I can't tell you how many times I've thought to myself how pathetic I must be in the last two months. Pathetic! Constant ups and downs of missing someone who won't even acknowledge me, who didn't even value me enough to dignify me with a face-to-face conversation about the end of our relationship. I've missed that guy so much and it has felt pathetic. Why do I miss him? I have trouble letting go.
Even amongst feelings of anger and half-joking comments to my friends about how I'd like to key his car, I missed him. A lot. For weeks I've woken up with him as the first thought in my head, several of those times starting my day with a cry because this is what it is and there's not a damn thing I can do. I cared for someone and I miss him, and that hurts.
It's a familiar process, even though it's a different relationship than my last. The other one only just stopped hurting, it seems, but otherwise still feels fresh so I can't help but note similarities in processing another chance at love lost. See I thought after my first relationship I'd never feel excited or passionate about another man. I'm a loyal person, so I thought no one else would make me feel that way, could be that comfortable and easy. I thought I'd always feel like he was missing from my life. And for a long several months it did. But even after the dust fully settled, and I'd even moved on and been hurt by another, I realized I still love him. I'm not pining, I have no desire to pursue anything, but I still care.
I noticed it a time or two over the last year, and figured it was just that not enough time had passed. Especially before having another relationship, I thought I just hadn't fully found a way to move on. While that's partially true, the attachment was real and the separation painful, felt unnatural. And that's where I came to realize something: I was wrong when I thought I'd never feel a strong connection and love again, as if I thought I'd spent what I had to give. I wouldn't recommend trying to love someone romantically more than once (I hope, if anyone else, it's only one more) because it wears on the heart, but it can be done.
Just in this past week I started to feel normal again, not like I'd forever wake up each morning and cry, prying myself out of bed. The strange thing is that even while starting to feel normal and not broken, I still miss him. I still pray for him (nearly the only prayer I can muster, lately). I still just want to sit on his couch and listen to music and talk – and that thought still makes me tear up. Even though I'm starting to heal, still...
What I learned is that love isn't meant to be a passing thing, which is why ending a relationship that had it is so very painful. The love continues to persist in you without its object. Hence grief commonly becomes a companion. Painfully it doesn't displace love. But neither did loving once already inhibit me from it again. The beautiful, hopeful thing is that it's not all used up; I have not run out of love. Same in romantic relationships as with friendships long gone, the love leftover doesn't keep us from finding that there's more to be had and more to be given.
And the stuff that remains, it's okay.
Thursday, May 11, 2017
Friday, April 28, 2017
Skateboarding, Good Tunes, & the Hots
It was about a week or two ago when I began to feel a little self-conscious that I'm still stuck on this confusing, painful end. I started to wonder if there's something wrong with me. I date a guy for a little over a month and fall head over heels hard, but it ends abruptly. Then I wait idly by for weeks in intermittent fits of anxiety to find out if he would break my heart more or indeed take me back as pondered over a lengthy cup of coffee just days after breaking up. The answer [eventually] was a firm and unkind no, which I then struggled to make sense of.
And it was a week or so ago that I thought there must be something wrong with me for missing this guy in my life who hurt me so. It occurred to me I needed a fresh start, a ray of hope: I needed to go on a date. Where does one procure a date these days? On any number of phone apps, duh. Much to my surprise, I quickly had one set up. I thought, I've dated two guys who were "my type" and had an eery amount of interests in common, maybe I should give someone I wouldn't expect a chance. I'd begun to think that having common interests was a pitfall to my relationships, so maybe I ought to look for someone who had the big things and whatever else might not matter.
Well, moral of the story is and will always be trust your gut. Which is to say, it was a dud. Part way through the date, a mere hour in, I felt relatively apathetic (in hindsight it probably also meant I wasn't actually ready to go on a date). I thought of the way I felt about Cute Coffee Shop Guy on our first date, or the Bearded Lutheran (I'm giving him that moniker as I'm sure he'd like it anyway) on our first date – pure excitement, intrigue, giddiness. Throughout processing the big breakup last year, and even this one, I've had people try to convince me that all that isn't important. This uninspiring date helped me to see otherwise.
The problem with either failed relationship wasn't ever that there was a strong mutual attraction, great chemistry, and a plethora of shared interests. Both failed for other, greater reasons that couldn't be superceded by the attraction, the chemistry, or the interests. That doesn't make their ends any less painful, or me any more hopeful, but at least I know I don't have to want for something I don't want. Of course I don't love the prospect of spending my life as a single person, but I'd rather share my life with someone I'm excited about every single day – even in their weak moments – than with just any old warm body who looks good on paper.
The blasé date helped me realize you can't force the rich, exciting, deep relationship to happen, but it sure feels fortunate and magical when you do stumble into one.
Thursday, April 27, 2017
The Familiarity of Grief
Time
Odd considering I'm late most of the time to anything, I am a keen observer of time. Okay, so maybe it's in a different sense. Anniversaries tend to stick in my memory. Recently I noticed I may have a knack for knowing any given toddler from church's age in months. I'm interested in the passage of time and how it seems to change in spite of our measurements of its passing.
Sometimes days seem to come and go in warp speed, and we drink them in with insatiable thirst. Other times, the hours, minutes, seconds seem to trudge a saunter as we hunger for sleep to take us until the next painstakingly slow day begins. I've been having the latter kind of days, just sort of waiting to feel good.
Recently, I was telling someone about my Europe trip from last May and I realized it was almost a year ago. The memory felt so distant and foreign that I was convinced for a second that it didn't even happen. I remember thinking, huh, I've been to Rome, and then thinking, that was an unbelievably long, painful year I could stand to forget.
That Old Familiar Feeling
When it really hit me that this relationship was over, I was scared, because I've known this pain so I know that the only way out is through. Last week I found myself wondering why I felt the same heavy sadness from a much shorter relationship than the longer one whose grief swallowed an entire year of my life – and it hit me, that's it: I'm grieving! (Cue the Simon and Garfunkel...) Somehow it hadn't occurred to me that, yet again and so quickly, I was experiencing a loss and mourning a possibility. The moment I recognized it as grief, I was oddly relieved. As if it's any bit disarmed by my seeing it.
Sadness hits me in the strangest moments. As part of an important revelation I've stopped avoiding it, but started letting it roll over me.
I went to Ikea last night to scheme and daydream about my new home, but it didn't occur to me until I exited the freeway that I went there with Coffee Shop Guy on a date a la 500 Days of Summer (unbelievable irony here on so many levels). Never thought the sight of sectional couches could make me nauseous and weepy, but oh they did... The moment I hit the display floor my stomach felt tight and the entire time I held back tears. We'd also picked out his new couches at a different scandinavian store just days into our then adorable sweeping romance.
In a strange moment of what felt like taunting and cruel serendipity, a little boy came running up alone and stood sobbing in the marketplace, having lost his mom and hurt his hand. It took all the weary strength I have in me not to lose it looking at his crocodile tears and subconsciously thinking, yes, losing someone, being hurt, and feeling alone is incredibly scary.
Grief is Unique and Common
While the longing to seek solace in someone I inherently cannot was familiar, this time different things hang me up than those I tripped over last year. Not more, not less, just different. Grief is grief, yet each instance of it is completely unique; each pushing through incredibly necessary. And once you know it's what's happening to you, that recognition can allow you to give yourself a little more grace for feeling like a mess.
I would dare to say grief is the worst part of human existence. It's a suffering you can't do anything to remedy, rather simply endure. It's impossible to articulate, yet it haunts you. It sneaks up and pounces when you're unsuspecting or busy. It tells you lies and then smacks you with the truth. It turns your reality on its head, forcing you into a new reality you don't want to be a part of. Maybe, if you've known it before, you'll know it when it comes around, but maybe not. If you haven't known it yourself, have grace for others and don't rush them through it. Each step forward – even the two back – is important to moving through a mourning. I revel the thought of the impact it could have if we all learned to have more grace, understanding, and compassion for the pain of life and its wake.
The only way to not be swallowed by it is to notice it is washing over you and roll with the waves.
Odd considering I'm late most of the time to anything, I am a keen observer of time. Okay, so maybe it's in a different sense. Anniversaries tend to stick in my memory. Recently I noticed I may have a knack for knowing any given toddler from church's age in months. I'm interested in the passage of time and how it seems to change in spite of our measurements of its passing.
Sometimes days seem to come and go in warp speed, and we drink them in with insatiable thirst. Other times, the hours, minutes, seconds seem to trudge a saunter as we hunger for sleep to take us until the next painstakingly slow day begins. I've been having the latter kind of days, just sort of waiting to feel good.
Recently, I was telling someone about my Europe trip from last May and I realized it was almost a year ago. The memory felt so distant and foreign that I was convinced for a second that it didn't even happen. I remember thinking, huh, I've been to Rome, and then thinking, that was an unbelievably long, painful year I could stand to forget.
That Old Familiar Feeling
When it really hit me that this relationship was over, I was scared, because I've known this pain so I know that the only way out is through. Last week I found myself wondering why I felt the same heavy sadness from a much shorter relationship than the longer one whose grief swallowed an entire year of my life – and it hit me, that's it: I'm grieving! (Cue the Simon and Garfunkel...) Somehow it hadn't occurred to me that, yet again and so quickly, I was experiencing a loss and mourning a possibility. The moment I recognized it as grief, I was oddly relieved. As if it's any bit disarmed by my seeing it.
Sadness hits me in the strangest moments. As part of an important revelation I've stopped avoiding it, but started letting it roll over me.
I went to Ikea last night to scheme and daydream about my new home, but it didn't occur to me until I exited the freeway that I went there with Coffee Shop Guy on a date a la 500 Days of Summer (unbelievable irony here on so many levels). Never thought the sight of sectional couches could make me nauseous and weepy, but oh they did... The moment I hit the display floor my stomach felt tight and the entire time I held back tears. We'd also picked out his new couches at a different scandinavian store just days into our then adorable sweeping romance.
In a strange moment of what felt like taunting and cruel serendipity, a little boy came running up alone and stood sobbing in the marketplace, having lost his mom and hurt his hand. It took all the weary strength I have in me not to lose it looking at his crocodile tears and subconsciously thinking, yes, losing someone, being hurt, and feeling alone is incredibly scary.
Grief is Unique and Common
While the longing to seek solace in someone I inherently cannot was familiar, this time different things hang me up than those I tripped over last year. Not more, not less, just different. Grief is grief, yet each instance of it is completely unique; each pushing through incredibly necessary. And once you know it's what's happening to you, that recognition can allow you to give yourself a little more grace for feeling like a mess.
I would dare to say grief is the worst part of human existence. It's a suffering you can't do anything to remedy, rather simply endure. It's impossible to articulate, yet it haunts you. It sneaks up and pounces when you're unsuspecting or busy. It tells you lies and then smacks you with the truth. It turns your reality on its head, forcing you into a new reality you don't want to be a part of. Maybe, if you've known it before, you'll know it when it comes around, but maybe not. If you haven't known it yourself, have grace for others and don't rush them through it. Each step forward – even the two back – is important to moving through a mourning. I revel the thought of the impact it could have if we all learned to have more grace, understanding, and compassion for the pain of life and its wake.
The only way to not be swallowed by it is to notice it is washing over you and roll with the waves.
Sunday, April 23, 2017
Unraveled
**Disclaimer: This piece was written pre-deconstruction of religious beliefs and faith system. Many of these beliefs inform the sentiments of the writing and are not in alignment with my values. As this is a part of my journey and an extensive blog over years, I have chosen not to remove a majority of my posts written on faith. Please as a reader, take this into consideration and take what works for you, leave what does not. I also apologize for any harm my words from this past perspective may cause to any readers.**
Questions I didn't know I had have come to the surface. The basis of everything about life is up in the air. I've begun questioning why I believe certain things that I just always have. I'm longing to experience God tangibly as I have so much of my life, and yet I feel like I'm wandering a desert in circles. Explaining this to just about anyone has been impossible, I never quite feel like I've done it justice just how uncomfortable I feel with myself and the questions. I'm stuck between feeling completely apathetic and yet not being able to live life without a deeper meaning that makes sense.
I took a break from attending church for a few weeks, then last week I went back. No certain reason other than Easter seemed like as good a time as any to break a church fast (it happened to coincide with lent, oddly). I realized I'd really missed my pastor. He's an interesting and insightful speaker, and tends to be realistic and honest. That's what kept me at the same church for so long, I liked that the pastor wasn't acting holier than others, but self-deprecating. His message on Easter was the exact one I needed, honest in that sometimes it feels like we're still losing. I've been in a long season that feels like losing, and it's so easy for anyone to look at it and say it will turn around or that God loves me, but those things don't change the reality; those things haven't eased the pain, they haven't pulled me out of bed in the morning.
Thankfully I have had my wits about me enough to know that if I don't show up things will only get worse.
Easter was a special occasion but I decided to show up to church again today. I sat in the back because I was late, which is usually a death-sentence to my concentration. Naturally I was in and out of the sermon versus my thoughts. A few times something would hit me and I felt on the edge of tears. Then came the singing. It wasn't anything particular in the songs, I just decided totalk to God as I often do during worship and sat down. I thought about all the questions, the doubt, the loneliness, the distance, the pain. Tears started creeping down my face seemingly out of nowhere.
I feel so out of place and like I'm in pieces, but I don't even understand it – yet somehow it was important that I sit in the back row at church and let slow tears evolve into an ugly cry. I needed to show up, just for that. There aren't any easy answers, there's no quick solution, there's no cure, but there's space for ugly crying in the back and hoping that hope returns and that things make sense again. Somehow, someday.
Saturday, April 15, 2017
Shifting the Lens
**Disclaimer: This piece was written pre-deconstruction of religious beliefs and faith system. Many of these beliefs inform the sentiments of the writing and are not in alignment with my values. As this is a part of my journey and an extensive blog over years, I have chosen not to remove a majority of my posts written on faith. Please as a reader, take this into consideration and take what works for you, leave what does not. I also apologize for any harm my words from this past perspective may cause to any readers.**
"I think the Kingdom is more about poetry and life than it is definitions and boundaries." – Sarah Bessey, Out of Sorts
I've turned into so much more of a hippie than I ever could've imagined. I'd always sort of thought of myself as a free spirit, I don't brush my hair very often, and I've never tried pot because I don't need a substance to make my mind go to weird places. But on a fundamental level, I recognize a lot of beliefs I hold now that I used to judge others for having.
I'm always fascinated by the ways we evolve and change. And I would go so far as to say if we're unwilling to examine why we believe what we do, and possibly even abandon some perspectives for new ones, we're missing out on life to the fullest. We are learning beings. We aren't meant to be stagnant. I know a big part of why I've felt such a struggle for a long time is that I've felt stagnant. I haven't known how to change it, how to push myself forward.
My faith is the lens through which I view the world, and it has adapted vastly over the years. It has become something I didn't think it would, but I'm so much more comfortable with it being what it is, than what it was. Growing up I had pretty defined ideas about right and wrong, good and bad, left and right. As I began to encounter other schools of thought, other perspectives, I found things that made more sense than my previous doctrine. And ideas that fit with my experiences of God; happenings over years and years that I can't do justice to explain. Over time, I've come to settle firmly on the belief that God is love. That is the primary thing anyone should ever know about Him, and the thing that when nothing else makes sense, that still does.
So when lately I've been struggling to make sense out of the lens through which I view the world, one of the few things that gives me peace is knowing that I've transformed to arrive here. I sorted through so much unknown and I've sorted through so much pain before, I'm likely on course to discovering more depth, more answers, more freedom, and, Lord willing, more love.
Friday, March 31, 2017
Rollercoaster vs. Intention
In the great yonder that is adulthood, it's always kind of been my thing to live my life with intention. I've always sort of known what I wanted to go after, or what I wanted to do and what I didn't. I've had this sense of who I am, and who I'm not. Up until the year from hell. Since I've felt like I'm away from myself; like I'm waiting to wake from a weirdly mediocre dream. I've just been living my life.
It occurred to me recently that after I lived in Paris and traveled through Vietnam, I was convinced I was going to change the world. That was six years ago now, and all I've done is live my life. I haven't done anything all that grand. And after the bad year and its residue trickling into this year in a way I didn't expect, I don't feel like I'm living with much intention.
I've been stuck on a crazy rollercoaster and there have been some things that have stood out along the twists and turns and sudden drops. A listening ear is a powerful healing tool. Showing up is key. When you feel broken into all sorts of weird pieces with sharp edges, the very thing you need around you is someone who can handle that. Being that someone to another takes intentionality.
For several years, my best friend lived two states away – a six to eight hour drive. We talked on the phone for an hour or two every week, and probably texted an obnoxious amount. She moved back to the cities two years ago now, and since we have seen each other nearly every week. For a while, it was Thursday nights. No matter what other thing I had, Thursdays were off limits. I think that consistency has saved my life. The intentionality we both put into our friendship makes it possible and meaningful. The amount of time we've logged filled with laughter, tears, and food is invaluable. She's my best friend because I can count on her and she uses intentionality in the way she does relationship.
Not long ago, I realized I don't have so many of those consistent relationships. I have flippantly flitted around and made a lot of weak friendships on fun but not a lot of effort. That's not to say the people aren't worthwhile, but the depth isn't if it detracts from having more relationships that are of greater depth.
Finally I find myself at the end of the current rollercoaster, a dating relationship that looked like a fun easy coaster at the beginning and turned out to be a high-speed nonstop wooden corkscrew. As it pulls to a stop, I'm of course nauseous and disoriented. There are the people who are there to help you off, hold a bag while you barf, and put an arm around you to help you stumble away.
I'm really tired of being the mess. It's been a while since I've felt like as big of one as I've been for over a year now. Whenever things have been good for anything that classifies as a stretch, I'm hesitant to admit it to anyone who asks, for fear of crying wolf and being a sad hermit mere moments later. I look at the ones who've been there for me, and I want to be them – not for the lack of my pain, but because I admire them. I want to be the one living with intentionality again, not the mess that needs someone to just listen for an hour. I want to be the one that sacrifices bedtime because her friend needs someone to go to a concert with instead of being alone. I want to be the one who listens and says I'm sorry.
It can be easier to live without being intentional. Flutter around on whatever wind may carry you. But then you're not the master of the direction your life is headed. There's so much of life that's out of our control, such as whether someone loves us back, but there's just as much that is a choice, such as loving without expectation of return. I ran myself dry giving away all my love in the wrong places, but when I get filled back up...I hope I've learned enough to use it well.
It occurred to me recently that after I lived in Paris and traveled through Vietnam, I was convinced I was going to change the world. That was six years ago now, and all I've done is live my life. I haven't done anything all that grand. And after the bad year and its residue trickling into this year in a way I didn't expect, I don't feel like I'm living with much intention.
I've been stuck on a crazy rollercoaster and there have been some things that have stood out along the twists and turns and sudden drops. A listening ear is a powerful healing tool. Showing up is key. When you feel broken into all sorts of weird pieces with sharp edges, the very thing you need around you is someone who can handle that. Being that someone to another takes intentionality.
For several years, my best friend lived two states away – a six to eight hour drive. We talked on the phone for an hour or two every week, and probably texted an obnoxious amount. She moved back to the cities two years ago now, and since we have seen each other nearly every week. For a while, it was Thursday nights. No matter what other thing I had, Thursdays were off limits. I think that consistency has saved my life. The intentionality we both put into our friendship makes it possible and meaningful. The amount of time we've logged filled with laughter, tears, and food is invaluable. She's my best friend because I can count on her and she uses intentionality in the way she does relationship.
Not long ago, I realized I don't have so many of those consistent relationships. I have flippantly flitted around and made a lot of weak friendships on fun but not a lot of effort. That's not to say the people aren't worthwhile, but the depth isn't if it detracts from having more relationships that are of greater depth.
Finally I find myself at the end of the current rollercoaster, a dating relationship that looked like a fun easy coaster at the beginning and turned out to be a high-speed nonstop wooden corkscrew. As it pulls to a stop, I'm of course nauseous and disoriented. There are the people who are there to help you off, hold a bag while you barf, and put an arm around you to help you stumble away.
I'm really tired of being the mess. It's been a while since I've felt like as big of one as I've been for over a year now. Whenever things have been good for anything that classifies as a stretch, I'm hesitant to admit it to anyone who asks, for fear of crying wolf and being a sad hermit mere moments later. I look at the ones who've been there for me, and I want to be them – not for the lack of my pain, but because I admire them. I want to be the one living with intentionality again, not the mess that needs someone to just listen for an hour. I want to be the one that sacrifices bedtime because her friend needs someone to go to a concert with instead of being alone. I want to be the one who listens and says I'm sorry.
It can be easier to live without being intentional. Flutter around on whatever wind may carry you. But then you're not the master of the direction your life is headed. There's so much of life that's out of our control, such as whether someone loves us back, but there's just as much that is a choice, such as loving without expectation of return. I ran myself dry giving away all my love in the wrong places, but when I get filled back up...I hope I've learned enough to use it well.
Monday, March 27, 2017
The Thing About Enduring
The song's words hit me, the beat matching the pace of my feet, and I felt something starting to crawl up out of me – don't breakdown at the gym.
A treadmill run is different than a run on pavement, concrete, and dirt. I listen to music on a treadmill so I don't have to hear the repetitive thud of my feet with each labored step, let alone the grunts of the guys who are trying too hard in the nearby weight-lifting area. I have a playlist of trusty songs that help set the mood. Tunes or not, I use running as a time to think through things in my life. I focus in on something and I "run it out", or run toward it. I know it could sound silly, but for some reason when my body is in that intense of motion and I'm pushing that hard, it's the perfect time to think through the tough things and remind myself I can survive; remind myself I am enough.
That run, that day, that one familiar song hit me in just the right way.
To endure means to continue, last or survive; to suffer without yielding, to suffer with patience.
I thought about how I got where I did with running, I had to push past a lot of resistance in myself. In moments like that one, and usually a moment in every run, there's a choice. It's an incredibly fine line, but it's still a choice: push on in spite of a block, physical or mental – or slow down, even stop. Usually if you can push, there's this feeling like you're weightless, your breaths are effortless, and your body is a machine. I lovingly call it the zone. I hope for a stretch of it in every run.
Sometimes a song will put me in the zone and that day that song did. I realized that enduring through something in life is the same. Like running, if you don't press on through a difficulty, you don't get to the good stuff. You have to endure to get to the place where you are floating and breathing easy and moving forward.
The summer before last, an injury caused me to take several months off from running. When I came back to it, it was so difficult I was sure all that I'd put in over the span of about three years was lost. I'd lost my breath, and when that was working my muscles weren't, and if it wasn't one of those it was my motivation. It became so much work it wasn't enjoyable and I could not get to the place that made it all worth while. My body was no longer a machine. However, over only a few weeks recently, pushing through the discomfort and the disappointment has brought me back to the place where I can do it and I love it.
And that's the thing about enduring, it takes an intentional push to get through to a better place.
A treadmill run is different than a run on pavement, concrete, and dirt. I listen to music on a treadmill so I don't have to hear the repetitive thud of my feet with each labored step, let alone the grunts of the guys who are trying too hard in the nearby weight-lifting area. I have a playlist of trusty songs that help set the mood. Tunes or not, I use running as a time to think through things in my life. I focus in on something and I "run it out", or run toward it. I know it could sound silly, but for some reason when my body is in that intense of motion and I'm pushing that hard, it's the perfect time to think through the tough things and remind myself I can survive; remind myself I am enough.
That run, that day, that one familiar song hit me in just the right way.
I'll give you one more chanceIt nearly knocked the wind out of me and my eyes welled up. I fought it. I pushed and breathed through it. And then I thought about how a friend told me the other day she was proud of me for enduring. Although I questioned if it were true, I also immediately thought she hit it right on the mark. I have endured things I didn't know I could, and I am enduring right now. Endurance isn't easy or pretty, but it takes strength, patience, and drive.
To say we can change or part ways
And you take what you need
And you don't need me
...
And you know you don't need me
And if I recover
Will you be my comfort
Or it can be over
Or we can just leave it here
To endure means to continue, last or survive; to suffer without yielding, to suffer with patience.
I thought about how I got where I did with running, I had to push past a lot of resistance in myself. In moments like that one, and usually a moment in every run, there's a choice. It's an incredibly fine line, but it's still a choice: push on in spite of a block, physical or mental – or slow down, even stop. Usually if you can push, there's this feeling like you're weightless, your breaths are effortless, and your body is a machine. I lovingly call it the zone. I hope for a stretch of it in every run.
Sometimes a song will put me in the zone and that day that song did. I realized that enduring through something in life is the same. Like running, if you don't press on through a difficulty, you don't get to the good stuff. You have to endure to get to the place where you are floating and breathing easy and moving forward.
The summer before last, an injury caused me to take several months off from running. When I came back to it, it was so difficult I was sure all that I'd put in over the span of about three years was lost. I'd lost my breath, and when that was working my muscles weren't, and if it wasn't one of those it was my motivation. It became so much work it wasn't enjoyable and I could not get to the place that made it all worth while. My body was no longer a machine. However, over only a few weeks recently, pushing through the discomfort and the disappointment has brought me back to the place where I can do it and I love it.
And that's the thing about enduring, it takes an intentional push to get through to a better place.
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