I was so busy making other plans, in general, that I forgot all about that quote. Inconceivable, really, in someone who was fed a steady diet of Beatles along with homemade baby food.
So, as I suppose was inevitable, life snuck up and bit me in the ass.
Have you ever had a goal, like, a really big, all-consuming goal that fills you with purpose and makes you feel alive and gives you something to reach for all the time, something that feels almost too difficult to attain, but nonetheless makes you really, really driven?
Did you ever reach that goal?
And then what did you do?
A year ago, all I wanted to do was finish my thesis and finish grad school with a 4.0. It felt insurmountable...in fact, I really, really didn't know if I would get all the revisions done to my grad committee's specifications. Every day, every hour, almost every minute was given a specific task. I became an expert at time management. I also began to eat healthier, and work out.
I felt, looking back now, like I was on top of my game. Even though I had this enormous task in front of me, I was smug.
I knew I was capable of whatever I set my mind to, you see. I was unstoppable.
But then...it was over. I had my 4.0. I had a research award. I had promises of furthering the thesis, of submitting to a conference, of speaking to classes, of being used as an example.
Oh, yes. I was smug. I was so smug I forgot what had motivated me to stay so busy.
I scheduled my time so fully because my personal life was crashing around me. I was losing my son. I was losing my stepsons. I was losing my marriage. And I knew it.
But I couldn't do anything about those things.
And I knew that, too. So, I stayed busy, even though staying busy was also going to be my downfall.
But what happens when the busy-ness fades? Suddenly, I was finished with my thesis. I graduated, and, with my graduation, lost my job as a graduate assistant.
Suddenly, 55 hours of my weekly schedule was free.
And my problems were very, very visible.
I panicked, and almost immediately took another job. I spent as much time as I could out of the house, which felt very, very empty.
I ran away from my problems, because that was SO much easier than facing them.
If only that was effective. I was like a character in Pokemon Colosseum that nobody ever picks because its strategy was always the same...
Run. I picked "run" every time.
With all that running, you would think I'd be in shape.
I ran all summer. I lived on Slim Jims, T25, and denial. Shaun T. became my closest friend. I worked a lot.
And things got worse.
In the fall, I realized that my son needed me. I decided that he and I needed a new start in a new location.
The problem, though, was bigger than the fairy tale ending I had constructed in my head. Again faced with something outside of my control, I panicked and ran.
Sometimes, as parents, we forget that our children learn the most basic ways of being by watching us. Unfortunately, my son had grown up with me as his role model. He had watched me react to major problems with denial, and he had adopted the same policy accordingly.
The first thing that made me fully realize my weaknesses was when my son suddenly became strong, stopped running, and faced his demons head-on.
The second thing that made me realize I needed to change was watching my son begin to heal himself and become an adult.
The third thing that made me realize I needed to change was going to visit him in January and attending a couple of groups.
That's when I first heard it.
"The only thing you have to change is everything."
I liked it. It was short, to the point, powerful, and effective.
But then I attended a group comprised of other people who had lived as I had...people who erroneously felt that they could control others. And what I learned was something that we all think we know, but possibly don't fully understand.
The only person we can change is ourselves.
If my 18-year-old son could grasp this so wholly, surely I could at 39.
It felt like the first day of my life.
I would love to say that the story ended there...and we lived happily ever after.
The truth is, every day is a struggle. Although I have come a long way in this journey of understanding, the truth is I still stumble every day. I'm prone to self-sabotage.
And oh, Lord, am I a fan of eating my feelings.
Just tonight, I had a plan to go for a walk after work and enjoy the beautiful weather, then go work out at the Community Center. I scheduled dinner with a good friend who always makes me happier.
Instead, I came home, ate half a jar of peanut butter, a sleeve of girl scout cookies, two Twix eggs (they're really good. Easter candy is just evil) and way too many Doritos. Then I got in bed and watched it get dark.
Life is a process. Sometimes we have to go through these dark, dark days because we can appreciate the light so much more later.
But man, sometimes it feels like the bulb is permanently burned out. Like we're in that six months of darkness in Alaska, and time stands still.
The beauty comes later, when we're granted a new day and a new chance to start fresh.
What we have to take from that darkness is that it gave us an opportunity to learn and grow. And sometimes growth is painful. That's why we don't remember teething or, for women, the pain of childbirth. But look what we got from that pain.
Teeth and kids.
Both very useful tools. In fact, I think I used my teeth to bite someone when I was in labor.
Of course, I really don't remember that.
This has been a painful journey, and although it might not match the journeys of others, maybe you're facing a similar darkness.
Maybe it feels like hell. Maybe you think, sure, I got through bad times in the past, but this is different. This one really, really hurts.
Close your eyes and wait.
There is always darkness
*photos courtesy of Hyperbole and a Half's genius creator, Allie Brosh, because I can't art.*
