last single sunday (or, living in a commune)

It’s our last Sunday as single people, and we’re sitting at the kitchen table typetypetyping away at our respective little screens as JoQuy watch Games of Thrones on the big screen.

It’s a comfortable routine we’ve gotten into — with more typetypetype than we’d like, as the wedding-planning/condo-buying/renovations-researching to do lists have grown, but a comfortable routine nonetheless. Sundays afternoons are our unofficial hangout hours with Joe and Quyen, as the two couples of us return home from respective Sunday services and post-church lunch dates back home to recharge a lil and ready ourselves for the week ahead.

I make my breakfast smoothies (a tradition that Quyen has gotten in on, too), Mark takes care of his unruly inbox, Quyen preps her lunches for the week, and Joe putzes around doing whatever needs doing around the house. Rogue hangs low and revels in the daytime presence of all four of us at home, a rare occasion in itself.

Living at Joe and Quyen’s these past nineish months has been a lesson in the beauties of commune living. Before moving in, I’d been a little worried about the sharing aspect of my living with them — would it be uncomfortable? awkward? inconvenient? to share living room and kitchen? Would I be too much in their way? Will it be a bother than I’m taking up room in their fridge? — but the sharing has been the best part of living here. The sharing of food, of time, of efforts, of conversations. It makes me appreciate and understand those multigenerational Korean families of old so much better.

When all four of us are home at Joe and Quyen’s, there’s a hustle and bustle in the cooking of dinner, in the doing of the dishes, in the taking care of the laundry that elevates daily mundanity to something a little more festive. Unexpected deliciousness appears on the dinner table (unexpected cause you weren’t necessarily involved in the cooking of said deliciousness), and evening “How was your dayyy” rituals are varied and interesting. After living our lives as four individuals — or even as two couples, as we often do on weekends — we can come together as one unit of several parts and take care of the business of homemaking with much more efficiency than is possible in life as a singleton.

In my apartment on Jefferson Park Avenue, Charlottesville — my very first solo home after as a postgrad adulting person — I remember being amazed at how much time and energy it took to toil against the daily entropy of a home. Dust is falling over your scant furniture all the time, and dirty dishes will pile up against you if you don’t keep an eye on that kitchen sink. Not to mention how much time it takes to go grocery shopping, prep the vegs and things, cook a proper meal, and clean up after yourself. All for the pleasure of eating for like 12 minutes. Independence is not only exhilarating and freeing, but also just time consuming and energy intensive. And lonely at times, of course.

Being, instead, a part of a whole means that you can specialize in the niche of homemaking that you enjoy (or are, fortunately or unfortunately, better endowed in). I’ll do the dishes err day to clean up after Quyen’s delicious cooking, and Mark and I were happy to chip in as free labor when JoQuy started putting down their new hardwood flooring to replace the carpet. We help with the dog-walking when they’re staying out late, and they feed me real food when they see me whip out those ramen packets at dinnertime. The economy of this system boggles my mind — and I think: This is how civilizations were built!!!! Cause, seriously, if every person had to live in their own singleton home and keep up with full-time jobs and make dinner for themselves, I dunno how far we would have gotten with society and all. There’s not enough energy (or time) for all that and progress.

And the even more beautiful thing about this whole system is that if you find yourself in a commune with people you love/like/enjoy, home is not only a well-oiled machine of efficiency but a warm place full of good food and company you’re glad to take refuge in.

I knew I had a good thing here when I first moved in, but it’s taken me nine months to articulate exactly why. It’s with bittersweet smiles — and promises of future weekend hangouts — that I close out this one last Sunday, hangin with JoQuy in their living room. They just finished their episode, so the night routine of taking Rogueshi out for his night pee begins — the happy jingle jingle of his collar bids us all a good night.

So many candids, so little time. These are only the July 2017 ones, but someday I gotta do a JoQuy post so they can see (and so I can remember) all the happy moments they had…with their best basement tenant ever ;). Thank you, JoQuy, for being the best upstairs landlords ever. No winky smiley needed there.

 

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Better Together

It has happened!

Merk snapped at me — truly and fully — for the first time today.

Yeah, we’ve had our disagreements, our discussions-not-fights, our momentary crankinesses, of course… But this was something different. A line I’d waltzed all over long ago, but one that Mark hadn’t crossed yet.

We were writing up an email response — it was something about the wedding; wedding planning, appropriately, is the greatest test of pre-marriage collaboration — and I tossed Mark some sass, accusing him of not paying attention. “Did you even read this email?”

Apparently that was a trigger question. Because he has been paying attention!! Because he has been putting in a lot of effort, going above and beyond to not leave me floundering in all the planning. And I know that. But I accused anyway, because I am a scraggly human with not enough grace. And he responded, with a snappy word and real contempt in his face. [Description is vague because (…thankfully?) I already don’t remember the content of what he said. Just the feeling around the kernel.]

It didn’t become a full-fledged fight, though. Not because I’m a gracious being, but exactly the opposite. The self-pitying villain in me didn’t have any ammo to go on — everything he had done, I had already done today, ten-, twenty-, thirty-fold. And as always, he’d taken it in stride and with grace.

So the snap was short-lived, we apologized and laughed our way over the bump, and I loved him more than I had before. (For recovery makes the muscle stronger.)

But all of this does get me thinking about something I’ve been mulling over; something that’s been bubbling on the back burner because I haven’t had enough room in the front to bring it up and tend to it:

Wedding planning is indeed hard, and no matter how much I’m trying to be the cool, devil-may-care wedding-planning person, I yam stressed. And this kind of reaction under pressure — and honestly, just plain old tiredness, too — is probably a sign that we’re doing something beyond our normal capacities. Really pushing our comfort-zone limits.

Which is fair. Cause, as a couple, Mark and I are planning an event that’s bigger than any other single thing we’ve ever done in our lives so far. Not only in meaningfulness, but in guest list length and in price tag and in coordinative efforts.

Seeing Mark react like that to me, in this way that he’s never revealed before during these past three years of like and love, made me pause and take stock of what a feat we are undertaking. And how proud I am of us; how grateful I feel to be doing it with him. And how we — neither one of us, as singletons — could be doing it alone. As a together-unit, we’re bigger and stronger and more able to do more, better, things, together. And I didn’t tell him any of this in the moment because I was busy being self-conscious and slow at thinking. So hi, Mark! This is what I was thinking about.

It’s been a very long and very short nine months, a period during which time has stretched and condensed to make itself be felt slow and fast in different spans. I’m anxious to stop carrying around a million little wedding details in my head; but I’m even more excited to be married and start living normal life as a together-unit with you, not just wedding planning, but living and working and running errands and cooking dinner and maybe even throwing parties and feeling like they are no big deal, after all this is under our belt. Lava you.

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Just 8d 18h 18m 18s to go!

what friends are for

s: you’re up late!

m: I just washed up and got into bed. wbu??

s: I’m just chilling like a villain

m: heheh
with cheeps???
that’s what I usually do when I’m chillin like a villin late at night.

s: no cheeps. just me and my la croix.

m: ooh la croix is also nice. yesterday, I crushed a third of a bag of WHEAT THINS while despairing late at night.

s: WHEAT THINS
the worst sort of snack for despair
why were you despairing??

 

m: YES cause you can just crush them forever but they are so SUBSTANTIAL.

s: my fridge is nothing but la croix… literally four boxes

m: LOL
dude. that is no fun.
you should at least have some chezz.
s: anyways. back to despair.

m: I was emailing a long catch-up email and despairing because I was having feelings of purposelessness again. remember when I was talking to you last year about how I feel so pointless and maybe I need more stimulation from my work? and I was all interested in law school?
same feelings.

s: oooh
do you feel strongly enough to act on those feelings?

m: but I’m learning, though, that sometimes feelings are just feelings. not necessarily something to dwell or act on, even. not in a depressing way at all, btw. I was re-thinking it all today at work and was like
hey. I’m not actually dissatisfied, though! I really enjoy my work and job and co-workers. sometimes random feels just creep up and trip me up!!
and these past few months, PMS HAS BEEN SO REAL.

s: dang perhaps the wedding stress slowly creeping in

m: like for a few days right before my period starts, I just get SUPER depressive and cry like a dumb baby!!! and then feel much better once I start my period.
it’s the WEIRDEST thing cause I have never been noticeably pms-y before!!
worst part: I am on track to start my period THE DAY AFTER THE WEDDING.
and for the past few months, the app has been ON POINT.
so if I’m despairing right before the wedding, gently remind me that it might be pms and that I’ll be okay.

s: indeed I shall
so many feelings!! I don’t know what that’s like!!

m: it’s exhausting!!

s: it sounds like it.
but it is what it is.
and you are right, sometimes feelings are just feelings and you just need to ride them out

m: yeah. I am just not learning that. 26 years in and just now figuring out my feelings haha

s: sounds like you’ve been having some pretty serious feels though
I caught up on your blog today at work LOL

m: haha it was you!! hehe it’s always satisfying to match up the spikes in views with the peeps.
and yeah indeed. I really wonder why I’m going through all these feelings.
a lot of it isn’t even stuff in my own life. sometimes I’m just sad for things other people are going through.

s: dude.
it’s amazing you can feel so strongly about things that aren’t even happening to you

m: yeah I cannot explain it at all. just like you prolly can’t explain the mechanics of the relative lack of feelings, right?

it’s prolly a mix of heart stuff, head stuff, and then just crazy hormones

but the world is FULL of sadness sometimes! SO MUCH suffering and GRIEF. it’s incredible.

s: it really is.
but then I always feel kind of shallow about the sadness because I usually move on and forget about it super quickly
until I remember it again
and forget again.

m: ooh. but dontcha know, forgetting is my specialty.
sometimes I feel like I should be doing something more drastic to combat the forgetfulness
but I think actually, that my subconscious self is already taking care of it.
tis why I blog and take pics.

s: you live yo life, mads.
perhaps you can compensate by being extra present in the present.

m: 😀
that IS my compensation. that IS what I’m supposed to be doing (and used to be good at!!)
thanks for reminding me, Sarah

s: that’s what friends are forrrr
I’m excited for burgers tomorrow

 

hi Lauren! 7/6/17

hi!!!!

I’m sorry for such a delayed response… But this is what happens when I get a really good, meaty email to respond to — overwhelmed!! But in the best way! Thanks for sharing with me everything that’s been going on with you (haha though I bet it’s still not everything… I’m sure your life is crazy full of even more things). The OBGYN world sounds crazy and intense indeed, just like you said. And it’s good that you’re figuring out your preferences and aptitudes in a concrete way. AND it’s CRAZY COOL that you’re getting to experience something so special, and enjoy it even if it’s just abstractly 😉

Mark and I are househunting as I type! We were just looking for apartments to rent, at first, but Chris (who has a realtor’s license, hah) told us that we could probably afford to buy a condo or something. So we started looking! And just made an OFFER on a place in Arlington. LIFE IS CRAZY. I feel like we’ve just unlocked pandora’s box of craziness — with the wedding coming up in exactly a MONTH, and trying to buy a condo, and planning a two-week honeymoon… Though that will come later, around late September, THANK GOODNESS.

But aside from the above, life really is so normal and humdrum! Sometimes I miss school because I miss the state of always striving and learning. But these days, I feel like I’m just striving. The learning…still happens, from life in general, but it’s less structured and it’s harder to remember the kernels. Life is fuzzier and fuzzier the older I get. I feel less and less wise and less and less sure of myself as I learn more about the world. I think — fuzzily — this has to do with lacking a sense of purpose in life. I think I’m feeling unmoored and unfocused because I’m not sure devoted to anything that requires all of my effort and attention (like I was in school).

Work is fine, it’s enjoyable and I’m definitely grateful to have my job, but…it’s not all-consuming. But then…is it unrealistic to want that from a job? I’m not sure. I want something to fully devote myself to… I feel like the answer to this is probably God-related, and it makes me wonder how lost and unmoored some non-Christians must feel sometimes. Cause they must be out there, right? People made just like me but without the Christianity piece. Is any of this making any sense?

And Mark is my companion in everything. I’m lucky that he’s so solid and unwavering, counterbalacing my own wishy-washiness. But a lot of times, I feel like we’re just two babies embarking on this huge adventure of life and that we have no idea what’s in store. Mostly I am thinking of home (erm condo) ownership as I say this. I flip and flop between feeling like all these things we’re doing — wedding, moving, planning — are so normal and super humdrum and then feeling like the world is a crazy crazy place!! For letting us do such adult things.

Do I sound like a crazy person?! When I get into these thought spiral funks, I do feel that way sometimes. For blowing things out of proportion, mostly.

Hey is there anything I can pray for you about? I’d love to, if you have any requests.

Thanks for giving me this opportunity to ramble and write out my thoughts and feelings! I hope my lack of response wasn’t saddening. I had your email marked as unread in my inbox and thought of you every day since you emailed me. 🙂

Signing off, on a rainy Thursday night in nova!
Madison

humans

are marvelous, are terrible, are suffering, are jubilant.

are complicated, are multifaceted, are difficult to please, are predictable.

I’m a whole tangled mess of feelings tonight about human beings. It’s been a weird and emotional few days — feeling exultant, grateful, terribly annoyed (and then terribly sorry), and so, so sad about so many different things.

There are complicated feelings about friendships and relationships and the troubles of mankind. And troubles of my friends, too. People are going through some real deep and sad things, and here I am sitting and wallowing in an incomprehensible self-pity. There’s grief over a lost romance; uncertainty about sacrificial decisions made for family; deep, inconsolable hurt from people who had been trusted. And then there’s me, crying about who knows what.

After a certain point, I can’t point my finger at any one thing as the cause or the beginning, and Mark just rubs my shoulder as my eyes leak tears cause of overflow.

There are a few things I am certain of:

  • Music has a weird magic about it that makes us feel complicated and wondrous things. I think it’s a tool (and a gift) that God’s given us. For our pleasure and development. And his glory.
  • Community is crucial and lifesaving (and lifegiving).
  • I am a rude, rough-around-the-edges kind of person who needs more of God’s grace in her life.
  • Cuddly kittens are therapeutic.
  • Humans are marvelous, are terrible, are suffering, are jubilant. Are complicated, are multifaceted, are difficult to please, are predictable.

I love and hate these feelings tonight.

 

love and timing

  • How much is a love experience shaped by the trappings of life at that moment? The life stage you’re in. The hard/sad/awesome stuff you’re going through. The level of maturity your heart and head are at. People talk about connections — soul, heart, mind, spirit?, humor! — but just how much of all of that is about…timing? Different lovers you meet don’t necessarily result in different kinds of connections because of who they are, but because of who they are at that moment. And who you are at that moment. And how ya got there.
  • Is this why there is such a magic/aura/myth about first love? Because, in its most glorified form, first love takes place early on in your formation as a human — teen years, early 20s, young adulthood — though each of those, obviously, is different and beautiful and anguished in its own way. But all in all, those are magical times, even as just a singleton. Add the explosive reactants of loving and of being loved, and the reactions are that much more formative. Is it, too, about the new pathways your brain is forging in that first relationship? Is each following iteration a follow-on glide down the already formed pathway? So the first glide — or cut, depending on your perspective — is the deepest. Could we almost call it the first learn?
  • What about, then, effort and time? Relationships — romantic and otherwise — need time to bloom and to breathe. They require you to stop rushing about and to give them some attention and love. (Much like a garden, a pet, a catch-up dinner in the WMA.) To plan an actual evening away from duties and responsibilities, even if that requires planning to travel an extra three hours back and forth that day (for. real.). Cause it’s worth it to you. Maybe that, too, is a matter of the timing of your life. Relationship-building requires you to be the type of person ready to put in that kind of effort, and a person with some breathing room in your calendar to devote to the growth of a relationship blossom.

Sometimes I get stuck in Feeling ruts, trip-falling hard on a crag that makes me plunge SPLAT into an emotion puddle. I look up and get up, shake off and keep on walking, but soaked, drenched, in allll the feels. It takes me a whole evening-night of bleary-eyed blogging to dry off sometimes.

One big puddle tonight. And I’m bleary eyed and stubbornly sad indeed, and wondering about these age-old questions again again again, again.

travelog update: bachelorette in the Shenandoah

An update!

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“Wait wait… Is everyone here? 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 yep!”

A weekend of rest and relaxation and selfies and goat-petting. And being impressively well organized and extremely well fed. And consequently, being pretty proud of ourselves for adulting so well. A bachelorette weekend, I guess, is a good time to feel like a put-together adult person. 🙂

Props to Meesh for the Excel-lent event organization and the crucial face masks, to Iz for bringing along all the food love from Mama Lee, to Clarisse for being our grillmaster and headlamp-ed firekeeper (and for the pervy reminders that we are at a bachelorette weekend, after all ;)), to Grace for butchering a hunk of meat nobody else wanted to touch, to Schoi for the scream-worthy spider discoveries, and to Rebs for everything else — killing said spiders, blowing up then destroying decorative balloons, driving us through the mountains (with two in trunk), and of course, for the selfie stick.

in sickness and in health: chronicles of injuries and caretaking

This surgery’s been a long time coming, though we didn’t know it.

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Mark hurt his (ring) finger about a month ago, playing frisbee. He dove for a catch (read: threw his body toward the unforgiving earth with too much confidence in his youth and flexibility) and dislocated and fractured his lil digit.

At first, we thought it was just a dislocated joint, especially because he had “popped it back in” right after the crash. It took an x-ray three weeks later to reveal that he had popped it back in…just not to the right place.

The joint (first one up from the base) was popped out about a finger’s width on top of the rest of the hand, and the bone connecting the two joints was chipped, too. The way the surgeon described it, it seemed like the three weeks’ delay had been like a desert storm on that lil chip, wearing away at it until it was no more. Here, questions abound: where did the fragment go? Does it get reabsorbed into the blood stream? Is there a lot of erosion going on in our bodies, normally? If so, what’s doing all that jostling in there? I didn’t know how to phrase these questions appropriately and quickly enough to ask.

So the surgeon reset Mark’s joint (as a “let’s just see if this works” measure) and scheduled the formal surgery (because we were pretty sure the measure wouldn’t work) for the following Thursday. And since the resetting, Mark was told to keep his hand elevated above his heart — it prevents undue swelling — and thus, the multitude of photos of the Markling in the perpetual worshipful-hand-raise pose.

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After that first manual resetting, Mark was in a lot of pain. A desperate, helpless, sleepless kind of pain that demands all your attention but only intensifies when you offer it. He texted me all through those first two nights, unable to sleep — midnight… 1 am… 3 am… 5 am… It was heartbreaking, and I was completely useless to help. We tried getting the surgery moved up, but no luck.

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Fear and Powerlessness
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But it wasn’t all pain and tears. We did some fun stuff this past month, too. @ Thomas Sweet.
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also, Pasta.

The surgery day finally came, and as it approached, Mark’s fear grew and grew. It was kind of astounding to me, because I have an almost unnaturally blase attitude toward medical procedures. Needles, blood-giving, surgery…it’s all NBD to me. All the opposite for Mark. He despises needles, hates the thought of steel objects penetrating his dermis, fears physical pain above all else. Don’t tell the terrorists, but he would last zero seconds under torture…

The fear was palpable and uncontrollable. I was even getting frustrated with him — the fear becoming bigger than a matter of the finger and the pain itself and triggering questions of character, of faith. Why is he so afraid/what is it that makes me not as afraid? At the core, I trust in the medical establishment and their ability to make me better. Does he not believe that? Is this a trust-of-establishment thing? Why does he always expect the worst? Is it a God thing? Does he not believe that God has this under control? Is he even praying? 

I tried, really, to be patient — though I broke down at the last minute and mini-yelled at him to “Stop meeping!” right as we were walking into the surgery center. Worst, ever. I know. He forgave me, gracious even amidst the fear.

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Behind this tight-lipped smile is fear and anxiety, don’t let him fool you and please pray for him.

We met with the surgeon and discussed what the procedure would be like. Mark was small and shivery in his flimsy hospital gown and high-fashion hair net. We tried to watch Food Network to distract him from the gloomy chill of the pre-op area, analyzing cupcake flavors and laughing at the made-up drama of food competition TV shows. It was hard, though, because the surgeon had just told us that it would not be a good idea for Mark to travel right after his surgery, as we had been planning to do. Mark’s brother was graduating the next day, so we had planned to head down to be there.

It makes so much sense, in hindsight, that we would have to stick around at home and let Mark rest over the weekend, but we just had no idea what it would be like. We are — luckily — both pretty inexperienced in hospital procedures and figured that as long as I did the driving, it would be no big deal for us to travel. Wrong-oh. The surgeon looked at us with the single eyebrow raise almost visible through his tight facial control, questioning our common sense, and advised that it would be best to take it easy all weekend, hang out on the couch, watch TV, and administer meds as necessary.

It was disappointing… But I came to be grateful for the dashed plans, because this meant that both our schedules were completely free for the time that we had expected to be away.

Those four-ish hours in the waiting room flew by… I was busy texting updates and emailing prayer requests, reaching out and asking to be touched. My fear bubble had grown, too, because fear is infectious — I was feeling grave and sad and sending out pings in hopes of receiving some back. And receive I did.

People came through. Events like these, I realized, clarify who makes up your community and family. People called, emailed, texted, visited (!), letting us know that they loved us and were praying for Mark. Mark’s family even came up on Saturday to see Mark after his surgery and to grab a meal with us. Afterwards, Mark smiled like a goon and said, “I love my family,” at which I cracked up cause, like, duh.

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Scott calls Mark to encourage and to love. “Be strong and courageous,” he said (Joshua 1:7). “WHAT A GOOD GUY,” we said.
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A snippet of the post-op email update sent out to the DC small group. Theme: “We are so grateful.”

The surgeon came out, showed me before and after x-rays, complete with new bits of bone and pins poking through. He said that the joint was able to bend all the way to normal range (110 degrees, for those of you counting), so we’re hoping that with physical therapy, Mark can reset the doc’s PR for best recovery.

And thus began our four-day weekend of resting and worrying and relaxing and an uncharacteristic amount of cooking on my part. Like seriously, I have never cooked so many things in the span of four days. Who even am I?

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Couch-sleeper, thanks to J&Q’s gracious generosity. After finding out that we weren’t going to be going to Mark’s parents’ place for the weekend, we had to figure out real quick where we’d set this guy up — I didn’t want him to be alone. In short, my housemates are the best.
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Mac and cheese cures all.
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Bananer bread, gone in three days. Go us.
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“This is my favorite thing that you’ve ever cooked for me.” How can I not make it again? It’s super easy — pad krapow gai by Chef John: http://foodwishes.blogspot.com/2017/04/spicy-thai-basil-chicken-my-pad-krapow.html

It was a weekend of fitful sleeping, for sure, what with the medicine schedule and the jingle-jangle of Rogue the dog’s midnight prowls through the living room. But we did things we’ve never. done. before as a couple: hang around the house for hours, cook multiple meals in a row, (re)watch seasons of TV shows old and new, sit on the couch until my back hurt, do zero things of productivity. Like, normal people weekend activities. I know we were caring for an invalid here, but it felt kind of luxurious to me, in some ways.

And I got a teensy little taste of what it means to serve selflessly — like, putting my needs and wants on a back burner somewhere and thinking first about somebody else. And I noticed that the caretaking got easier over the weekend as I got more used to it. My selfish sharp edges were dulled a little in the face of real need and a very polite customer. Mark was an easy patient, grateful and eager to get better.

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#adulting at the grocery store, where we went to take a walk and advantage of the deals.

He has his post-op appointment on Tuesday, the day after tomorrow. And as our super-weekend winds down this evening, the Sunday feels are real. We’re sitting here, both back in our respective productivity modes as I blog with a vengeance and he puts the finishing touches on the wedding website. But for the first time in a long, long time, I feel really refreshed from what was actually a pretty stressful weekend. Ironic, yep. Such great ups and downs we’ve traveled in the span of these past 48-or-60-or-whatever hours — counting in chunks of four-to-six as the prescription bottles dictate, constantly asking for the enumeration of pain levels (on a scale of 1 to 10, how do you feel?), cooking and eating real meals, laughing at the antics of Michael Scott (and falling asleep to an anime episode…), taking stock of one another and feeling grateful for the way things are and not how they could’ve been.

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Eating mac and cheese on the floor, enjoying a cold sodie pop and cider while we watch Netflix via the PS3. “I feel like a real American!”

Will have to keep you posted on how we fare through next week and the next; I’m sure the chronicles of physical therapy will bring more ups and downs. But as of this moment, I sit here, grateful for the weirdness, the normalcy, and all the cheezy blogposts in between.

resilience

noun re·sil·ience \ri-ˈzil-yən(t)s\
  1. :  the capability of a strained body to recover its size and shape after deformation caused especially by compressive stress

  2. :  an ability to recover from or adjust easily to misfortune or change

Life is full of compressive stress, misfortune, change. All of which may or may not be deformation causing.

For quite a while now, I have been pathetically lacking in this kind of necessary life gumption that gets you through the day without slumping over at every poke. I am a strained body, incapable of recovering my size and shape after the pokes and prods of everyday life. It’s nobody’s fault — just the result of a lot of different stressful events, thoughts that have made me sad, questions that have gone unanswered. And questions that have not yet been answered — at least not to my satisfaction.

I’ve been doing a lot of bemoaning and emoting, sometimes productive, and at other times, really not. And yeah, it’s healthy to let yourself feel stuff through and to “be okay with not being okay,” which itself was a huge milestone of a realization when I came upon that gem.

But I think it’s time to snap out of the self-pity-parties and not be so slumpy anymore. I wanna be resilient. *snap snap* Am I resilient yet?

Hm. How does one build resilience? Just spit-balling here, so forgive the mess:

  • First, acknowledge the bad. You’ve got a trove of sadnesses indeed, and those have made you the person you are JUST as much as the happinesses have grown you. Give them time in your thoughts without letting them crease your face.
  • Remember the good. Remember how things have turned out, remember the nuggets that were gleaned as a result. Remember how faithful.
  • Noodle about how the sadness, the gladness, the redemption all fits into the picture of creation as God has made it. The limits of your imagination =/= the limits of actual human reason, let alone God’s purposes. Ask older, wiser people when stuck.
  • Read back on sappy stuff about MM, cause he’s loved you since such a long time ago, back when you din’t barely hardly know nothin’ about what love even is. Back when you were going around like a fool, asking everyone else’s opinion, trying to social scientist your way to an answer.

What really inspired this post was the simple thought that I have been a little bit like the squishy white exterior of a steamed bun — impressionable in a bad way, no spring-back if you poke me — and that I would like to quit it and stop being this way.

Pray more, obsess less. Love more, demand less. Do more, brood less. Seems simple enough, right?

I’ll have to keep you posted on how this goes.