Wednesday, September 13, 2017
Kevin Whitehead-- the doctor, not the jazz critic
I've totally got this. I'm off to the University of Utah hospital. I get my echocardiogram in one hour and four minutes. Then it's off to lunch (maybe with Ryan) in downtown Salt Lake City. And then I meet with Dr. Kevin Whitehead at 1pm. I've weighed myself this morning and taken a photo of the scale--so that I can eat lunch without worry. I'm showered and dressed and smelling lovely. I have on my happiness and adventure bracelets. The boys are clean and dressed and were smelling lovely when I dropped them off at school with cousin Grace. They ate breakfast and we said a prayer and they had all papers signed, homework done, and had studied up for tests today. And Ryan looked amazing and kind this morning and he will be wonderful to talk to when I am finished with my day. Or before...at lunch. And now I have exactly one hour and one minute to get down there. I hope it's the nice echo technician. And I hope they'll accept the scale photo. And, oh yeah, I also hope my heart is doing amazingly well and that the doc will tell me unequivocally that I can and should have another baby. That'd be nice. Lunch will be nice too.
Friday, September 8, 2017
"I remember that fateful day back in September of 2017...."
How many times have I imagined myself saying something like this to an old friend I just happen to bump into at the park, or in a glorious speech to a crowd of admirers, or in an intimate interview with Robert Siegel, on NPR? Many times.
I would go on to say that after that day in September my whole life changed. I figured everything out. I never ate sugar again. I always awoke at 6am and exercised and meditated and cooked a delicious, healthy, organic breakfast for my family. I always had clean sheets on all the beds. The laundry was always folded and put away. I never missed visiting teaching. I never missed family scripture study. I never argued with anyone. I always recycled everything I could. I was always kind and loving. I was always completely honest. I showered daily. I got my doctorate in children's literature and non-profit organizational strategy. I wrote every day and soon after published fifty books. I just figured it all out. I knew how to live and I began to live perfectly.
My logical brain realized that of course I will never be perfect in this life...ever. But I thought that if I could be perfectly consistent in doing a long list of very good things every single day, and not miss, or skip, or forget, that would make my life pretty perfect. I would perfect my habits and thereby perfect myself.
But last week, my life did change dramatically. I realized, not just in my brain, but in my heart, soul, gut, what-have-you, that I would never be perfect. And I realized that feeling like I could be-- if I just did my list of dailies-- was not only foolish, it was harmful. I realized that believing in a perfect future that is just around the corner discredits, and de-values, and denies the beautiful, and very imperfect life I've lived these past almost 38 years. I have become me--the Charity that I am today--because of all of my decisions good and bad. My family has become my family, my home, has become my home, my life has become my life, because of all the good and bad and imperfect, and wonderful decisions and experiences I've had--we've had.
For example...my boys are amazing. Obv. They are huge. They are growing every day. They are learning new things. They are making new friends. They are developing and changing and they are awesome. And they are always hungry! And sometimes I feed them really healthy food, and sometimes I feed them ramen and donuts. And sometimes I make them turn off the television and help me clean up the yard, and sometimes I let them play Zelda for hours. Sometimes we read our bedtime story, and sometimes we're getting to bed late, and we're all grumpy and I tuck them in with a kiss and an exasperated "It's sooo late!" and we don't read a word.
And yet they grow, and they are happy and I love them. And I love our shared life together. And when I'm in that unhealthy thinking mode-- believing that suddenly everything will change and I will only feed them the best, healthiest foods, and they will never watch TV, and we will treasure story-time every night, and never go to be angry and frustrated and THEN they will be even more amazing, I feel like I'm de-valuing the strong, beautiful, good people that they have grown into. I'm discrediting all the work and effort and tears and struggle and JOY that have gone into helping them grow up to this point. I never meant to do this, but always thinking that there is a better way to raise my children implies by default that I'm not doing things right and they would be better too, if only I did things differently.
So on that fateful day in September of 2017--last week-- I realized that I'm not suddenly going to figure out everything. I cannot perfect myself. I can't pretend to be Aunt Sherry, who always seemed perfectly nice all the time. Perfection is not how my life works. Perfection all happens over time--in the eternities--with a ton of help from the Savior. I don't want to tell people about the day I figured it all out---because what does that say about who I am today (pre-perfection). I don't want to start over with a clean slate, because I don't want to erase my life. I want my experiences and my mistakes and my life because they have helped to make it mine and make me...me. Loving what is, and what has been, is much more real and nourishing than loving what I hope will be. And any of that joy that I thought I would feel as a perfect person is joy that I can tap into now--because I can love the here and the now. And love = joy.
I keep thinking of the words "patchwork", "quilt", "mosaic", "scrapbook", "casserole". These things are beautiful or tasty because they are pieced together with lots of different colors, textures, and flavors. And in my quilt there are light and dark patches. In my quilt there are plain and intricate patches. In my quilt there are french fry, and wheat crepe (both breakfast foods) patches. (And it is definitely time for lunch.)
In my quilt there is real love. And I love my quilt. And I'm still making it, and just because I love how it is today doesn't mean I'm not going to keep adding to it, and keep trying to do a little better on those things I want to improve. Not at all. I'm still sewing and climbing and working and improving. That's part of who I am. But I don't feel frantic. I don't feel like I have to do a do-over every time I "mess-up". And I would be heartbroken to give up this old quilt and start-over on a new one.
I would go on to say that after that day in September my whole life changed. I figured everything out. I never ate sugar again. I always awoke at 6am and exercised and meditated and cooked a delicious, healthy, organic breakfast for my family. I always had clean sheets on all the beds. The laundry was always folded and put away. I never missed visiting teaching. I never missed family scripture study. I never argued with anyone. I always recycled everything I could. I was always kind and loving. I was always completely honest. I showered daily. I got my doctorate in children's literature and non-profit organizational strategy. I wrote every day and soon after published fifty books. I just figured it all out. I knew how to live and I began to live perfectly.
My logical brain realized that of course I will never be perfect in this life...ever. But I thought that if I could be perfectly consistent in doing a long list of very good things every single day, and not miss, or skip, or forget, that would make my life pretty perfect. I would perfect my habits and thereby perfect myself.
But last week, my life did change dramatically. I realized, not just in my brain, but in my heart, soul, gut, what-have-you, that I would never be perfect. And I realized that feeling like I could be-- if I just did my list of dailies-- was not only foolish, it was harmful. I realized that believing in a perfect future that is just around the corner discredits, and de-values, and denies the beautiful, and very imperfect life I've lived these past almost 38 years. I have become me--the Charity that I am today--because of all of my decisions good and bad. My family has become my family, my home, has become my home, my life has become my life, because of all the good and bad and imperfect, and wonderful decisions and experiences I've had--we've had.
For example...my boys are amazing. Obv. They are huge. They are growing every day. They are learning new things. They are making new friends. They are developing and changing and they are awesome. And they are always hungry! And sometimes I feed them really healthy food, and sometimes I feed them ramen and donuts. And sometimes I make them turn off the television and help me clean up the yard, and sometimes I let them play Zelda for hours. Sometimes we read our bedtime story, and sometimes we're getting to bed late, and we're all grumpy and I tuck them in with a kiss and an exasperated "It's sooo late!" and we don't read a word.
And yet they grow, and they are happy and I love them. And I love our shared life together. And when I'm in that unhealthy thinking mode-- believing that suddenly everything will change and I will only feed them the best, healthiest foods, and they will never watch TV, and we will treasure story-time every night, and never go to be angry and frustrated and THEN they will be even more amazing, I feel like I'm de-valuing the strong, beautiful, good people that they have grown into. I'm discrediting all the work and effort and tears and struggle and JOY that have gone into helping them grow up to this point. I never meant to do this, but always thinking that there is a better way to raise my children implies by default that I'm not doing things right and they would be better too, if only I did things differently.
So on that fateful day in September of 2017--last week-- I realized that I'm not suddenly going to figure out everything. I cannot perfect myself. I can't pretend to be Aunt Sherry, who always seemed perfectly nice all the time. Perfection is not how my life works. Perfection all happens over time--in the eternities--with a ton of help from the Savior. I don't want to tell people about the day I figured it all out---because what does that say about who I am today (pre-perfection). I don't want to start over with a clean slate, because I don't want to erase my life. I want my experiences and my mistakes and my life because they have helped to make it mine and make me...me. Loving what is, and what has been, is much more real and nourishing than loving what I hope will be. And any of that joy that I thought I would feel as a perfect person is joy that I can tap into now--because I can love the here and the now. And love = joy.
I keep thinking of the words "patchwork", "quilt", "mosaic", "scrapbook", "casserole". These things are beautiful or tasty because they are pieced together with lots of different colors, textures, and flavors. And in my quilt there are light and dark patches. In my quilt there are plain and intricate patches. In my quilt there are french fry, and wheat crepe (both breakfast foods) patches. (And it is definitely time for lunch.)
In my quilt there is real love. And I love my quilt. And I'm still making it, and just because I love how it is today doesn't mean I'm not going to keep adding to it, and keep trying to do a little better on those things I want to improve. Not at all. I'm still sewing and climbing and working and improving. That's part of who I am. But I don't feel frantic. I don't feel like I have to do a do-over every time I "mess-up". And I would be heartbroken to give up this old quilt and start-over on a new one.
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