Day 28

Celebrating the New Year is a time for reflection and looking ahead. It is a time for beginning anew and forgetting the past. Yet I have never really been one to celebrate through sequence and stilettos nor prime rib and lobster.

For my final task, I decided to take a solo trip to Santa Fe. I have never been and had planned on leaving since last March when struck by illness. So today seemed like a perfect time for it all... leaving Colorado in 2009 and returning in 2010!

The true experience began early this afternoon when I was headed over to my mom's to say, "So long" and be on my way down the highway. To my surprise, both my mom and sister (and 6 month old niece) decided that they'd be both my travel companions as well as my New Year's dates.

Typically, I am very comfortable jumping in my car and driving. I may drive to Aurora, I may drive to Portland. I even have aspirations to drive to South America someday. I suppose you could say that road trips are sort of comforting to me, so having unexpected passengers is, no doubt, the most appropriate way to end my project of new experiences.

Throughout the 6-1/2 turned 8 hour trek, I single-handedly taught my sister how to correctly read a map, act as Western Colorado tour guide for my mom, and simultaneously become a "wild thing" that even Max would be afraid of.

It is now a little before the infamous ball-drop, and a great time for me to do my own reflecting and forward-looking. I am fairly confident that all of these daily tasks I have been carrying out have only been bringing me closer to actualizing a very prosperous New Year.

Love and goodwill to ALL...

Day 27

Today I set out with a specific goal in mind: to compliment every stranger that crossed my path. Sounds fairly simple, right? Everyone likes compliments, right?!

There are two things that made this scenario less than desirable. 1) People don't like to talk to people they don't know, and 2) Often times compliments are perceived as something sinister with alternate personal motives. An uneasy combination of these two factors, made it extremely difficult to accomplish such a simple task.

I realized fairly quickly, after having a rushed encounter with the checkout clerk at the grocery store, that if I was going to make this work, I would have to establish some sort of presence with the stranger first. For some reason, without such a presence the compliment couldn't occur. I couldn't get it out of my mouth into the world and the timing was off somewhere dreaming of sugarplums or fairies.

Once I wasn't being rushed by post-holiday shoppers standing in queue, the task became a bit easier and a bit more natural. It really isn't hard to compliment strangers, and I think I actually do it on a more regular frequency than I would have otherwise thought. "I really love your necklace." "Those boots are fantastic." "Your baby is so beautiful."

These compliments could be left alone, just as they were, and that would be sufficient enough. But sometimes these compliments create something even more wonderful: a conversation.

Every conversation and every encounter needs to begin somewhere. What better place than to start it with a compliment. If the world could just learn to trust those compliments more, we would all be much better off.

Day 26

About 10 months ago my life, as I knew it, was transformed into something very dark and very scary. From that point on, I spent everyday wishing for a new one until I found my health again.

Throughout this time, small glimpses of the true meaning of life became slowly apparent to me. Imagine throwing a handful of confetti into the air and watching it fall at half the speed. Once I regained my physical self back, my mental and emotional self had changed. I now realize, with much more clarity, the benefits of treating each day as if there weren't another. I realize that the world is right in front of me to go out and explore.

With my new sense of self and living I am armed with one of the most powerful tools in all of the world: motivation.

In the last few months I have spent most of my time attempting to grasp who I am and who I want to be. Without teaching and coaching to occupy me and pull me back into reality, I was left wandering inside my head. Daily conversations with my own synapses left me acknowledging a great need for change in my current game plan. Not knowing what sort of change ought to occur, my wandering increased and my abilities to carry on coherent conversations with others decreased at a rapid pace.

What does change look like?

After searching far and wide, I have determined that a change IS in order. I hoped very heavily that the change would come naturally, without effort, and I would live happily ever after. However, I am not sure it should be so easy. There are so many areas of my life that I could alter, but what would be the brightest path to travel? So, today I thought I would take a giant leap down a path and see where it may lead me.

Today I filled out an application to obtain a teaching certificate in British Columbia. From what I have researched, it is both a fairly simple process as well as a complex stack of fill-in-the-blank papers. Now, before some of you panic about me becoming a Canadian citizen (Mom, Kels, and Grandma)... I am doing this as a trial, mostly. I want to explore some options with the full-knowledge that I can always turn around and go back from where I came. That is the beauty of this change. I am completely confident in knowing that if I make the wrong choice I can always go back here.

You may be wondering, "Why this?" Here is the simplest explanation I can muster without showing too much of my current psychoses: In the physical and emotional wandering that I have been experiencing, I have begun to think that one of the easiest ways to transform your life and challenge your current existence is by removing yourself from your comforts. Truth be told, I am at an age where the crossroads are getting further down the horizon and I will be left with fewer options as I wait. I am not saying that I am entirely ready to take this leap; however, I can say that I am ready to explore it.

With all that said, I know I'd make a pretty good Kanuk, eh?

Day 25

Death is something that people don't like to ponder. They don't like to think about it, to talk about it, or--least of all-- prepare for it.

I understand this completely, seeing as death is everyone's final mission. Death is the thing that lets you know that no matter how hard you try there is no going back. It is a dark reminder that you may not have done everything that you sought out to or that you may not have lived with the courage you intended. No matter how you look at it, death is despicable.

There are two types of death in my opinion, your own death and the death of others. To me, these events have stark contrast in inflicting emotion. When pondering my own demise, I don't feel much pain or anxiety, truly believing in a fatalist's world that "things happen for a reason". However, when adjusting my image to the death of others, emotions begin to heighten and my stomach churns in knots that wrench my insides.

This pain that I feel throughout my insides stems from a fairly selfish place. I don't want to know what the world is like without you in it. It is as simple as that. Yet, the Universe has yet to heed my request. Death cannot be stopped.

With a slight shudder to think, I began my quest for today with this in mind. Today I wrote my very own will. Truth be told, I needed some help; so I called out the forces of Microsoft Word to create me a template for such things. How am I supposed to know what a will should look like or sound like, for that matter?

So I sat down with it and filled in the blanks of the names of my loved ones that would be the rightful owners to my memories, if given the chance. It felt strange, and a bit unnatural--and not because it was about death-- because it was a stupid template that was creating my words for me. So, I started over.

I think that it was a good pal that encouraged me to do this before I left for India the first time. I didn't, but she's a smart girl, so I should probably have done it sooner. She told me that any written form should do, so I have now taken this approach. So basically I started from scratch, writing a letter as if I were no longer a mere speck on this planet.

It was a strange feeling, almost like I was expecting to die. Gross. I forced myself out of that idea and wrote from my heart. I wrote a letter to be read by everyone as if I had to go before saying goodbye. It was brief, although just as powerful as I would want a "goodbye" to be. I attempted encouraging words rather than legal mumbo-jumbo assigning my various financials. This felt right. This felt so much better and almost soothing to know that I will always have a chance to say goodbye, at anytime.

Like I said before, death is not something that is easy to talk about, nor should it be. Death should not take precedence over life, at any one time, although I do feel lighter having spent 20 minutes on it today.

As for now, I will go out and LIVE. I will continue my quest for knowledge, happiness, character, culture, and discovery. I will not dwell in the concept of death, but rather acknowledge its presence and encourage myself to live larger because of it.

Day 24

Social networking websites, frightfully, are the doorways of our current futures. I realize this, fairly reluctantly, because something about social networking via the internet alarms me a bit. I feel like you lose a little bit of yourself through cyberspace, and there is always that crucial piece that cannot be transmitted through. However, I realize that technology is the means for a better future for most of us, so jump on the bandwagon I go.

Today I have created an educational group on the Facebook network. This group was created from a bundle of jumbled thoughts that have been swimming around in my head for several years. Taking what I have learned from being a coach, teacher, friend, outcast, and traveler I have come to realize that there is something very important in our world that should be important for EVERYONE, but often gets neglected: Education. Now, I am not necessarily speaking of education in the traditional, wood-painted-plastic-desks-in-rows sort of way, but rather in a more worldly, yet self-reflective sort of sense.

To create this group, I have outlined 5 different aspects that I feel are crucial in becoming a productive citizen of the world and have encouraged the members of these groups to take on these aspects as projects, much like I have been doing for the past 24 days or longer. I have invited everyone that I know that uses Facebook, in hopes that this group will actually have an impact on how people create their own lives through education. I truly feel that anyone can benefit from creating projects around these 5 categories that I have outlined in the profile page of this online group.

I have been sitting on these ideas, in one way or another, for years... never really knowing how to put it all together in a fruitful manner. By creating this group today, I will be considering this a stepping stone for me (and hopefully for many others too) to continue to realize my dreams for myself and others. Hopefully this group will not only create further steps for me, but maybe spin me into other ways of making ideals like mine more of a reality in the future.

Day 23

Throughout this process, some of my experiences have been ones that I would never have done if it weren't for this project. However, some of the tasks that I have been undertaking are ones that I have thought of in the past andm for one reason or another, I haven't quite made it to the accomplishment-part of those ideas. Today was a perfect example of the latter.

Due to a tea party-themed baby shower I have become the rightful owner of a myriad of tea cups and other supplies that I am sure only the Mad Hatter himself would approve of. Once the shower was over and the dust had settled on that event, a garage sale was definitely in order.

While on bed rest, there were few things that I could do to truly occupy my mind and my time. One of the simple pleasures that I sought out quite regularly was list-making. This skill quickly turned into the realization that I was overwhelmed and over-outfitted with "stuff". Needless to say, the overdone garage sale turned out to be a little less than a hit, save the neighbors that stopped by to shop or to chat it up about the pavement or something.

Directly to the west of me resides a retired couple who seem to care for me from afar. I know that they are always very concerned for my well being and are caught watching over me every now and again. I take great comfort in this. At one point during my garage sale, the wife of the couple came by to see how things were going. After glancing around at the worn goods, her eyes rested upon a creamy ceramic teapot with delicate violet molded flowers carousel-ing around the lid. She let it be known that she would purchase this pot if no one else was interested by the end of the sale. She left and went about her day. We all did.

Now it is several months later and I had ALMOST long since forgotten about that teapot and the exchange with my neighbor... until today.

Waiting far past nightfall, I ventured over to the edge of the yard, teapot in hand, and left the gift that I should have given several months ago. It's strange how it was such a simple deed, yet it took this project to remind me of it. It is a shame, really, how I needed such a reminder. By far that has been one of the most helpful things about this whole project. It gives me a wonderful chance to look at my life on a daily basis and reflect as to what I am doing, what I should be doing, and what I will be doing.

I hope to take this feeling with me once this is all over. I want to reach down into my pocket for a piece of gum and pull out the feeling of accomplishment and reward along with it. I want to look in the mirror while brushing my teeth at night and see specks of experiences and tasks that led me to that very moment. I hope that this teaches me to remain more "in the moment" while creating good choices for me and my world that surrounds me.

Day 22

The holidays are heavily centered around giving to others and helping those in need. But what happens when all of the giving and helping you try still doesn't fix it?

A couple weeks ago, a friend approached me with a fabulous experience to partake in on Christmas night. Her church has arranged a warming center to open on evenings where the temperature drops below freezing and/or there is some sort of precipitation falling from the sky. During the winter months this center is used virtually every night. From what I understand, there typically isn't a shortage of volunteers, except for on holiday nights such as Christmas.

Immediately I agreed to help out. What a wonderful way to spend my Christmas night! I wasn't really sure what I was getting into, but I knew that it would be a memorable experience for me.

After following written directions, I arrived to a bare parking lot. I parked and searched desperately for any sort of signage that would let me know that I was in the right place. Uncertain, I approached a man who was outside smoking a cigarette in the cold. I asked him if this was the church that I was looking for. With a puzzled expression on his face he grumbled something faintly reminiscent of words and opened the door. I entered, rather hesitantly, still unsure as to whether I was at the right place or not. Within mere moments of entering the building, my olfactory senses overwhelmed me with the acknowledgement of body odor. My guess was that I was in the right place.

The scene was unlike anything I have ever been a part of. There were literally dozens of men (and one woman), with blankets laid out in rows marking their fabric-specified territories for the night. Some were up and eating popcorn, sipping coffee, chatting with others, or simply reading one of the books pulled from the shelves. Others had already tucked themselves in for the night, with sweaters and loaner blankets covering virtually every piece of their bodies. Right away I was asked by a man who smelled a bit of whiskey if he could give me a hug. I obliged.

Two hours later, it was "lights out". I felt like I was volunteering at some summer camp, albeit a summer camp for overly intoxicated middle-aged boys. In the darkness there were snickers and giggles. At various points the men would get up to dance around a bit or yell at someone sleeping too close to them. One man in particular (the man who greeted me in embrace of all people) was escorted out of the building for refusing to be quiet. He had a kind soul and talked very highly of dogs. At one point he told my friend that he'd give her dog everything he owned, and wouldn't give her a thing. Touching.

After about an hour of "No More Monkeys Jumping On the Bed!" the room began to finally calm, when all of the sudden I heard some of the harshest breathing I have ever heard coming from the hallway that leads outside. Moving over towards where the sound was coming from, my mind flashed all kinds of thoughts about the origin of such a breath. Finally my ears followed keenly to a door. Glancing upward, the sign told me that it was the men's restroom. As soon as my brain tried to form a discussion about the pros and cons of entering the men's restroom when it was so blatantly inhabited by heavy breathing, one of the male staff members approached me to see what I was up to. I didn't have to explain the breathing, he heard it too.

The staff member propped open the door to find a man, soaking wet. He had fallen in the creek. Kicking into overdrive, I explained to the staff member that he needed to get out of his clothes and ran to grab some extra loaner blankets. Luckily, after only a few minutes, the soaking man began to liven up. I served him some coffee. He is fortunate tonight.

Among so many others, I met a Harvard scholar who goes by the name of "General". I met a kid that couldn't have been any older than 17 who suffered from bipolarism and was trying to get back on his feet with the help of a new cell phone given to him by his mom earlier in the day. I also met a man by the name of "Rabbit". He carried handfuls of sample-sized products in his duffel bag and was bragging about the fact that he had different toothpastes for morning and for night. He wore a black leather vest and no shirt.

For some, this experience might have seemed excruciating; but for me, it was terribly enlightening. There are so many people who need help in simple ways: like a shelter. But this is only a quick-fix to a much more involved and convoluted problem. These men were all cohorts, in one way or another. They came back to this warming center at every stop they could, and as it appeared, with very little desire or hope of changing things. I tried to look at their lifestyles in an optimistic view-- being able to travel on a whim, having no one to have to answer to, things like this.

Perhaps this is why all of these people ended up here tonight. This is the way they have intended things. Perhaps there were unsettling circumstances that led them to where they are tonight. All that I know is that a warm place to stay for the night is both the thing they needed most AND the thing they needed least.

Day 21

Today I began with a very specific goal: I wanted simply to see how long I could swim. This is something that I've pondered quite often for a very long time. In doing this project, I realized, "What better day than Christmas Eve." And that is how my day began.

Knowing full well that my body works more like a machine than anything else when swimming, I was uncertain how long I could really go. It is usually referred to as the "insatiable endurance", and I pride myself on it very much. In thinking about it, I only hoped to be able to last as long as it took me to run a marathon a couple years back (just over 3 hours).

I think that one of the reasons that I haven't tried this task before is that I was scared that I was overly confident and overly proud of my physical capabilities. I mean, you have to get tired at some point, right?! So I have to say that embarking on this project has absolutely forced me to do things that I may have thought about for awhile, but just not yet had the courage to take the plunge... quite literally.

This plunge was more of a plop. The water was cold, but I felt prepared. I had chosen my gear wisely today. Rummaging through my basket of swimsuits for the softest, most comfortable ones. I picked the goggles that love my eye sockets almost as much as I do and a swim cap with just the right amount of grip. And so it goes... 25... 50... 75... 100. With every stroke I was immediately overcome with the looming anxiety of potential disappointment. I have always trusted my body in the water, far more than on any land. I've never needed anything extra to adapt my swimming, which has always meant so much to me. What if my body really CAN give out? What if I am not as strong as I think I am?

The first 1000 yards was the most grueling. Every lap gave me a keener notion of how cold the water was. My skin was tightening into little bumps acknowledging the vicious temperature change. My goggles were too tight, or not tight enough. My arm was going numb, the way it tends to do so often to remind me of the power that nerves have, especially when they are being constricted by your elbow joints. All of my concentration was placed upon negative things and the fear began to drown me.

Wait! I can control how I feel and what I think of this! I began to tell myself to focus on each stroke and note how the pull of the water feels and how wonderful it is to be able to feel such a thing.

Once my focus shifted a bit, I began to think only of the NOW and that lofty goal of yardage faded with my pains. The anxiety was gone. Imagine that: it wasn't about the end result after all. Yes, I feel quite accomplished to have finished 5000 yards in just over 3 hours of swim time; however, more importantly it was the process of getting there. It was coaching myself through the pain. It was engaging in a direct connection to my mind and body. It was forcing myself to feel everything and move on.

Only because I am so competitive and an over-achieving wannabe I will tell you that I did not quit because I was tired or even bored. Through this whole process, my mind and my body learned to work in sync with each other, giving me a heightened sense of my overall being. And that is the greatest practice that anyone can undertake.

Perhaps I will make this a new tradition. Let's go for 4 hours next Christmas Eve...

Day 20

Brr... what I wouldn't give to be a kid again sometimes and actually enjoy when it snows. Nowadays I get caught up in thinking about how horrible my drive is going to be, or the inevitability of shoveling my ramp, or simply how cold and wet my hands become from those little frozen teardrops.

Today I wanted to change that. It is all about how you perceive things anyways, isn't it? Once my seasonal chore of shoveling was over I took some of the remaining snow along the edges of my walkway and started to attempt a sphere shape.

Apparently it has been a long time since I was a kid because the way NOT to make a snowman is by molding sphere shapes between your hands. This simply doesn't work. The snow was stubborn and wanted to remain its quintessential flakes full of uniqueness and individuality. They wouldn't melt enough to form together so I had to come up with a Plan B.

This plan went a little smoother. Starting from the base of my walkway, I began packing the snow, working upwards until I developed a mount that was more reminiscent of an anthill rather than a snowman. It was a good thing that I came prepared. I quickly outfitted my little frozen man with all of the appropriate appendages and attire: unused scarf from the corner of my closet, half of a carrot nose, little black button eyes (which ended up being different sizes and caused the little guy to look a bit worried), and a big red button in the middle of his torso to simulate some sort of clothing.

Maybe it is because I tend to get really mesmerized by the crafts that I take on, or maybe it is because I had a little bit of that kid still in me after all these years; but whatever the case, my snowman construction took away all of the anxiety, disappointment, and bothersome feelings of snow.

This little guy taught me that it is how you look at things that make all the difference. If you spend your days with anxiety on certain matters, those matters will plague you. If you change your thinking and those matters no longer cause negative emotions, things might start to appear in a whole new light.

One of the most powerful things that I have learned through all of my experiences here on Earth is that the world really only exists the way that I perceive it. When the world is good and right, it is so because I feel it to be. When the world is dark and full of despair, it is so for the very same reasons. If you learn to control the way that you see and feel the world, then you can actually change how you live in the world.

It's so fascinating that all of this came about from one little snowman.

Day 19

It's funny for me to think that the only Christmas cards I sent out this year were to complete and total strangers. Allow me to explain...

Today I came across this website appropriately named, "Wish Upon A Hero." Through this website you can either make a wish or choose to grant one for someone else. What a fantastic community of individuals who have pledged to help people overcome obstacles, find their silver lining, and resume their faith in mankind.

On this site there is an entire section dedicated solely to sending cards. Immediately I thought that this sounded like a perfect fit to my day. So there I was, before I knew it, standing in the greeting card aisle starring into the streamlined sea of happy birthdays and get wells. In the empty shelves where the Christmas greetings once lived, I scrounged around until I found a small pack of 6 rectangular cards with the simple word of JOY placed on the front in an array of greens and reds. This was perfect. Along with that pack I also managed to pick up a few other birthday cards, seeing as some of the wish requests were actually for birthday cards rather than Christmas cards.

The people who created the wishes created them with very specific concerns in mind. Some were requesting for friends or relatives who have had a rough year. Some were requesting for others who may not make it to another holiday. There were even some who requested cards for themselves as a special gift through their own initiation.

I spent over an hour constructing the most appropriate, cheerful, and individualized messages into each and every card. For some of the cards I had a small paragraph-worth of a background on the recipient, others I didn't even have a name. Working with these things in mind, I tried to imagine the person that I was writing to. I tried very hard to find a true image of them so as to write the words that they could be longing to hear from this stranger. I also tried to picture what each of them would look like as they tore open the envelope from a stranger they were never to know.

Some of the best ways to touch one's life is through a simple gesture. Those cards are essentially colorful, folded pieces of paper. The words are sent from my heart, as best as I could for an unknown soul. The fact of the matter is that what I did today didn't take much out of me. It cost me little money and caused me to expend little effort... but the impact that such little things can have can be GREAT. That is my wish for today.

Day 18

This project has been, so far, like a giant catalyst to one of the most influential experiences of my life. For one, it has accelerated me to contact several people from my past and write letters to corporate mongers with words of advice. AND now it has given me the inspiration to write someone who has given me inspiration.

Today I wrote the director of a program known as Pennies For Peace. Coincidentally, she works out of her home in Evergreen. (That, too, may be one of the reasons I felt compelled to write her.) I came across this program while doing research on another program known as the Central Asia Institute, chronicled and highlighted in the bestselling book, "Three Cups Of Tea" by Greg Mortenson and David Oliver Relin. After finishing this book, I felt as though my life had been changed forever. My desire to change the world through education only became stronger and louder... pumping through my blood vessels and, ultimately, expanding the life throughout my entire body.

The key to all of our world's largest troubles: war, terrorism, poverty, and hunger have the potential to all be solved with one simple art-- education. By giving individuals a proper education for their current culture and state, is like providing the blueprints or the framework of any construction. Many problems that occur in this world can be traced back to a lack of understanding of one another, a lack of the knowledge of resources, and a lack of the empowerment gained through academia.

In writing the director of Pennies For Peace I feel as though I actually have a voice. It is kind of funny because I have no idea how she will receive my words or even if she will receive them. But that isn't really the point. The point is EXPRESSION. It is one of the most important aspects of life. Some express themselves directly through interacting with others and some express themselves in other, more abstract methods.

Whatever the mode, expression of your feelings and passions is key to living a life of abundance.

Day 17

The way in which we communicate is a very powerful tool for all living organisms. There are species of plants that use ultraviolet and infrared colors to create a visual runway pattern for insects to reach their nectar. Some apes have been known to develop sign language in order to communicate with their human captors. Whatever the case, communication is crucial for life.

As humans, we rely mostly upon or verbal senses to communicate. I wanted to put this notion to a test today.

I wanted to see if verbal communication was really the only way for humans to get across their motives, emotions, shortcomings, and stories. I thought that the best way to do this would be to watch a foreign film in a language that I knew little about and cover up the subtitles. This would leave me with just me and the visual aspects of the film itself. I chose a Japanese film entitled, "Premonition" roughly about a man who witnesses her daughter's death and becomes keenly aware of other deaths to occur in the future.

In order to take away the English subtitles, I strategically taped pieces of paper directly to my TV screen to cover them up (see photo above). Once the film began, I soon recognized the benefit for understanding written word. In the movie, the premonitions were displayed only in written form, and not being well versed in Japanese characters, those parts left me at a complete lost.

However, I mentioned above that this experiment would only allow me a visual aspect of communication-- which wasn't true at all. I caught myself turning the volume up on my TV to pay more attention to the tone that the actors were using. It didn't really matter what words they were using when I could pay attention to their inflections, gasps and sighs, and even the volume of their voices.

About a third of the way through the movie I sort of forgot that I wasn't understanding the language used. It was sort of like I was reading some sort of implied subtitles based solely off of visual and auditory cues that were far beyond the scope of words.

What this taught me was that it isn't necessarily what you are saying, but rather how you say it and how it is presented as a part of you. Expression can come from every inch of your body, head to toe, and that is an immense skill for anyone to actualize. Many times when the deepest emotions are felt there aren't really words to describe them anyway. In my short journey on this earth that has been, by far, one of the most frustrating aspects for me. But what this experience has taught me is that words aren't everything.

Day 16

Sometimes I think it is good to try out different hats in our lives. Even if the hat doesn't really fit, it is pretty amazing to learn how it feels while you're wearing it.

Today I wore the hat of a vegan. After a complete soy breakfast, I actually thought to myself, "This isn't bad at all." Boy, was I in for it.

By about 11 o'clock I was dying for a finger-full of cookie dough as I sat there--craving and helpless-- cleaning out the small bits that had been stuck to the bowl. I always lick the bowl clean! But, it's okay, you see... I am learning.

Lunchtime came and went without my ability to directly participate. I met some friends for lunch at an Asian grill, thinking that it would probably be the best bet for me finding something that I could order. I was dead wrong. When asking the cashier, she was quick to tell me that NOTHING on their menu was vegan. Hmm... so much for lunch. Luckily, afterwards, a quick stroll took me through the parking lot to Whole Foods where I stocked up on nutritious and animal-free goodies to last me through the rest of the day.

I suppose the biggest thing that I learned today had nothing to actually do with being vegan. However, it taught me more about being cognizant of the foods that I choose to put in my mouth. I actually really liked having to work so hard to get food, it made the meals that I ate more worthwhile. I also thought a lot about the people that don't necessarily have a lot of food easily accessible: those with Celiac disease, the lactose intolerant, those that struggle with money, and people who live with limited agricultural resources.

Overall, trying on a new hat today gave me a great insight to food in general. I am not sure that I will ever decide to eat strictly vegan again, but I do hope to continue to be that aware... of it all.

Day 15

To others, it might not seem as something out of the ordinary... but for me, I was completely out of my element.

Now I am not quite sure what element I am usually in; however, I can say that it never involves such things like garlic peelers, spoon rests, or egg timers. Today I had the brilliant idea to buy myself some kitchen supplies (plus I had a gift card literally burning black holes into my wallet). I am not sure that I have ever been to a kitchen store other than to buy my more confident-cooking friends birthday presents and things. But now that I am enjoying the art of cooking a bit more, I thought, "There's no time like the present for kitchen stuff!"

Immediately I was overwhelmed. Are there really separate utensils for the chopping of each kind of vegetable? Do trash cans really cost $100? What the heck is a ramekin? With all of these questions pouring into my brain, I began searching for answers. I feel like I now know what one of the first discoverers of Egyptian pyramids felt as he uncovered many of the tools and adornments located near the sarcophaguses. It was quite thrilling, nonetheless. Imagining a life where I needed such things as a tomato slicer gave me a sharp moment of want and shudder at the same time.

After over an hour of playing in rows and rows of cookware and bakeware and all sorts of other wares I took my gift card out and purchased my very own eco-friendly cutting board and less-than-fancy rolling pin. I can safely say that, prior to this moment, the only kitchen supplies that I have EVER purchased were cheap pans for things that I was needing to make at that very moment, and a complete necessity. All of the other stuff that keeps my cupboards warm and stuffed are hand-me-downs from beloved family members and friends.

I really love my cutting board.

Day 14

When I was a kid, my family had the typical Christmastime tradition of piling into the car once it was dark, with hot cocoa and blankets in tow, and heading out to "ooh" and "aww" over all of the Christmas lights around the neighborhood. When it was a really special year, we'd even venture out to other neighborhoods around town.

I'm not sure what was so thrilling about this event, looking back. Perhaps it was just the sense of tradition and expectation that left me with this fond memory. Perhaps it was a time where there was little said, yet we were all together and actually enjoyed ourselves. Or maybe it was just the fact that I got to wear my pajamas out in public. No matter the reason, I sort of miss it.

Tonight I attempted a slight twist on the old tradition. I bundled up in layers of jackets, overstuffed mittens, a wool hat, and a headlamp and was set. With little in mind other that to enjoy the Christmas light displays that my neighbors have slaved away at during sub-below temperatures, I was out the door. I decided that my stringed-light window shopping would be done on foot, so to speak, rather than in my car... just to give it my own personal touch.

Traditions are peculiar things. They rarely make any logical sense, yet they are something that the heart yearns desperately for. I suppose it is the notion of togetherness combined with a sort of false assurance that things are always going to be that way which warms people so. In reality it is sort of a scary way to view things-- expecting and hoping that next year will be the same as the last? Whatever the security of these traditions, they bring people together and create memories that outlast any giant gift under the tree. That, I am sure of.

I think it is probably about time that I begin creating some of my own traditions to warm my heart and give me a little unrealistic assurance for tomorrow. It could be fun.

Day 13

I just completed something that I have wanted to do for the past decade or so, possibly longer. The reason for not completing it sooner was due to the reluctance of how it would be received. But tonight, after sitting in front of my email for over 20 minutes debating all sorts of curious "what ifs" in my head, I came to the conclusion to just do it.

One of the most powerful tools that we as humans can display is the ability to use words to depict emotion. Being so powerful, one has got to choose words wisely in order to portray the most accurate experience to the person receiving it. This is, perhaps, why it has taken me so long to gain the power to describe all of my feelings to someone very important to me.

Tonight, I wrote an overly edited email to someone who, unintentionally, became responsible for changing my life so many years ago. I have been urged to share with her how she was never at fault, in my eyes. I have also wanted, desperately even, to express to her how wonderful my life has been and how I honestly wouldn't take ANY of it back for a second.

Grief, fear, and avoidance seem to rule so much of this world already; I couldn't let it continue to feel a part of my world anymore. Nobody deserves to feel pain when it isn't warranted. And when the chance arises to show someone that they need not feel that pain, you should jump at it, right?

My only worry is that I have chosen the wrong path in this instance. I hope that she finds comfort and feels a bit of closure. It is okay to unleash from the past and shed what has been burdening you for years if you feel it. I just hope this is, indeed, a much needed moment of resolution and that this will have an everlasting and positive effect on someone's life.

Day 12

I am like most people in that I am inspired by others. I try to surround myself with people whom I admire and yearn to mirror more. This is where my journey led me today.

One of the best parts about teaching is how much you can learn from your students. Kids can be far more grounded and insightful than they may even know. I suppose it is something about their youth that keeps them more pure in character than others. Now when I say this, I do so with the burning image of peer pressure cruelties glowing bright in my mind. The way that teenagers behave is not wholly true to their character; they don't typically know this either. But every once in awhile you get a student that surprises you by having the ability to teach you AND does so with such poise and grace.

Last year while spending my days lecturing about the importance of cells and their organelles, demonstrating how divergent plate boundaries make mountains, and attempting to prove that there really is nothing other than biology in this world... I found myself intinctively reaching those kids on a more humanistic level. I learned about many of their lives outside of the school walls and made many efforts to be a good mentor to them.

One student, in particular, came to me on a number of occasions-- mostly to escape the drama of being a teenager-- to have lunch with and share thoughts of the world. We would talk about interesting animals, different visual art mediums, cherished books, and the world as we knew it. She is, by a long shot, one of the most mature and global-thinking teens I have ever had the privilege of teaching. Throughout our talks, she came to reveal that she had written and submitted an essay that she wrote on her beliefs.

If you have never heard of it, "This I Believe" is a fairly famed compilation of essays composed by authors of celebrity status all the way down to the local janitors at the supermarket. The website is based off of a radio program that aired in the 50s depicting stories of unique lives all over the country.

In much honor of my courageous and inspirational student, I chose today to write my own "This I Believe" essay. The terms for writing explain that it needs to simply be along the lines of something that you strongly believe in. Easy enough. Without really knowing for certain what that would be I began to write. I figured that something that I truly believed in would just simply come out on paper. And that it did.

I believe in myself.

Day 11

Silence creates a lot of opportunity for growth and insight, where it is otherwise clouded in distraction.

Today I participated in a day of silence. I was extremely strategic in carrying out this task, in that I wanted to make sure that I had some moments of social interaction to truly test my assignment.

I never quite realized before how many people you interact with in a day. Almost immediately after joining the real world this morning in the ever-popular game, "Don't Run Out Of Gas," I was greeted by a kind man who asked to pump my gas for me. In order to acknowledge his request, I simply nodded as politely as I could. It was almost comical the way I tried to convey words through slight changes in my eyebrows or smile.

However stressful being out in public may have felt, it became very clear to me that it didn't matter that I wasn't speaking. I don't really think any one of the people I encountered today even noticed. They may have walked away from me thinking that I was slightly rude, but not being able to put their finger on it.

Could it be that we are just too self-centered to even stop and wonder about those people on the other side of our conversations? Do we really pay attention to what others are saying and conveying? I questioned this all day long.

I suppose that this became a very powerful lesson in listening to others and remaining aware of those in my path. It is sort of a struggle because, on one hand, nobody really exists outside of how I realize them; but on the other hand, the world around me (and its inhabitants) is what shapes the very being of who I am. Go figure.

Day 10

What a perfect night for stargazing. Not only was the sky clear of hovering clouds and other weather, tonight was considered the best time for viewing the Geminid meteor shower.

From what I read, the meteor shower was going to be best viewed after 10pm, so shortly after the evening news began I hopped in my car and headed up the hill. I stationed my car at Pence Park, which is only a mile or so from my house and probably the highest point in Indian Hills. Finally putting my sunroof to good use, it was no longer considered the equivalent of a hood ornament.

The night sky has always had an eerie affect over me. There is so much wisdom felt in such a void atmosphere. I absolutely love watching the stars. My eyes get caught on the tiny flickers and my mind gets lost in the spaces in between. I could have sat there for hours. When observing the canopy of stars above, I can only acknowledge how small and insignificant I really am. Now, this isn't a discouraging thought to me. Rather, it is so encouraging to know how much is really out there and how much I have yet to explore. At that very minute, there were eyes from all over the world gazing at the same open sky. Fascinating!

I am only one of many. However, I often think of myself as one of those stars that I gaze upon. Although I may appear as all the others, twinkling in beat, without so much as a flicker different from all the rest. As you get closer to the space in which those stars actually reside, that is when it is made apparent that none of those shining objects are the same. They aren't the same size, same distance from the Earth, and they are not even the same sort of star. Some stars are near death, the end of their journey and the end of glowing brightly for us to wish on. Some stars are rather large and swelling, only to prepare for its eternal demise a few million years from now.

We are all so much more different than we appear from afar. We all have different makeups that create our sparkle. We all come from somewhere else and we are all in different stages of our shine.

The stars above come together every single night to drape the sky in constellations of forgotten times. They are always twinkling and shining no matter the stage or outcome it may have. I suppose that I wish I actually were more like a star. My strength and determination would be shown every single night, without fail, and the world could be watching in awe of the brilliance that I display surrounded by so many others.

Day 9

For years I have been telling myself that it is okay not to finish projects that I start... mainly because I NEVER finish a project I start. My inner dialogue goes something like this:

"Don't worry about finishing that mosaic/painting/tiling/story writing/knitting/renovation. It is the process of doing the project that is worthwhile, not the actual outcome from it."

This conversation has occurred among my cerebrum so many times that I think I was actually believing it whole-heartedly. Wondering what it would be like to actually finish something, this morning I took the liberty to freeze my fingertips nearly off while finishing a long-overdue project from my past.

This project was to create a banner of encouragement and display it for all to see. I began this project nearly a year and a half ago when inspired by my friend, Sarah's, own banner she created while in Limoges. Like all of my projects, I worked diligently for days until it was nearly complete.... that's typically where my perpetual abandonment arises.

For many months I haven't even thought about this project, although it sits neatly in a pile on a bench in my living room... partially displayed. However, waking up this morning with my impending experiences on the brain (I think I am even dreaming about them now), I realized that it would be great to know what it felt like to FINISH something.

With my heavy-duty mittens and some plastic ties, I put up each letter one by one, taking care not to make it too crooked and removing dead branches from obstructing onlookers' views. Now I am the proud owner of a colorful banner of encouragement lined on my chain link fence, facing the highway in hopes of some eyes wondering.

The experience that I have endured today is not so much about the banner itself, although I am proud of it and hope so deeply that it gets the attention everyone deserves; but, rather, the notion of finishing something that I have started. I'm not quite sure where that part of my character was developed or if I was always that way, but I don't necessarily feel that it is only the journey of the experience anymore.

Sometimes it is the outcome as well.

Sometimes the outcome can give you an entirely new feeling about the whole project itself. Sometimes the completion of a project elicits strong emotions of joy simply from the act of knowing it is done.

Day 8

Meditation has been an aspect of life for many cultures around the world for many ages. So many times have I attempted meditation... I even took a full-blown semester course on the subject in hopes that I could learn to understand this practice more.

Somehow I have always seemed to land short of a complete meditative experience. "Meditation For Dummies" didn't help. Trying it with soothing drops of essential oils didn't help. Guided meditations didn't work. Was I really a lost cause??

Today I was determined to cure my meditationosis once and for all. Perhaps it was the determination that led me to this point, or perhaps it was just a long time coming. Whatever the reason, it seemed to work better than I have known thus far.

I prepared by setting the mood with some calming soundscapes in the background, made a fire in my woodstove, and laid out my heavy-duty yoga mat. I decided that lying on my stomach was the best position for a non-contemplative, open mind. After taking the battery out of my phone and turning the lights down low, I was left only with my breath.

In, out, in, out, in, out...

Time appears to float away when your thoughts have too. After about an hour, I began with one eye and then the other. Looking around the shadows on the wall, I felt a sense of refresh and lightness. I finished out my session with the only appropriate dessert: yoga.

I consider this a start to many more practices. Maybe "Meditation For Dummies" can become some nice kindling for future sessions in front of the fireplace... or maybe I'll hold off for now. I can't possibly consider myself completely ready for every meditative journey. However, I have now learned that, ironically enough, it took the right mindset to complete release that very same mindset.

Day 7

I can hardly believe that I have been doing this for a week, yet--at the same time-- I can hardly believe it's only been a week. I feel like I have learned so much AND there is still so much to learn. So I keep trying...

Just a few moments ago (barely meeting my deadline), I returned home from a night out with friends. Much of the night was spent brainstorming possible experiences for me to ensue today... with hardly any say from me at all. I had it in mind what I was going to do once I returned home; however I continue to remain open to chance opportunities that may come my way throughout a given day.

There were suggestions of stealing a ladder that was clearly marked in permanent writing that it was not to be stolen. There were suggestions that I try a new food. There were suggestions about me licking a toilet. NONE of these were sufficient enough nor followed the vague rules that I have for this project, most likely outlined by my heart more than my head.

So there it was, I came home without having stolen, eaten, or licked so much as an ice cube. Tonight's lack of entertainment (apparently by me for my friends' disposal) left me with a task that I sort of feared, yet sort of anticipated would be a beneficial step in my journey.

I decided to write to any person that was considered, at one time or another, to be a close friend in my life that somehow expired without much resolution. I came up with four very qualified candidates for this assignment-- and I truly hope there weren't more. I spent the past hour composing email letters of gratitude, condolences, and goodwill for each of them. Each letter becoming exponentially harder than the one before.

I attempted to keep each letter brief, in hopes of being clear and true... in hopes of being as fair as I knew how to the receiver of such an experience.

Perhaps it is selfish of me to use this project and my own piece of mind to try to put a resolve on matters in the past. I just hope that each individual can see my desperate yearning to provide closure on wayward friendships that dissolved long ago.

From this experience, I think I have gained a better understanding for the human privilege. It is a privilege to be an animal that can express itself so precisely and so readily... although I fear that as we age our ability to maintain those constant expressions of emotion wither. I feel better for having the ability to acknowledge each of these people as an important part of my past: those people that really help shape who I am today-- sitting in front of a computer screen reflecting on brief moments that could otherwise be forgotten and lost to the PAST. I hope that each recipient of those emails can understand my intention for writing and can feel even a glimpse of my human privilege of expression. I hope that they can, too, have more closure and respect for friendships of long ago. Sometimes it is so hard to face things that are vulnerable to one's memory of themself...

Day 6

Sometimes the most powerful presence is made by those who don't intend it, those that cannot speak for themselves, and those who have perhaps been forgotten so long ago.

The anniversary of my grandmother's passing is coming all too quickly in my mind. This will be the third one, and I can say that it never gets easier... but I suppose it shouldn't. She was a remarkable woman with many remarkable talents that have hopefully been passed down into my bloodstream. Oh, how I do miss her.

The plan for today was to visit her grave site for the first time ever. I have always been too afraid, too overcome, too close to even think of going before. But this is a new chapter in my life, one where I face things that may not be natural or joyful. The journey to the cemetery was simple, just a few directions to the east. I made it with little awareness of what I intended for this experience. Once I turned into the iron-barred archway my demeanor switched to something sullen, it was like a storm cloud had just made its way overhead. Not having ever visited before, I was lost as to where the site would be. Initially, I decided it would be a simple phone call to my dad to walk me through the path to get to her. I picked up the phone, but couldn't do it.

It was partially the fact that I wasn't sure if I was ready to see the tombstone-- that makes my memories of her something entirely different than they are now. It was also partially the fact that I didn't really want to talk about it, not to my dad... not to anyone. And it was also in part of the fact that I truly felt like my connection with grandma would go beyond death. I sat there, in my car with the radio off and the window partially down expecting that some cosmic display would send me to her, like gravity or something.

I drove and drove and drove, sometimes making new tracks with my car, being the first to journey down that particular path. I paid close attention to the grinding sound of the snow and the way that the light hit just barely to the tops of nearly all the rows of tombstones. I began focusing on the names and dates of those slabs of stone that so nonchalantly stood for full lives of individuals. Some names were names I recognized, not for those souls who laid resting, but names of people I have had in class or people that I was friends with in high school. These names were most likely not linked, but it made me think an awful lot about those that are currently in my life and how finite life on earth really is. There was a elderly man sitting in the front seat of his sedan, bawling, the way that you do when there is nothing to soothe, nowhere to retreat. It's painful to know that time, in many ways, works against us all and that the time we have to spend with each other is so rare and so unimaginable.

After an hour and a half, I realized, (with some reluctant relief) that I wasn't going to find her grave site this way... and I wasn't about to pick up the phone. So that was that.

Day 5

I think I set my sights a bit too high today... but nonetheless, yet another eye-opening, mind-massaging experience.

Today's plan was to pick up Ayn Rand's, "Atlas Shrugged" and read it all the way through. For those who are unaware, this epic novel is over 1000 pages and in teeny-tiny microscopic font. As I mentioned before, I aimed for the sky and ended up somewhere around the foothills. Oh well.

Simply just being able to take an entire day to read is a strange notion in and of itself. The only events that interrupted my wonder of, "Who is John Galt?" was eating, driving, exercise therapy, and going to the bathroom... Otherwise, I literally spent all of today reading.

The story is a complex tale with underlying messages of the meaning of life, which I found to be extremely appropriate in a time like this. Even though I didn't manage cover-t0-cover, I learned a few things. 1) That just because a project doesn't reach its goal on time, doesn't mean it is for loss. The journey of climbing to your goal is really what makes all the difference, and 2) having the ability to dedicate an entire day to one task is both daunting and quite beautiful.

Day 4

For those who know me, it has always been said that I am not much of a cook... which is only partially true. For as long as I can remember, I have lived alone and felt little desire to delve in culinary experiences as a solo act. For years, I have been trying (along with my dear friends) to remedy this illogical thought process and just turn on the silly stove or something. Today I began my quest with a cuisine that is ever so special to my heart and my stomach: Indian food.

Almost by chance I found myself at this wonderful Indian market, appropriately named "India's Market". Stepping foot inside excited my neurotransmitters and ignited my limbic system... I was sent back to a time and place, not too far away, that taught me so much about this life. An overpowering aroma took me straight back to the bustling streets of New Delhi. The faint scent of sewage and body odor chimed almost perfectly with the spices of curry, cardamom, and turmeric. I could have teared up from the swell of memories, and partially the extra hot red chili powder as well.

After purchasing those necessary items to complete my paneer masala recipe, I was well on my way. Paneer is also known as cottage cheese in India, but it is truly nothing like it. With the consistency of something more reminiscent of tofu, paneer is an equally delightful veg option in India. Masala is a variation of spices, usually some combination of onion, garlic, and ginger. This masterpiece was actually quite simple to prepare, considering I had no clue what I was doing.

Almost immediately after combining the onion, garlic, ginger, tomato, cardamom, and other spices, my world smelled authentically Indian. This was a perfect aromatic setting, which could only be topped off with a bindi and a kurta-- I had to dress the part.

With Hindi lyrics from only a sliver of the billions of Bollywood hits playing in the background, I banged my pans, spilled a lot of wheat flour, and burned my hand just a little bit. The whole thing was fantastic!

And the meal you ask? It was equally fantastic. I was pleasantly surprised with the tingle of spice on my lips as I scooped up the cubes of paneer blanketed in its comfort of masala. Dipping my homemade chapati (poor man's bread) into my bowl, my night was complete. I toasted my glass of soy milk to the world, to my world, took a sip and dug right back in.

When all was said and done, my mouth was on fire, my stomach was full, and my kitchen was a mess. I retired my bindi for another night and packaged the leftovers for another day. Cooking with a memory is, by far, the most satisfying kind.

Day 3

Sometimes everyone needs a little encouragement or even a simple statement to put them facing the right direction. This was my inspiration today.

The job of deciding upon a daily task is getting increasingly stressful, I confess rather regrettably. However, this sort of stress comes from a very positive and enlightened place and I thoroughly welcome it. With that said, it took me until about 1pm today to even decide on my chosen experience. Once I did, however, I was off and running!

Armed with sticky notes, a red marker, and the encapsulated knowledge of inspired individuals I began my quest to enable those that crossed my path to be affirmed with strength, love, determination, and motivation. I chose many of my favorite quotes, and many that I have never even heard before and wrote them down-- one quote per sticky note. Vigorously writing, I must have made nearly 2-dozen miniature signs of support.

Throughout my day today, I left my mark--so to speak-- everywhere I journeyed. These quotes now display themselves in grocery store ATM machines, car windows, store walls, the gym bathroom, and various other locales around the Denver Metro area. The task of displaying these quotes almost became a sort of game to me, trying desperately to remain anonymous the whole way through. (This made extremely difficult by the fresh layer of white snow in every parking lot, marking my every tire track.)

Every time I left a sticky note I felt so curious about those soon-to-be-viewers of them. I wondered things about their reactions: If the viewer would smile, if the viewer would be in need of such a message, if the viewer would take it with them, or if the viewer might not even notice at all. These thoughts kept me energized all day long, so, in fact, that I have plans of continuing this project so long as it makes me feel contributory. Who knows, maybe you might see one of those quotes and, with a smile, think, "hey, I needed that" and slide it into your pocket to remember for awhile.

Day 2

Today's task was a little premeditated, in that I actually had to set my alarm to wake up by 6:20. I did this all for the mere glory of seeing the sun rise over the horizon and visually echo itself onto some of the most beautiful land around.

After making the decision to ignore the sleepy slumber thoughts of the tempting "snooze" button, I quickly realized the meaning behind the alarm. My eyes shot open like a shutter does. This was Day 2 of my quest for new experiences! Yes!


Now with a spring to my step I hurriedly got dressed and brushed my teeth. Simultaneously toasting bread and boiling water, my breakfast picnic was well on its way. I was soon out the door.

I made it just in time for that sequence star we call the Sun to peek its little crown over the earth and wish me a very happy morning.

Sipping my tea, taking in every herb and every spice that was so delicately mashed together, I focused on the sun and the sky and the world around me.

The sun has a very specific job that we rely on in every possible way, so much so that we don't even notice that expectation. I sort of feel sorry for the sun, yet admire its gusto. What if Sun wanted to change paths and start orbiting in another galaxy? Does our endless expectations of that sunrise maintain poor Sun's gravitational pull?

Oh! But how fantastic is it at the same time to know that Sun will always be there, every single day. And if Sun can do it-- rise with such grace, power, and awe-- so should I. Perhaps today I learned that I should make dates with the sunrise more often. It's quiet brilliance is so remarkable, that it is such a shame it spends the majority of time unnoticed. And if not rendez-vous with Sun, I will just strive to be more like it.

Day 1

So I suppose I should have started this thing off on a more positive of notes. However, what I accomplished today is something rare and beautiful in it's own way.

Today I decided to write and submit a formal complaint. I have never so much as complained about a hair in my food, let alone go so far as to type out words that will now be permanently recorded and documented until the end of eternity... or until it gets dumped in the trash and/or my computer crashes in a freak anti-gravity moment.

The complaint came from a rather recent event. Coming home from a trip to visit a dear friend, the male version of not-quite-me, I made what I thought would be a quick layover in Phoenix. To spare the details, I missed my flight after being held up in security over a gel-padded cushion that I have been using to transport everywhere since my recent surgeries and setbacks. It acts as the padding that my poor abused buttocks no longer has and is used for surfaces other than my wheelchair (think airplane seat). Full aware that gel is a substance that isn't allowed in large quantities by those TSA bodyguards, the stupid gel pad was never even a concern of mine, nor was it for the other 2 airports I had previously traveled in. However, that wasn't the case at the "friendliest airport in the world". Needless to say, 6 supervisors' rejections and multitudes of tears and lack of appropriate documentation (the scarred butt was apparently not enough) I was sent on my way... quite reluctantly with gel pad in hand, arriving to my gate 30 minutes after my flight had left the runway.

Writing this letter stopped being about my woeful journey virtually after the first sentence. There are far too many people in the world that either don't or cannot be advocates for their own health and bodies, thus leaving them far more helpless and harmed than before. Perhaps I could be someone that would have let the first confiscation of her medical supplies go. Perhaps I could be that same someone to develop another near-fatal wound.

AND that is what I learned from this experience. My body, my life is more meaningful to me than to lie quietly letting others dictate and determine my path. I care about myself far more. Consider this my first try at being a crusader for my physical being.

Project Me

It's been a long time.

I have been trying to figure what path this blog should take, as well as my more immediate self... then I realized that I do far better when I have a project to tackle. Being out of work and in a whirlwind of new thoughts and feelings that only spending months in bed can do has left me with the inspiration of change and renewal. AND that is where I came up with this project:

Starting tomorrow I will begin a quest to experience life more on a daily basis. I will complete the project by experiencing something new each day until the new year. I will test my limits physically and mentally, I will step out of my comfort-zone, I will taste the world with a new tongue, I will try my best.

Every night before I lay my head on my pillow I will use this blog as a source to force myself to reflect on the experience of the day and share what I have done and learned as best as I can. This is Project Me. Wish me good luck...

Happy Birthday

On Saturday night I helped to celebrate the 30th birthday of someone very special; someone that couldn't make it to their own 30th birthday.

The celebration was a concert dedicated to Jeremy Bottoms, held by his older brother, Brady. Brady has been playing and performing music his whole life, and couldn't possibly know another way to express his love and memory of Jeremy. With cupcakes and beer flowing through the crowd, Brady performed on stage from his heart like nothing I have ever seen. Holding back tears so vividly the back of my throat was sore and I was so glad that my surroundings were dark and loud. It was a magical moment, one that I rarely feel nowadays... a moment that brought me back to the night that would change everything forever.

Jeremy was my date and boyfriend that night that our car collided into the night sky. He was less than fortunate, for he didn't make it. I often reflect on that night, the accident, the change... and wonder how exactly my fate twisted so. Beyond my injuries and everyone elses', my mind spends time realizing all of the experiences that Jeremy would never know. That is the hardest part. Knowing that someone's life couldn't endure long enough to discover what it actually meant and felt like to be alive.

And because of that, I will try never to take it for granted. Happy 30th, Jeremy.

Take A Swim

Today I realized that my life would be so much more free if I could do it all underwater.

I am up to sitting in my chair for 2 hours now, and figured that it was as good of a time as any to get back in the pool. I haven't been for 6 months. I have never gone this long without swimming in my life, and that is the truth.

There was a lot of anxiety before getting in: Was my butt going to hold in tact while sitting on the edge of the pool (with a cushion)? Did I remember how to freestyle and backstroke? Was I going to be able to get back into my chair post-workout? Could I remember how to socialize with the rest of the world?

The moment my body touched the water, tears began to well up in my goggles. It had been so long since I had been here. I have been through so much. With each stroke I remembered all of the little events that led up to this. All of the good, all of the not-so-good. Stroke. Breathe. Stroke. Breathe.

Swimming is only one of a billion things that will forever remind me of how beautiful life can be. I actually hope that I cry a little bit every time I take a swim.

My New Job

You take one part wellness, two parts boredom, and a dash of financial struggle... and what do you get? An online writing gig, that's what.

If you haven't heard of Examiner.com it is an online source for news and local events. Since becoming an examiner, I have read various articles from other examiners ranging from the best bike rides in Boulder to cooking with sweet potatoes to the latest Rockies news.

As for me, I have worked hard in the last few days to become known as the Denver Adapted Recreation Examiner. I write articles on adaptive recreation events, organizations, tips, and I don't know what else here in town. I am pretty excited to be able to put all of my new energy and effort into something that can, hopefully, be useful to the puplic (and make a buck or two in the process!)

Remembering To Live

Who Would Have Thought?

I'll be home sometime this week...

For What It's Worth

It is not in my nature to, A) worry about money and B) change my lifestyle because of it. But people can change, right?!

Since March I have been on a medical leave from school and haven't been able to go back. The one life vest in this sea of adulthood came from my long-term disability policy at school. They have been supplementing me with 60% my pay. I am a fool for thinking this was a lot of money! I am blessed, however, to be getting any sort of payment at all while I am away from my kiddos. It is just poor, poor timing. Don't all of those people involved with health insurance realize that being sick so long equates to not being able to work which also equates to not having any money? But yet they still send me bills and reminders of my current impoverished state. No fair!

While in the hospital, I have had a lot of time to plan for my decreased income... as best as I know how. I have written some travel articles and attempted to have them published, I have written two pieces for this woman's upcoming book of memoirs (free of charge but incredibly rewarding), and I have even attempted poetry at the greeting card level. I spend every morning checking for freelance writing and blogging gigs, and every afternoon making bracelets and necklaces for a garage sale in the works. I think I am figuring it out.

I have applied for financial assistance with getting a new wheelchair, from several sources. My insurance will cover up to $2000 for a new wheelchair... which is helpful if I could get away with one of those old clunkers that the hospitals and grocery stores use. Hopefully, one or two of these sources will find me as pathetic as I feel and just give me a buck or two.

A local wheelchair supply company came out to my hospital room yesterday to help start the order for my new set of wheels. That meant that I was able to actually sit in my chair... for 5 minutes... twice! It was the first time I have been in my chair since my surgery at the end of July. It felt good, but incredibly awkward. I realized, immediately, that my oh-so-cool core strength that I have become so proud of is virtually non-existent at this point. I suppose it gives me something new to work on during the day, alongside my job postings and jewelry-making.

Here's a secret though: it's kind of fun to wear so many hats. This whole experience has left me no choice but to be out of the box a bit. It may be cold at times and feel a bit strange, but I feel that it is a good place for me to play for awhile.

Let There Be Light

Since my surgery, I have had a bouquet of remarks from all kinds of medical staff about my attitude. I hear on almost a daily basis praise of inspiration and grace... but do I really deserve that?

Sure, I know I am a good patient. I never complain when my toothbrush doesn't get rinsed out and sits in my spit-container all night. I never complain when my meal is smothered in gravy, leaving barely a gasp left from the meat underneath. I never complain about not being able to get out of my bed. I never complain about my lotion being left just a centimeter out of my reach. BUT all of this, by no means, equates to such praise of character.

I have been intentionally convincing myself as the days shorten that there must be some very unwilling souls in this place. It must be hard to work with so many non-compliant patients. However, it wasn't until just a second ago that I realized that it wasn't truly the case. In chatting it up with my day-nurse, as I do quite frequently, I learned that these patients were no different than me, physically. Most were "flap" patients on bed rest at different stages of their protocol. Most had family and friends that came to visit with fists full of homemade goodies and fresh flowers. But there was a difference. My nurse pointed out to me something so obvious, something that I have known all along. Something that I never knew to be such a gift. It is the outlook that I create for myself and the actions that I make because of it all.

Starting to understand a little bit of what is complimented towards me, I feel a bit shy, like the first time a boy ever told me I was pretty. That is the kind of feeling I have about it... boy, I am strange. I now surrender to the notion that I do see the light in things more frequently and at a greater wavelength than others, but does that truly make me inspirational? I think that it makes me in tuned and close to seeing the natural way that life makes present... and I suppose I AM proud of that. There, I admitted it.

I am proud of myself.
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The countdown begins... less than 3 weeks to go and only a few more days of flat bed rest.
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Let there be light.

No BUTTS About It

My surgery went surprisingly well. After everything that I've been struggling with since March, I was sort of in the habit of expecting the worse. However, after only a 2 hour surgery, nearly 30 staples, and lots of care I was now on the road to recovery.

There was far less infection than the doc thought. This was good because it meant that he didn't have to use my hamstring, I had enough butt tissue for him to just swing it over like a party favor and staple the whole thing closed. There are 2 layers involved: muscle and skin. Both layers contain a lot of internal stitches to keep the whole masterpiece in tact.

The biggest shock of the whole event was that the surgeon found a chunk of ischial bone "floating" around my butt cheek. He successfully removed the bone before he finished me up with 2 drains coming out the side to help with healing and many, many staples. This chunk of bone, recorded to be about the size of a quarter, could have very well been the culprit all along.

How did I not realize that I broke my pelvic bone off?? I know I don't really feel that area, but one could suspect that I would, at the very least, recognize a big bump or fall to cause it. I guess not.

Now, being about a week and a half post-surgery, things are going well. My antibiotics have been discontinued and my PICC line IV was taken out on Thursday. It feels great to have both arms back. I didn't quite realize how inaccessible that PICC made my arm, and I didn't quite realize what a big scar would be left in its place.

It's amazing to think of how much things change in a year. If you don't believe me, check my blog post from a year ago!

Renewed, Uplifted, and Alive

As the dust begins to settle, my eyes are far less squinted and I can faintly make out the silhouettes of the dreams and loved ones that have kept me going. Until now, I didn't quite grasp the depth of the hole that I was in-- a hole that was dark and unwilling to cooperate with time.

Now, however, it is a new day. Physically signified by the lack of night sweats and fatigue. Emotionally by the bold laughter ringing out the door of my vocal cords and resting ever so gently on my tongue, just long enough to embrace the experience. Mentally present is the cerebral overload of things to come-- all of those little adventures get lost in the hustle and bustle of everyday life.

I am renewed.

As I lie here in my hospital bed built for a queen, I smile rather vividly, for the fact that I know the battle is over and I have won. At a time when I felt most defeated, I was actually being coached on the most raw of emotions one could ever imagine... and for that, I am stronger now.

I am uplifted.

Every day spent is a day closer to being whole again. I can feel how close I am to a health that I once knew, and something (gulped with guilt) taken for granted. I vow here and always, from this moment on, to forever remember the little gifts that are handed out and mostly remain unseen.

I am alive.

My roots lie deep into the earth and the sun is, once again, shining for me; creating shadows of memories and things yet to be discovered. I am ready to grow again and take in all that this tiny, little world has in store.

The only regret and shame felt is the notion that one has to feel such pain and loss to truly be able to stand up. I am here to remain tall and proud. I am here to feel it all.

Grandma's Rings

For those who know me, you know that I wear--almost obsessively--a wedding band and ring on the wrong finger (of course). These rings were my great-grandmother's wedding rings and a gift from my grandmother who passed a little over 2 years ago.

I cherish these rings, not only for their history and family connection, but because it became a sort of silent mantra sung to me everyday in the voice of my grandmother. I spend my days twirling the rings around my finger, because apparently my great-grandmother had hands more reminiscent of a great-grandfather. Being so fearful of wearing diamonds, I check my hand multiple times a day, making sure that I didn't lose them or break them or ruin them.

And then it happened...

I lost one of the diamonds in the band. The last one of five, to be exact. I was sick, I am sick about it... but it got my mind churning once again as it does when little instances poke in my life. I am sure there is meaning behind this event.

So, I lost a stone. It's not the fact that it looks tacky or unfinished. It's the fact that I lost a part of my grandma and great-grandma with it. Please, it has nothing to do with the cost of the diamond or the cost to fix it for that matter. It is simply about me losing a piece of something so precious to me.

But... what is lost? Losing this stone didn't cause me to lose any memories from before. Losing this stone didn't take me any further from my grandmother in my mind. And on some level I can relate this instance to my recent health matters.

I am so tormented by having this infection and being sick, like a part of me has been damaged and lost in the process. Not the "true" ME, but the aesthetic ME... the diamond-band-with-a-missing-stone ME. But having this physical lesson in loss with the ring, I have come to realize how much your mind and spirit can take precedence over your body. Yes, my body is damaged and yes, it will most likely be damaged for good... but what does that mean? Nothing. Nothing, other than all of the knowledge I have gained from the experience. Nothing, other that all of the insight that has fed my soul.

So hear I sit, hole in my ring, hole in my butt. No better, no worse for having so. For physically, I maybe be struggling; but as long as I have my mind to balance things out, I will ALWAYS be okay.