Dec. 19 Healing. What healed you this year? Was it sudden, or a drip-by-drip evolution? How would you like to be healed in 2011? -Leonie Allan
Dec. 20 Beyond avoidance. What should you have done this year but didn't because you were too scared, worried, unsure, busy or otherwise deterred from doing? (Bonus: Will you do it?) -Jake Nickell
Dec. 21 Future self. Imagine yourself five years from now. What advice would you give your current self for the year ahead? (Bonus: Write a note to yourself 10 years ago. What would you tell your younger self?) -Jenny Blake
Dear 47 year-old me:
If 2010 was the most chaotic year of your marriage, 2011 was still a doozy. But as usual, the two of you pulled through. The lesson of 2010 was that in order to heal, you must learn to endure the pain with patience, because things may get much worse before they get better. The bottom may have been a lot further down than you initially realized, but there was a bottom. And once you hit it, you found it was something to push off of, to stabilize you during your climb back up. It was a good lesson to have under your belt for 2011, with both of your continued health challenges.
First and foremost, were all of the surgeries. First the foot surgery, to remove the metal you had developed an allergy to. After what you endured after the foot surgery in 2010, this turned out to be a breeze, and you were back on your feet within a month. Then DH's brain surgery, both planned, yet scheduled abruptly, when his epilepsy and seizures took a turn for the worse. As scared as you were for your husband, and as concerned as you were about your finances, both survived. Not without a little too much angst on your part, crtclms. But the fact that you both had endured so much in 2010 made your bond and your faith in yourselves stronger.
The outcome of the brain surgery wasn't the miracle you had hoped for, but it did help with DH's seizures. He became much more responsive to anti-epileptics. He even got his driver's license back.
Then your right eye, the one that was practically blind, and which worsened considerably in 2010, was finally treated. You had been so frightened of the idea of eye surgery, or worse, of losing sight in that eye altogether, that you had totally ignored the problem from that day in October, 2009 that you were told your eye was beyond regular opthalmological care. Then suddenly, the scare in December of 2010, when your sight got abruptly worse. That was scary. And the fact is that it was an unusual and uncomfortable treatment. But the results were worth it: No more night-blindness, no more cars and street lamps throwing halos of light, rather than beams, no more holding books inches from your nose to read regular-sized print, no more hitting the apple key and + over and over again to make sites legible, if distorted.
And on top of that, you worked hard at pulling your financial picture together again, at the same time that you planned a somewhat extravagant 10th wedding anniversary. 10 years of physical disaster after physical disaster, 10 years of joy in and with each other. Years of penny-pinching as you got your marriage started, then years of largess. Followed by 2010, when you became two of millions of victims of the Great Recession.
But while 2010 proved your marriage, 2011 celebrated it. All your life, you had resisted being so reliant on one other person, fearing the idea of merging with them. You feared loss of identity. But in 2010, you realized the strength of two individuals, joined like a mortise and tenon at Stonehenge, create a simple but strong and durable bond, that is stronger than either person alone. The quotation from your wedding ceremony by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry seems to have proved an important tenet in your marriage:
While you lived your marriage day by day, you both were committed to keeping your marriage moving in concert with both of your future dreams.
In 2013, you finally made the big trip to Australia, so that DH could see the country you love so much. It was odd to have a sister living permanently abroad, and you will always feel a little sad that you never had the chance to live overseas. But you made different choices than your sister, and have a happy life.
That was for your 50th birthday, and now your 60th is much closer than I would like to admit. But if I could offer advice to the 47 year-old me/you, here are some of the tidbits I have to share, in my extreme decrepitude:
And of course, you took the time yearly to renew yourself at the Oregon Country Fair, with Nakedjen and friends.
You still miss Bess and Violet. You always will. Your current dog is as lovable as they come, but different. Sometimes you still cry from missing both of them.
DH and I are about to celebrate your 20th wedding anniversary. Congratulations to us all! May we share many more years.
Love,
57 year-old me
P.S. And after all these years, I still can't get the fonts to work properly on Blogger!
Dear 47 year-old me:
If 2010 was the most chaotic year of your marriage, 2011 was still a doozy. But as usual, the two of you pulled through. The lesson of 2010 was that in order to heal, you must learn to endure the pain with patience, because things may get much worse before they get better. The bottom may have been a lot further down than you initially realized, but there was a bottom. And once you hit it, you found it was something to push off of, to stabilize you during your climb back up. It was a good lesson to have under your belt for 2011, with both of your continued health challenges.
First and foremost, were all of the surgeries. First the foot surgery, to remove the metal you had developed an allergy to. After what you endured after the foot surgery in 2010, this turned out to be a breeze, and you were back on your feet within a month. Then DH's brain surgery, both planned, yet scheduled abruptly, when his epilepsy and seizures took a turn for the worse. As scared as you were for your husband, and as concerned as you were about your finances, both survived. Not without a little too much angst on your part, crtclms. But the fact that you both had endured so much in 2010 made your bond and your faith in yourselves stronger.
The outcome of the brain surgery wasn't the miracle you had hoped for, but it did help with DH's seizures. He became much more responsive to anti-epileptics. He even got his driver's license back.
Then your right eye, the one that was practically blind, and which worsened considerably in 2010, was finally treated. You had been so frightened of the idea of eye surgery, or worse, of losing sight in that eye altogether, that you had totally ignored the problem from that day in October, 2009 that you were told your eye was beyond regular opthalmological care. Then suddenly, the scare in December of 2010, when your sight got abruptly worse. That was scary. And the fact is that it was an unusual and uncomfortable treatment. But the results were worth it: No more night-blindness, no more cars and street lamps throwing halos of light, rather than beams, no more holding books inches from your nose to read regular-sized print, no more hitting the apple key and + over and over again to make sites legible, if distorted.
And on top of that, you worked hard at pulling your financial picture together again, at the same time that you planned a somewhat extravagant 10th wedding anniversary. 10 years of physical disaster after physical disaster, 10 years of joy in and with each other. Years of penny-pinching as you got your marriage started, then years of largess. Followed by 2010, when you became two of millions of victims of the Great Recession.
But while 2010 proved your marriage, 2011 celebrated it. All your life, you had resisted being so reliant on one other person, fearing the idea of merging with them. You feared loss of identity. But in 2010, you realized the strength of two individuals, joined like a mortise and tenon at Stonehenge, create a simple but strong and durable bond, that is stronger than either person alone. The quotation from your wedding ceremony by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry seems to have proved an important tenet in your marriage:
"Life has taught us that love does not consist in gazing at each other but in looking outward together in the same direction."
While you lived your marriage day by day, you both were committed to keeping your marriage moving in concert with both of your future dreams.
In 2013, you finally made the big trip to Australia, so that DH could see the country you love so much. It was odd to have a sister living permanently abroad, and you will always feel a little sad that you never had the chance to live overseas. But you made different choices than your sister, and have a happy life.
That was for your 50th birthday, and now your 60th is much closer than I would like to admit. But if I could offer advice to the 47 year-old me/you, here are some of the tidbits I have to share, in my extreme decrepitude:
- Everything is going to be okay. Yes, the unknown is scary, and makes you anxious. Yes, the path may be difficult. But your failures have often been more rewarding than your successes.
- Stop feeling guilty for not living a life you are not suited for, even if it is what was expected of you. I can't believe this still bothers you, frankly. You know better, and have given this exact advice to dozens of friends. Now take it yourself.
- You still do not owe your mother any more of your life. Be polite. Accept that you will be devastated by her death, but will have a hard time feeling anything positive about her until then
- You are very much like your father. His life did not end happily. Learn from his example.
- Live in the now, stop trying to get a jump on the future. It isn't possible in the current space-time continuum.
- This is very hard, but try not to live in fear of your illnesses: Don't let fear of the next episode invade your periods of good health, and enjoy your wellness.
- Your psychiatrist has prescribed you Xanax because you need it. Now listen to his advice, and stop being afraid of it. It will improve your quality of life. Needing a medication is not the same thing as being addicted to it.
And of course, you took the time yearly to renew yourself at the Oregon Country Fair, with Nakedjen and friends.
You still miss Bess and Violet. You always will. Your current dog is as lovable as they come, but different. Sometimes you still cry from missing both of them.
Bess
Violet
DH and I are about to celebrate your 20th wedding anniversary. Congratulations to us all! May we share many more years.
Love,
57 year-old me
P.S. And after all these years, I still can't get the fonts to work properly on Blogger!
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