Mood: homesick, thankful
It's been a long time since I wrote a blog post. To be honest, I haven't really been writing at all unless I've been being paid for it and even that has been scarce. Recently, my head has been filled with so much noise that I haven't been able to form coherent enough thoughts for a blog post and I've been avoiding writing in a personal journal as well.
But, last night, after a day full of working on a website rewrite (yay being hired on this project again!) I sat down at the desk and I wrote two pages in a journal. I used to be able to fire off 10 pages or so, but I find that the act of procrastination has seriously stifled my ability to write as fast as I am able to think. Still, I sat down and I wrote. And I wrote another two pages this morning before beginning my work hours on the website rewrite once again.
After a few hours of actual work and writing, I decided I needed to shower. And while I was in the shower, I decided to really pamper myself and self-tan when I got out. Irish/Dutch skin does NOT tan ever on it's own and I'm not really a big fan of sunburns so I am not able to lay out in the sun or walk the neighborhood and look like I came back from a wonderful week in the Bahamas, unless I want to look like I came back a crispy lobster that is. Over the years, as I made peace with the fact that I do not tan (involving one reallllllly bad back and ass burn by a tanning bed when I was 18 and stupid) I looked to self-tanners to solve the problem. And I will NEVER forget my first venture. It was the summer of my ninth grade year of high school and my friends and I were going to Dorney Park (an amusement park in Allentown, PA...and I would do anything to spend a day there this summer!) the next day. Maybe some girls at that point had made peace with their "porcelain" complexion, but I saw my legs are more pasty than porcelain. So I picked up some Neutrogena (I honestly don't even know if St. Tropez existed then) sunless tanner at CVS and I slathered it on the night before our big day.
As a whole, I do not remember it being a seriously epic disaster, but I did have the tell-tale sign of self-tanning....orange stuck in between my fingers and darker palms. I figured nobody would care, my legs didn't look as ghostly anymore and so, without crippling self doubt, I got in the car with my mom (the designated Dorney driver) to pick up my friends. When we arrived at Dorney, my mom got out of the car to see us off and remind us what time she'd be picking us up and where, at which point the girl I was with started pointing and loudly mocking my fingers and palms.
I don't to this day remember the words she said, but I do remember it hit me hard and I'm sure I teared up. Ninth grade Ashley, a lot like present day Ashley, would never fire an insult back. Rather, I would just fixate forever on what an ugly and terrible failure I was as a human being. Enter my mother. I only remember a portion of what my mother said ("hey, don't fuck with the eagles till you know how to fly") but I know it was a slightly cutting remark at the other girl's expense. Do I think it was compassionate to criticize a teenager as an adult? Nope. But I do remember thinking on that day, and still today as I slathered on Tarte's latest self-tanner, that one day I hoped to love my child so much that I would get emotional and step in to protect them, you know, within reason of course.
I may never have a biological child to protect with that fierce love, but I do feel that way about Malcolm. I would do damn near anything to keep that kid from ever feeling less than or ostracized. I would go to unimaginable lengths to keep a smile on his face instead of tears in his eyes.
There are factors out of my control at play when it comes to Malcolm, of course, but when I am with him I hope he sees just how truly he is loved. I hope that he feels my love for him radiate out of my words and actions, just as I did with my mother.
And, selfishly, I hope that he loves me just as much as my mother and is blind to tan stains or dark palms because years later, while a vast improvement has been made, I still have not perfected my damn self-tanning method.
2014/04/08
12 Months of Questions
Mood: sad
Tomorrow was supposed to be the day Jeff got his next CT scan. The day when we were supposed to hear whether or not he really is in remission. Thanks to insurance we have to wait until next week....at least, I hope it's next week.
Lately, my head has been a mess. I am stuck somewhere between the longing to move forward, and the pain and worry of last year. I cannot help but remember that on April 8th of last year, my husband was in surgery. And I was waiting for him, reading "Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets" for the fourth time.
The past 12 months have been, without a doubt, the scariest of my life. I spent a good amount of the last year caring for Jeff and the more he returns to a state of normalcy, the more I am forced to take care of myself once again.
There are things about myself that I love. And things I would undoubtedly change. But, the worst feeling is thinking that I actually don't have any idea who I am at all.
I think I've gone my whole life searching for a definition of who I am. I guess I hoped that with marriage I would know who I am. Or that becoming a mother would give me an idea. The thing is, marriage is a relationship not a definitive or tangible thing. And I cannot have kids, and being a stepmother really is not the same as a biological mother. I suppose that I have always searched for meaning in myself as I relate to others, but spending a large chunk of this past year alone, I have had to really take a look at who I am.
One of the things that this year has forced upon me is to live in a state of complete unknowns. To live life in the gray area that I struggle against so much. And I have had to do a lot of it by myself. To be honest, only Jeff has the ability to understand what I have been going through. And even he can't understand it all, the infertility for instance. I so desperately want to have an answer for all of the struggle and pain and suffering, and for now all I have is silence. I'm learning to be okay with that. Because I have to be.
I pray that we have some answers next week. And that for the first time in a year, Jeff and I get so damn good news.
Tomorrow was supposed to be the day Jeff got his next CT scan. The day when we were supposed to hear whether or not he really is in remission. Thanks to insurance we have to wait until next week....at least, I hope it's next week.
Lately, my head has been a mess. I am stuck somewhere between the longing to move forward, and the pain and worry of last year. I cannot help but remember that on April 8th of last year, my husband was in surgery. And I was waiting for him, reading "Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets" for the fourth time.
The past 12 months have been, without a doubt, the scariest of my life. I spent a good amount of the last year caring for Jeff and the more he returns to a state of normalcy, the more I am forced to take care of myself once again.
There are things about myself that I love. And things I would undoubtedly change. But, the worst feeling is thinking that I actually don't have any idea who I am at all.
I think I've gone my whole life searching for a definition of who I am. I guess I hoped that with marriage I would know who I am. Or that becoming a mother would give me an idea. The thing is, marriage is a relationship not a definitive or tangible thing. And I cannot have kids, and being a stepmother really is not the same as a biological mother. I suppose that I have always searched for meaning in myself as I relate to others, but spending a large chunk of this past year alone, I have had to really take a look at who I am.
One of the things that this year has forced upon me is to live in a state of complete unknowns. To live life in the gray area that I struggle against so much. And I have had to do a lot of it by myself. To be honest, only Jeff has the ability to understand what I have been going through. And even he can't understand it all, the infertility for instance. I so desperately want to have an answer for all of the struggle and pain and suffering, and for now all I have is silence. I'm learning to be okay with that. Because I have to be.
I pray that we have some answers next week. And that for the first time in a year, Jeff and I get so damn good news.
2014/03/31
To Ashley, On Her 30th Birthday
Mood: humbled
I don't know how many of you have seen "To Gillian on Her 37th Birthday," and to be honest I would have to watch it again to fully remember the movie. Judging by the score on IMDB.com and Rotten Tomatoes, this was not a critic's choice, but, I watched it years and years ago with my mom and I remember the movie being sad but honest and I remember liking it.
Today, I turn 30. Less scary than 37. On one hand, it truly feels just like another birthday: a normal day that I will celebrate with Jeff and Malcolm and hot pink frosted cupcakes. Yet there is a part of me that can't help but think "this is a big deal." Maybe it's the way we're programmed as women? 30 is supposed to be old, or something? I don't really buy in to that, and I think that while there is an obsession with looking or feeling younger, the general mood is that age is a state of mind. In which case, some days I am 10.
I digress. The point is, I can't help but feel reflective as I come up on this milestone and I thought I would take the time to write myself a little letter.
So, here goes:
Ashley,
You definitely do not have your shit together. You are still a chaotic, mostly disorganized and impulsive person who has a bizarre love for organizers, to-do lists and routines (even though you bore of routine quickly). You still don't believe in yourself the way you should and more often than not you end up taking an easier, less scary route than risking complete failure.
But, you're still alive. And you get up each day with the sincere intent to be a better person. To be a more attentive and active (step) mother, to be a more compassionate and loving wife and to live a healthier life.
This past year has been nothing short of hell. Since Grandpa Bob's death in October of 2012, your life has seen loss of a large magnitude and serious health scares. You have spent the past year coping the very best you possibly could, even if at the time that consisted of eating pizza with sour cream and onion chips and binge playing Grand Theft Auto 5. You spent a year discovering how strong you really are, and how scary and fragile life really is.
Sure, you're still deciding what to be when you grow up and you certainly don't have anything figured out, but, Ashley, you're doing pretty awesome. You live with a simple purpose now: to live each day with the purpose of finding the wonder, the beauty and the simple moments that make life so amazing.
Ashley, you might not be where you thought you would be at 30. And while it is cliche, you are exactly where you are meant to be. Even when you feel like a total failure or a complete loser, you are doing the best you can with what you have and have a deep desire to continue to make life happier, healthier and more wonderful for all those around you.
Keep it up.
Happy 30th birthday!
I don't know how many of you have seen "To Gillian on Her 37th Birthday," and to be honest I would have to watch it again to fully remember the movie. Judging by the score on IMDB.com and Rotten Tomatoes, this was not a critic's choice, but, I watched it years and years ago with my mom and I remember the movie being sad but honest and I remember liking it.
Today, I turn 30. Less scary than 37. On one hand, it truly feels just like another birthday: a normal day that I will celebrate with Jeff and Malcolm and hot pink frosted cupcakes. Yet there is a part of me that can't help but think "this is a big deal." Maybe it's the way we're programmed as women? 30 is supposed to be old, or something? I don't really buy in to that, and I think that while there is an obsession with looking or feeling younger, the general mood is that age is a state of mind. In which case, some days I am 10.
I digress. The point is, I can't help but feel reflective as I come up on this milestone and I thought I would take the time to write myself a little letter.
So, here goes:
Ashley,
You definitely do not have your shit together. You are still a chaotic, mostly disorganized and impulsive person who has a bizarre love for organizers, to-do lists and routines (even though you bore of routine quickly). You still don't believe in yourself the way you should and more often than not you end up taking an easier, less scary route than risking complete failure.
But, you're still alive. And you get up each day with the sincere intent to be a better person. To be a more attentive and active (step) mother, to be a more compassionate and loving wife and to live a healthier life.
This past year has been nothing short of hell. Since Grandpa Bob's death in October of 2012, your life has seen loss of a large magnitude and serious health scares. You have spent the past year coping the very best you possibly could, even if at the time that consisted of eating pizza with sour cream and onion chips and binge playing Grand Theft Auto 5. You spent a year discovering how strong you really are, and how scary and fragile life really is.
Sure, you're still deciding what to be when you grow up and you certainly don't have anything figured out, but, Ashley, you're doing pretty awesome. You live with a simple purpose now: to live each day with the purpose of finding the wonder, the beauty and the simple moments that make life so amazing.
Ashley, you might not be where you thought you would be at 30. And while it is cliche, you are exactly where you are meant to be. Even when you feel like a total failure or a complete loser, you are doing the best you can with what you have and have a deep desire to continue to make life happier, healthier and more wonderful for all those around you.
Keep it up.
Happy 30th birthday!
2014/03/17
To My Husband
Mood: in love, grateful
Jeff,
Three years ago today I got ready for what was to be my very last first date. I spent nearly three hours getting ready: picking out the perfect outfit, finding something green to wear for St. Patrick's Day and reading through all of the text messages we had sent each other.
I drove, a mix of nerves and excitement rushing through me.
And when I got to you, I became even more nervous (which I thought impossible) and more excited. As I watched you walk toward me holding a beautiful bouquet of pink roses, I thought, some day I'm going to walk towards him holding a bouquet of pink roses.
And six months after that night, I did just that.
Three years ago, I had no idea what the future had in store for us, and I never would have imagined that we would have faced half of what we have together. But I hope you know that everything we have gone through as left me feeling more in love, more confident in our relationship and more like I am home.
I know there are days where we challenge, infuriate and annoy each other, and I know those days will never end.
I also know that despite all of the illness and the hard times, there is nowhere I would rather be and no one I would rather be with. You are an amazing husband and father. You make me laugh each and every day, and what is a life without laughter?
Three years ago today, I sat in a car talking about nothing, everything and zombies for nearly three hours with you. Though our lives have been touched by loss and cancer, there are so many things that have not changed since that night, after all, we spent a good deal of last night rehashing the new Walking Dead episode. And you know what? I could not be happier.
I look forward to every day we spend together. I love to read in bed with you at night, or talk about the most random things we can think up. I strive to be a better wife and mother every day. I know there are happier, healthier days ahead for us and I cannot wait to see where we are together in another three years. I love you.
Your Wife,
Ashley
Jeff,
Three years ago today I got ready for what was to be my very last first date. I spent nearly three hours getting ready: picking out the perfect outfit, finding something green to wear for St. Patrick's Day and reading through all of the text messages we had sent each other.
I drove, a mix of nerves and excitement rushing through me.
And when I got to you, I became even more nervous (which I thought impossible) and more excited. As I watched you walk toward me holding a beautiful bouquet of pink roses, I thought, some day I'm going to walk towards him holding a bouquet of pink roses.
And six months after that night, I did just that.
Three years ago, I had no idea what the future had in store for us, and I never would have imagined that we would have faced half of what we have together. But I hope you know that everything we have gone through as left me feeling more in love, more confident in our relationship and more like I am home.
I know there are days where we challenge, infuriate and annoy each other, and I know those days will never end.
I also know that despite all of the illness and the hard times, there is nowhere I would rather be and no one I would rather be with. You are an amazing husband and father. You make me laugh each and every day, and what is a life without laughter?
Three years ago today, I sat in a car talking about nothing, everything and zombies for nearly three hours with you. Though our lives have been touched by loss and cancer, there are so many things that have not changed since that night, after all, we spent a good deal of last night rehashing the new Walking Dead episode. And you know what? I could not be happier.
I look forward to every day we spend together. I love to read in bed with you at night, or talk about the most random things we can think up. I strive to be a better wife and mother every day. I know there are happier, healthier days ahead for us and I cannot wait to see where we are together in another three years. I love you.
Your Wife,
Ashley
2014/01/24
Today Doesn't (Suck)
Mood: ready
Original title, eh? In all seriousness though, I felt I owed it to myself and to my readers, whoever you are, to be completely honest about this whole cancer process.
Yesterday I blogged only a few hours removed from the news that my husband still has a mass (actually two but only one large-ish one) in his lungs. We arrived home from the hospital and I had time to take off my coat before I had to turn around and pick Malcolm up from school due to a fever of 100.1. It was not a good afternoon in the Lilland household yesterday.
The silence that hung in the air between Jeff and I was charged with fear, anxiety and devastation. We knew we might not get good news, but I don't think either one of us was quite prepared for how badly wounded we would be if we heard bad news.
That's what is so amazing about time, though. It truly does heal and just 24 hours later, I'm ready to fight again. Right after I posted my blog from yesterday I logged on to my tumblr account because I love going there when I do not feel like concentrating on anything. The first two posts that appeared on my dash were:
and:
And I was kind of like, Okay God, I get it.
Because I realize that either I can roll over and let Jeff's potential cancer return paralyze me with fear and sadness, or I can decide that we got through the past year so we can get through the next few days, then weeks, then months.
I know that this mindset will not always be easy and I am sure that there will be moments in which I am utterly afraid and defeated. I can only pray for the strength to keep going during those moments. I have never considered myself to be a strong woman, and truthfully I still do not. I am too anxious to be strong. But when it comes to the boys in my life, well, right now I do not have a choice but to find what little strength I can and to hold on like hell.
And for now, that feels like a very brave and strong choice indeed.
So I'll heed Johnny Knoxville and Andrew McMahon's advice. I'm going to take a deep breath and I'm going to remember that I, while far from indestructible, am going to be okay.
Amen.
Original title, eh? In all seriousness though, I felt I owed it to myself and to my readers, whoever you are, to be completely honest about this whole cancer process.
Yesterday I blogged only a few hours removed from the news that my husband still has a mass (actually two but only one large-ish one) in his lungs. We arrived home from the hospital and I had time to take off my coat before I had to turn around and pick Malcolm up from school due to a fever of 100.1. It was not a good afternoon in the Lilland household yesterday.
The silence that hung in the air between Jeff and I was charged with fear, anxiety and devastation. We knew we might not get good news, but I don't think either one of us was quite prepared for how badly wounded we would be if we heard bad news.
That's what is so amazing about time, though. It truly does heal and just 24 hours later, I'm ready to fight again. Right after I posted my blog from yesterday I logged on to my tumblr account because I love going there when I do not feel like concentrating on anything. The first two posts that appeared on my dash were:
"Honestly, you just take a deep breath and say, fuck it." - Johnny Knoxville
and:
"You can't control what goes on around you, you can't. But for me, I think there's staples of moments, that crazy moment where you think you're indestructible. And then that moment where you find out that you're not. And then that moment where all of a sudden you go, 'Okay, I'm not indestructible but I'm going to be okay.' You have this life and we all have these lives we live but it takes a bit of learning before you realize not every drama's going to kill you and not every hard day has to lead to another one." - Andrew McMahon
And I was kind of like, Okay God, I get it.
Because I realize that either I can roll over and let Jeff's potential cancer return paralyze me with fear and sadness, or I can decide that we got through the past year so we can get through the next few days, then weeks, then months.
I know that this mindset will not always be easy and I am sure that there will be moments in which I am utterly afraid and defeated. I can only pray for the strength to keep going during those moments. I have never considered myself to be a strong woman, and truthfully I still do not. I am too anxious to be strong. But when it comes to the boys in my life, well, right now I do not have a choice but to find what little strength I can and to hold on like hell.
And for now, that feels like a very brave and strong choice indeed.
So I'll heed Johnny Knoxville and Andrew McMahon's advice. I'm going to take a deep breath and I'm going to remember that I, while far from indestructible, am going to be okay.
Amen.
2014/01/23
Today Sucks
Mood:
I don't know why I bother including a mood anymore on my blog. Maybe it's a throwback from the MySpace days when I got to choose a stupid looking emoticon to go next to my headline of the day. Most days I have a mood that helps me to create a cohesive post; it serves as a sort of theme for what I am trying to say.
But, today, I do not have a mood like that and I am not sure that I would ever have the words necessary to form a coherent, cohesive post.
Today sucks. It just does. It is a horrible, no good, very bad day and I wish that it were over.
Only, at the same time, I kind of don't want it to be over because....what then?
Friends, the news from the oncologist is inconclusive. At the end of November there were still masses in Jeff's lungs. And there are still two in there now. The oncologist "has no idea" what they might be and so Jeff is facing another surgery.
If it is once again cancer, I am not sure what happens next. If it is not cancer, Jeff is good to go as soon as he is healed from surgery.
I have tried my very hardest to remain optimistic during Jeff's cancer, but today, as I drove us home from the hospital the only thing I could think was: what if I lose my husband to cancer?
I do not believe that I am going to lose Jeff. I believe that we have a long, happy and healthy life ahead of us. But. Isn't it enough already?
I know that cancer does not care who you are. It does not strike down those who are "bad" people. No, cancer attacks without prejudice or reason.
I want desperately to stop writing about cancer. I want so badly for Jeff to return to a state where he is no longer scared of his own body. I want a sense of normalcy once again.
But, we do not always get what we want. I know that there is a lesson here or that things happen for a reason, and in time I trust I will have the knowledge that seems evasive now. For the time being, however, I will do what I need to in order to get through each day and I will pray that Jeff and I have some good news coming our way in 2014.
I don't know why I bother including a mood anymore on my blog. Maybe it's a throwback from the MySpace days when I got to choose a stupid looking emoticon to go next to my headline of the day. Most days I have a mood that helps me to create a cohesive post; it serves as a sort of theme for what I am trying to say.
But, today, I do not have a mood like that and I am not sure that I would ever have the words necessary to form a coherent, cohesive post.
Today sucks. It just does. It is a horrible, no good, very bad day and I wish that it were over.
Only, at the same time, I kind of don't want it to be over because....what then?
Friends, the news from the oncologist is inconclusive. At the end of November there were still masses in Jeff's lungs. And there are still two in there now. The oncologist "has no idea" what they might be and so Jeff is facing another surgery.
If it is once again cancer, I am not sure what happens next. If it is not cancer, Jeff is good to go as soon as he is healed from surgery.
I have tried my very hardest to remain optimistic during Jeff's cancer, but today, as I drove us home from the hospital the only thing I could think was: what if I lose my husband to cancer?
I do not believe that I am going to lose Jeff. I believe that we have a long, happy and healthy life ahead of us. But. Isn't it enough already?
I know that cancer does not care who you are. It does not strike down those who are "bad" people. No, cancer attacks without prejudice or reason.
I want desperately to stop writing about cancer. I want so badly for Jeff to return to a state where he is no longer scared of his own body. I want a sense of normalcy once again.
But, we do not always get what we want. I know that there is a lesson here or that things happen for a reason, and in time I trust I will have the knowledge that seems evasive now. For the time being, however, I will do what I need to in order to get through each day and I will pray that Jeff and I have some good news coming our way in 2014.
2014/01/06
If You Don't Have Anything Nice to Say....
Mood: annoyed
Didn't everyone's parents tell them this as children. Have people always been as hateful and mean as we are now? And if not, then when did we become such a mean culture? When did we decide that the best way to begin feeling better about ourselves was to tear others down? When did the need to constantly feel superior to the other begin? Why do we continue this even when we know how harmful and hurtful this behavior is?
For the past few days I've been mulling over a few posts I've seen on Facebook or Pinterest recently that bash women who wear makeup when going to the gym. Full disclosure because we're all friends here, I am that woman. I wear mascara to the gym.
I kind of let go of these posts because they really didn't upset me that much but then, I started thinking about Panera jerk from this past fall. For full details on what I'm talking about, read here.
Then today, as I'm browsing a style/beauty book in the Amazon eBook store I read a comment that states "women need to read this book before ever leaving the house in jeans because it would save me from seeing so much public ugliness." Really? REALLY? I'm pretty sure the public ugliness is your comment.
After reading that these feelings of inadequacy turned into an incensed anger. Why is this okay behavior?
Honestly, when did it become acceptable and normal to be so rude to each other?
Maybe I wear makeup to the gym not because I want to look good for anyone there, but because without it I feel too insecure to leave my house some days. Maybe I wear makeup to the gym because it helps me to feel more powerful and increases the amount of work I do there. Maybe the reason I wear makeup to the gym is none of your damn business.
Or maybe, just maybe, if we lived in a less judgmental and hateful world, I wouldn't feel so "ugly in public" and I could cart my yoga pants wearing fat ass to the gym, makeup free, but with a genuine smile on my face.
There is a quote that has made the rounds online by Jennifer Lawrence about how people veil this horrendous behavior by saying "welcome to the real world" and her retort was "that shouldn't be the real world" and I cannot applaud her enough for saying that. It shouldn't be acceptable to bash and hate and bully and belittle and then just tell people to suck it up.
I know that one of my resolutions in this new year is to do more good. To start leaving more encouraging messages randomly on cars or in public restrooms. I started this blog as a way to impact change in my own world and while it has served that purpose, it has strayed as well. I hope, this year, to blog more intentionally about making a positive change in the world. As my favorite artist, Andrew McMahon sings, "this world can be ugly, but isn't it beautiful?"
Yes, Andrew. Yes it is. If there is one thing I learned from cancer it is that the world is full of generosity and beauty and truly amazing people, even when things seem to be at their most hopeless. And I vow to do my part this year to help others see the beauty that I now do each and every day. I hope you'll join me.
Didn't everyone's parents tell them this as children. Have people always been as hateful and mean as we are now? And if not, then when did we become such a mean culture? When did we decide that the best way to begin feeling better about ourselves was to tear others down? When did the need to constantly feel superior to the other begin? Why do we continue this even when we know how harmful and hurtful this behavior is?
For the past few days I've been mulling over a few posts I've seen on Facebook or Pinterest recently that bash women who wear makeup when going to the gym. Full disclosure because we're all friends here, I am that woman. I wear mascara to the gym.
I kind of let go of these posts because they really didn't upset me that much but then, I started thinking about Panera jerk from this past fall. For full details on what I'm talking about, read here.
Then today, as I'm browsing a style/beauty book in the Amazon eBook store I read a comment that states "women need to read this book before ever leaving the house in jeans because it would save me from seeing so much public ugliness." Really? REALLY? I'm pretty sure the public ugliness is your comment.
After reading that these feelings of inadequacy turned into an incensed anger. Why is this okay behavior?
Honestly, when did it become acceptable and normal to be so rude to each other?
Maybe I wear makeup to the gym not because I want to look good for anyone there, but because without it I feel too insecure to leave my house some days. Maybe I wear makeup to the gym because it helps me to feel more powerful and increases the amount of work I do there. Maybe the reason I wear makeup to the gym is none of your damn business.
Or maybe, just maybe, if we lived in a less judgmental and hateful world, I wouldn't feel so "ugly in public" and I could cart my yoga pants wearing fat ass to the gym, makeup free, but with a genuine smile on my face.
There is a quote that has made the rounds online by Jennifer Lawrence about how people veil this horrendous behavior by saying "welcome to the real world" and her retort was "that shouldn't be the real world" and I cannot applaud her enough for saying that. It shouldn't be acceptable to bash and hate and bully and belittle and then just tell people to suck it up.
I know that one of my resolutions in this new year is to do more good. To start leaving more encouraging messages randomly on cars or in public restrooms. I started this blog as a way to impact change in my own world and while it has served that purpose, it has strayed as well. I hope, this year, to blog more intentionally about making a positive change in the world. As my favorite artist, Andrew McMahon sings, "this world can be ugly, but isn't it beautiful?"
Yes, Andrew. Yes it is. If there is one thing I learned from cancer it is that the world is full of generosity and beauty and truly amazing people, even when things seem to be at their most hopeless. And I vow to do my part this year to help others see the beauty that I now do each and every day. I hope you'll join me.
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