This

Mending

A friend of mine has been having a hard time for a while. Below is a slight reworking of an email I just sent that I think has some broader implications than just this friend:

I read Allegiant by Veronica Roth this weekend (final book in the Divergent trilogy). It ends like this:

Since I was young, I have always known this: Life damages us, every one. We can’t escape that damage. But now, I am also learning this: We can be mended. We mend each other.

It reminded me of this part in Angels in America when Harper is having a psychotic break and she says:

...and if it gets really cold, she'll have a pouch I can crawl into. Like a marsupial. And we'll mend together. That's what we'll do. We'll mend.

In both cases, I underlined the hell out of those things, because those words feel like truth deep, deep down inside me. (Which is why I felt the need to involve so many others in my grieving process -- because I needed other people to help me mend myself, to feel somewhat whole again.)

In his vlog for today, John Green talked about how 12 years ago he had what's usually termed a "major depressive episode." He was living in Chicago and things got so bad that he was going to quit his job, go home to Florida, and try to get some help. (His dad drove from Orlando to Chicago, picked him up, drove him back to Florida, and he went into daily therapy for two weeks. He went on meds, went back to Chicago, and started the hard work of putting his life back together.)

Listening to him describe all of that sounded familiar. When I found out my mom's cancer was terminal, my friend John asked me if I was going to see a therapist. I told him I would eventually. I wasn't opposed to therapy, I just needed a little time to wrap my head around it before I could talk to a stranger. He totally manipulated me into scheduling my first appointment with Dr. B by 1. telling me he didn't think I'd do it (I can be very oppositionally defiant sometimes) and 2. promising me he'd go skating with me (something I'd been trying for months to get him to do and something that still has not happened almost 5 years later). Therapy with Dr. B was one of the best things I've ever done for myself.

I never would have made it through mom's death and the last four years without her without the two years of therapy I had with Dr. B or all the misadventures I had with my partners in awesome. For me, mending really was something I could not do alone. Maybe I just happen to be wired this way. But it seems like if it's not a universal thing, it's at least something pretty common (see Veronica Roth, Tony Kushner, John Green).

It seems to me from my very limited perspective that you could use some mending. I don't know what will do that for you. I don't know if any of the stuff I'm writing about here will help in any way. But on the off chance that it might, I thought I should write this.

You want to talk about gratitude? I'm grateful that John manipulated me into seeing Dr. B almost five years ago (and that he knew exactly how to do it to get the desired result). I'm grateful for all the help Dr. B gave me. I'm grateful to all the people who supported me when I reached out because I was afraid or hurting or lonely. I'm grateful that today I feel mostly whole (mended) on most days. Those are the things I celebrate even as I feel the tremendous loss of my mother every single day.

This is kinda my fault...

Since I'm the lunch friend who geeked out about a book. (I geek out about a lot of books. YAY BOOKS!)

It's funny, because the very first post on my blog is called "Chase Down Joy" and it includes a list (which I still update periodically) of all the things that bring me joy.

I think it's important to remember those things, to recognize them and to nurture them and to make sure they appear in your life as often as possible. So, I keep a list. Because sometimes (a lot of the time) I forget. Because it's easy to just slip into the day to day and never remember to lift your head up and just NOTICE something beautiful or magical right in front of you.

This part of the orientation post struck me:

Admittedly, I sometimes feel ashamed to outwardly celebrate, especially in the face of so much sadness and despair.

 I think it's interesting for a couple of reasons.

1. I think in the face of sadness and despair is EXACTLY when you need to celebrate. (That's the WHOLE POINT of my mission to Keep Working on Love. It's central to so many of the things I do -- I try to celebrate my tiny place in this world and my relationships with incredible people and all the great things I've stumbled on because that's the stuff that has gotten me through the hardest times in my life.)

2. This is a bit of a kick in the pants for me. I attend Derby Lite fitness classes. I love them in so very many ways, not the least of which being the community of people involved. In a couple of weeks, our chapter will be hosting a party to celebrate Derby Lite's 6th birthday. I was freaked out about attending, because large groups of people freak me out. (A lot. Like, a really, really lot.) But, I wanted to go, because the leader of our chapter is one of the most enthusiastic people I've ever known and her excitement about the party made me feel like I'd be missing out if I skipped it. So, I made a plea for a date, and immediately my derby wife (best friend on roller skates) came to my rescue. (Since then, I've found several others who are just as freaked out by large social events as me are going to be attending. I think having each other will help us.)

But then I found out there's going to be a choreographed dance. (Here's the practice video.) Participation is optional, but I kept thinking, "Not me. No way. Uh-uh." Except that part of me kind of wanted to do it. I have no rhythm, I am a total klutz, and there are a million good reasons I should skip it (or would skip it under normal circumstances). But here's the thing: I think it'll be fun. Even if I'm THE ONLY ONE to mess it all up, is anyone really going to care? (It might be even funnier then, actually....) And if I'm not THE ONLY ONE, then I'll be in good company.

I'm pretty good at celebrating small joys with small groups of people. Maybe sometimes it's good to step out of your comfort zone and celebrate in a crowd, too. I guess I'll find out for sure in a couple of weeks.

Orientation

First posts are always the weirdest to write.

My intention for this project has been brewing for quite some time.  I don't know if it's the decreasing exposure to daylight, but lately I find myself walking a wobbly wall top that divides my perky optimism and deep dark nasty despair.  While I'm quite fond of my snark (tended with care as only a New Yorker could), I want a place where I can start publicly celebrating the good things in life.  I don't want to deny myself the necessity of having dark moments (sad things happen, and you can't make them not happen), but I'm coming to recognize that I need the bright moments to find my way back from the daily stress and the sad times.  

And thus, Soulful Compass Rose: a gratitude compass for the soul.  It won't give me the specific road to take, or tell me how fast I can get to where I'm going, but it will point me in the right direction when I forget to look at my soul map.  (FYI, I can't help but think of this every time I type "soul".)

I don't want to keep this to myself.  Over the weekend, while eating lunch with a friend and watching her face light up as she discussed a book she loved, it made me realize how good I felt seeing her express so much joy.  Her enthusiasm is infectious and inspiring.  Admittedly, I sometimes feel ashamed to outwardly celebrate, especially in the face of so much sadness and despair.  I'm tired of being scared of my feelings.  Life is too short and too awesome to hold back.  What purpose does it serve to restrain positive energy--especially knowing that it can create more good for others?

...which is why this shouldn't be a blog focused on my own perspective.  I want the gratitude bunnies to be fruitful and multiply.

This is the mission: share what brings you joy.  Share what you're grateful for--however big or small.  Share often or infrequently.  Know that there is a space for you to share and audience who wants to listen and celebrate with you.