Adios 2008

I’ve never been one to look so much forward to the future. Usually, I try to be in the moment, not living in the past or living so much for the future that you are blinded to the now. But, since March 31, 2008, I have been anticipating the new year with much fervor. I think most of my friends and family (my only loyal readers, thank you) all know why I am so ready to leap out of 2008 and spring into 2009 with great expectations…so I won’t be redundant in trying to explain it.

I sat down to blog today with nothing really to say. Mostly, I only blog when I feel compelled; I don’t want to force anything. I wish I had something profound to say on this New Year’s Eve. I wish I could sum up an “interesting” year with some great sentence that wrapped everything up so neat and tidy, like a present…but that would be trite.

This past year, I’ve met people and grown friendships in different ways that has changed my life forever. I am grateful. Some, I never would have met had I not experienced “the event”; some I’ve known for a long time. Great people. Strong people. Amazingly, resilient individuals. Thank you. Thank you for your support and encouragement and basically just having a tolerance for me.

I’m not perfect. I am not a saint. There is so much about me that is inconsistent and complicated. But, I am happy. I choose to be happy. I am extremely appreciative. I choose to see how luck has been on my side since I was born. And, I love. I have lots of love. It’s a downfall in the same right that it’s a gift, but if my only crime is this…then burn me at the stake.

See, when I don’t have a point to make, my thoughts and writing are all over the place. So let me reel myself back in. Happy New Year to you all. 2009 holds hope and promise and signifies an end to a period. In honor of that, the next time I blog…I will remove the “Young Stroke Survivor” tag underneath my name. My resolution is to not be defined by my stroke, but to just embrace it and get on with my life.

Health, love, and happiness to all.

-Bean in GLP watching snow fall over the lagoon.

Curious

“I froze. It was not guilt that froze me. I had taught myself never to feel guilt. It was not a ghastly sense of loss that froze me. I had taught myself to covet nothing. It was not loathing of death that froze me. I had taught myself to think of death as a friend. It was not heartbroken rage against injustice that froze me. I had taught myself that a human being might as well look for diamond tiaras in the gutter as for rewards and punishments that were fair. It was not the thought that God was cruel that froze me. I had taught myself never to expect anything from Him. What froze me was the fact that I had absolutely no reason to move in any direction. What had made me move through so many dead and pointless years was curiosity.”

-Kurt Vonnegut 1922-2007

Starting Now…

Deep in my mind, handicapped by my thoughts, I ran in front of a truck just twenty minutes ago. It was a very, very large pickup truck with a very, very large trailer attached. He braked, and I stood still, like a deer in headlights. I actually just stopped. I didn’t keep running like the obvious might assume. Nope. I stopped and felt nothing. No fear. No anxiety. No thought. I was blank; emotionless. I had no reaction. My arms hung heavy and limp down at my sides while Ingrid Michaelson’s lyrics ”…I wish you never came into my world…starting now…” fittingly blared in my ear.

The man behind the wheel wore a red baseball cap and had a stubble beard; he was nice looking too--sort of outdoorsy. That is what I noticed when I stood motionless, face-to-face with his grill. Those would have been my last thoughts had I been hit. Nothing profound, nothing amazing. No bloodcurdling scream. Life didn’t flash before my eyes (it didn’t when I stroked either). It was all very matter of fact. Very rational. Sort of like—okay so here we go; this is how it is. Acceptance, perhaps. Acceptance.

In all but a matter of seconds after he slammed his brakes down, we locked eyes; we had a moment. He didn’t yell at me. He didn’t flip me off (or as Janya’s kids call it: “the hate finger”). I didn’t scream at him. I didn’t kick his truck (I was close enough to). It wasn’t his fault. What may have been a look of relief or shock coming from him, felt like compassion to me. As if he had read my thoughts just moments before he snapped me in half. Like he understood. He saw something holding my mind captive and stopped my wheels from turning by bringing his to a screeching halt….

I mouthed “sorry” and “thank you” before continuing on my way toward the downhill on Simms Street. Free of thought and with a bounce in my run, I changed the song. Starting now…it’s my mind.