what happens when you do things right. You're in control. I'm in control.
Except that sometimes that's just not the case. Sometimes you can do right and get wronged or even vice versa. Sometimes you feel right and recognize that perhaps that isn't the case. Sometimes you can't control shit. And by you, I mean me.
I came to this realization after miserably failing to control my lingering despair over various issues a little while ago. Despite my best (and worst) efforts, I cannot, apparently, control the push and pull of emotional chaos.
I can however, control other things. My water consumption. The type of food I eat and how I prepare it. Whether or not I make my bed. How often I write. How I exercise, spend my time after work, and who I call.
So I took control of those things. I intentionally set challenges to drink a certain amount of water, write during specific windows, and push through foreboding cooking. I set myself up for 30 days merely as a way to keep myself accountable, and I have been more than pleasantly surprised with the results because of these challenges.
I spend less time thinking about what I cannot control. I spend more time enjoying myself. I enjoy making my bed. My refrigerator is always full. I'm proud of myself. My knee isn't an "issue;" it's part of me.
These challenges and elements of control are signs of employing myself to follow through and be better to myself, not wish I was a better self. Nothing felt easy or automatic or worthless; it felt tough, but manageable and appropriately challenging.
Hello, life metaphor. As if I need to draw the parallel with my knee - I think we've all gotten it by now. Nothing is easy, and nothing is completely in my control. Focusing on that will drive me completely nuts and keep me from growing and healing and hoping. The steps that got me to this moment are blurry, but also very clearly full of so many different things that I'll never fully shed. It's like the years leading to this one - they encompass so much that they're a huge part of today, but they don't own today.
I fucking own today. I own my knee, my body, and my brain and treating it like a wishing well is inconsiderate of my own need to rise above things. The past 9 months have been a lot of everything and nothing, but they have been about mending so much more than my third torn ligament. I guess I didn't realize that I'm always mending from something, even if I didn't know it was torn to begin with.
The point is, this is the best year of my life. And it's now been 23 hours and 33 minutes. My goal this year isn't to make my bed everyday, or forbid foods, or set absolute deadlines. Those may be part of the year, but my goal is to take the year as my own and continue to make it the best damn year of my life until the next best year of my life.
My knee isn't 100% and neither am I. We're both evolving and aging. We're not perfect or anywhere near it. We're flawed and scarred and scared, but we can't move forward with only a narrow focus.
The Lifestyle of the Torn and Triad is a complete mess, to be honest. It's a lifestyle that's real and raw and ridiculous at times. It's hidden and exposed, but it's too much of a cop out to hang my head on a string of ligament metaphors.
Sadly and proudly, this is the last blog entry for this epic journey through my 3rd knee surgery in my 20s. I rang in MY new year the best way I know how, and no matter if I score a touchdown, end up back on the operating table or face obstacles I can never see coming, my story has become clearer than an injury recovery.
So alas, my blog turns to stone, and similarly, a step toward my next project, which I certainly hope you'll take interest in. I have no qualms about shamelessly plugging my aspirations to continue to write and dazzle your screen with epic nothingness of my thoughts, opinions and experiences. Please follow me here and brace yourself for the many pages that I am writing to eventually sprawl across the plethora of available reading materials.
Yes. I am writing a book.
Please feel free to share the torn and triad in all of its drawling glory to anyone going through the injury...or just as a time killer if you prefer. Thank you for a great literary journey that we'll never discuss.
P.S. I'm 23 hours and 53 minutes into my 28th birthday, and this just hasn't stopped being the best year of my life. What better time than now?!
WINNING!
I was on the receiving end of a lot of apologies. "Sorry about your knee" or "sorry that I put you through hell." Regardless of the phrase following the word, the sorries seemed unfair and unjust for a girl who was simply doing things right.
That's me. I do things right. I tell the truth, follow directions, drive within 7mph of the speed limit and hold tight to others' secrets. I haven't always been like this, so when I started transitioning into doing things right, I recognized that this would clear away many of the problems that are associated with doing things in a different, slightly more wrongful manner. I would have healthier relationships, muscles and sleeping patterns because that's what happens when you do things right. You're in control. I'm in control.
Except that sometimes that's just not the case. Sometimes you can do right and get wronged or even vice versa. Sometimes you feel right and recognize that perhaps that isn't the case. Sometimes you can't control shit. And by you, I mean me.
I came to this realization after miserably failing to control my lingering despair over various issues a little while ago. Despite my best (and worst) efforts, I cannot, apparently, control the push and pull of emotional chaos.
I can however, control other things. My water consumption. The type of food I eat and how I prepare it. Whether or not I make my bed. How often I write. How I exercise, spend my time after work, and who I call.
So I took control of those things. I intentionally set challenges to drink a certain amount of water, write during specific windows, and push through foreboding cooking. I set myself up for 30 days merely as a way to keep myself accountable, and I have been more than pleasantly surprised with the results because of these challenges.
I spend less time thinking about what I cannot control. I spend more time enjoying myself. I enjoy making my bed. My refrigerator is always full. I'm proud of myself. My knee isn't an "issue;" it's part of me.
These challenges and elements of control are signs of employing myself to follow through and be better to myself, not wish I was a better self. Nothing felt easy or automatic or worthless; it felt tough, but manageable and appropriately challenging.
Hello, life metaphor. As if I need to draw the parallel with my knee - I think we've all gotten it by now. Nothing is easy, and nothing is completely in my control. Focusing on that will drive me completely nuts and keep me from growing and healing and hoping. The steps that got me to this moment are blurry, but also very clearly full of so many different things that I'll never fully shed. It's like the years leading to this one - they encompass so much that they're a huge part of today, but they don't own today.
I fucking own today. I own my knee, my body, and my brain and treating it like a wishing well is inconsiderate of my own need to rise above things. The past 9 months have been a lot of everything and nothing, but they have been about mending so much more than my third torn ligament. I guess I didn't realize that I'm always mending from something, even if I didn't know it was torn to begin with.
The point is, this is the best year of my life. And it's now been 23 hours and 33 minutes. My goal this year isn't to make my bed everyday, or forbid foods, or set absolute deadlines. Those may be part of the year, but my goal is to take the year as my own and continue to make it the best damn year of my life until the next best year of my life.
My knee isn't 100% and neither am I. We're both evolving and aging. We're not perfect or anywhere near it. We're flawed and scarred and scared, but we can't move forward with only a narrow focus.
The Lifestyle of the Torn and Triad is a complete mess, to be honest. It's a lifestyle that's real and raw and ridiculous at times. It's hidden and exposed, but it's too much of a cop out to hang my head on a string of ligament metaphors.
Sadly and proudly, this is the last blog entry for this epic journey through my 3rd knee surgery in my 20s. I rang in MY new year the best way I know how, and no matter if I score a touchdown, end up back on the operating table or face obstacles I can never see coming, my story has become clearer than an injury recovery.
So alas, my blog turns to stone, and similarly, a step toward my next project, which I certainly hope you'll take interest in. I have no qualms about shamelessly plugging my aspirations to continue to write and dazzle your screen with epic nothingness of my thoughts, opinions and experiences. Please follow me here and brace yourself for the many pages that I am writing to eventually sprawl across the plethora of available reading materials.
Yes. I am writing a book.
Please feel free to share the torn and triad in all of its drawling glory to anyone going through the injury...or just as a time killer if you prefer. Thank you for a great literary journey that we'll never discuss.
P.S. I'm 23 hours and 53 minutes into my 28th birthday, and this just hasn't stopped being the best year of my life. What better time than now?!
WINNING!
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