Elbow room...

There's this scene in the movie, "The Wedding Singer" where Drew Barrymore tells  Adam Sandler specifically that she hates sitting in the aisle seat on a plane, because her elbow always gets smashed by the drink cart each time it passes.

Later on in the movie, her boyfriend at the time, Gary Sinise, has proposed to her, and they're on a flight to Vegas for a quickie wedding.  Drew Barrymore has the aisle seat, and she asks Gary if they can switch, so that she can save her elbows.  "Plus," she says, "I've never seen the bright lights of Vegas before."

Gary Sinise says, "No, I want to stay where I am.  How about I just let you lean over my lap so you can see out the window while we land?"  Drew agrees to this, and at that exact moment, the flight attendant rolls by her seat with the drink cart and slams into her elbow.

The look on her face changes then, because a lightbulb goes on in her head, and she realizes that Gary is not the man for her.  It's a small act, this refusal to move, and by itself it looks like nothing.  But taken in their relationship as a whole, it speaks volumes.  There were many other signs throughout the movie that he was a self-absorbed jerk, and as you're watching it, you almost want to scream out to Drew, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH HIM?  HE DOESN'T DESERVE YOU. DON'T YOU KNOW YOU ARE IN LOVE WITH ADAM SANDLER ANYWAY???????'

But she doesn't.  She's not ready to admit it, and it takes a pretty hard smack in the elbow to bring her to her senses.

Sometimes it's the little things that matter most, because small compromises show a willingness to try and put another's needs before your own, just as a lack of compromise shows that you are more likely to contnually put your own needs first..

I have had my share of "elbow room" moments over the years.  Probably the worst was at 3 am when I stumbled out of bed to try to get to the bathroom while my ex was visiting.  My armbraces were in the other room, so I asked him if he would retrieve them for me.  "No, I'm too tired.  Do it yourself, " he said.  "Do it myself, "I did.  I crawled to the bathroom from the bedroom, did my business, got back down on the floor, and crawled to the living room to bring my armbraces back to bed.

Somewhere in the middle of all that, my face, if I had a mirror, probably looked something like Drew Barrymore's on the plane in The Wedding Singer.  By itself, this small act wasn't much.  He was tired... and very hung over... so I wanted to cut him some slack.  But then I realized, drunk or sober, awake or half-asleep, things like that happened all the time.  It just took me writhing down the hallway in my jammies at 3 am to realize it.

Little things may be little, but sometimes the littlest actions convey a much bigger meaning.

Let me take a selfie....

Imagine that the man (or woman) you love more than life itself has just proposed to you. You're lying there in their arms, planning your future and building your life together, piece by piece. You gaze lovingly into their eyes and they say: "I think I'm finally ok with the way you look now."

Or imagine that you are lying completely nude with your husband or wife. You look up at them to say, "I love you." They tap your rearend and say, "You could really use some work down here."

Or imagine you're with your significant other and you're not feeling particularly attractive that day. Being as they are your best friend, you confide in them that you are not feeling very attractive. "I'm really feeling like a solid 4 out of 10, " you say. 

They say, "Nah, I'd say a 7."

Or imagine that you are considering dating someone. You've gotten red flags to indicate to you that maybe this person doesn't think you're all that attractive. They laud the beauty of others on social media in front of you, but never say a thing to or about you unless prompted. They have admitted to you that they're afraid to show someone your pictures because while they find you attractive in some of them, others make them cringe. And it has become such an issue for this person that they must have a conversation to address it with you. 

What should you do?

My thoughts are these: 

1. You should be with someone who makes you feel like a 10 + everyday. Someone who sees your beauty for what it is and who doesn't care what others think, because they know you are the total package. 

2. You should be with someone who addresses you in love; who is careful of your feelings; and whose concern about your appearance is rooted in your health needs and not in any selfish concern they have for themselves. 

3. You should be with someone who sees the beauty in your heart first. That is so cliche. But trust me on this. The heart is always what is most or least attractive. In 50 years, my friends, we'll all have saggy butts and take wrinkly selfies. What will matter more is that we're still able to give, able to serve, and able to love one another. 

Outliers, Frogs, and Bacon: An Adoption Story

Roughly six years ago, a few big changes descended upon my life, creating a cool, thin haze that blanketed and disoriented me all at once.

For a person who may seem well-adjusted on the surface, I don't always cope with change very well, and this time in my life was no exception.  I was moving-- the third time in three years since relocating to Northern Virginia.  The man I thought was going to be my husband had no interest in coming with me. And looking at my professional future was the equivalent of staring into a loaded gun barrel.... and an unloaded bank account.

I was sad.  I was angry.  I was alone.

Honestly, at that point in my life, I felt truly disabled.  Not in the sense that you might think of the word, but exactly as Merriam Webster defines it. "unfit, unhealthy, unsound, unwell..." completely without purpose.

My boyfriend didn't want me.  I was a horrible roommate.  My job considered me worthless, and I couldn't even find any work in the legal field.... despite applying for job after job after job.

I remember thinking to myself, "I need something to care for, so I won't feel so useless."

I told my parents that I was going to get a dog.  Admittedly, looking back on the decision, it was pretty spur of the moment.  I had no money, only a tiny space for us both, and bad experiences keeping even plants alive.

But I tuned out their objections, though multiple and mostly reasonable, and went to my first Adoption Day hosted by the NoVA SPCA at Weber's Pet Supermarket in Fairfax.  I knew I wanted a small dog, and I knew I didn't have the time for a puppy, so I went into the experience completely unsure of what to expect.  It was my late twenties though-- a time that I'd decided to make completely about me-- and I knew I was going to walk away with a dog.

The Adoption Day was held in late August in the store's back parking lot. and the dogs were unloaded individually from a van so the families present could meet each of them and decide who they wanted to get to know.  I watched as the handfuls of children and older couples and younger couples made their choices, and trotted away happily with a new four-legged friend in tow to discuss the adoption process and complete the trial home-stay paperwork.

There I stood, facing the van in the center of the furry flurry, eyeing the single, untouched cage in the back.

"Hey, what about that little guy?"  I asked the volunteer who was standing nearest me.

"Oh, that's Poncho.  We have to get him out of the van last.  He's not big on crowds, and he doesn't really like the bigger dogs either."

She went into the van, removed his cage, and set it at my feet.  "Be nice, Poncho, " she whispered as she opened the door.  He inched slowly from the cage.... his coat unlike anything I'd ever seen on a chihuahua... a beautiful mixture of tan and black and gray.  He looked like he'd been eating nothing but table scraps... the really good stuff.  A round and rolly 15 pounds, I had to wonder if his foster family had been feeding him foie gras in place of Purina.    

Poncho was disinterested.  In me.  In all of these people.  In this whole process.  His head hung down as the volunteer meandered about the parking lot giving him a chance to relieve himself.  His posture seemed to say, "I do not want to be here, and I do not care very much for this particular life."

Oddly enough, that posture and that air is what drew me faster to him.  I knew just exactly how he felt (or at least I like to think so).  We were both outliers who seemed to be watching the happiness around us from the outside, wanting to take part but not knowing exactly how to break through.

That first day, I just stood there.... letting him walk up to me and sniff my feet, bending down to offer a hand or finger for him to sniff.  "Poncho's a hard sell, " she said. "You have to earn his trust."

I came back to the next Adoption Day, and then again to a third, each time seeing him open up a little more to me.  By the third Saturday, I was the one strolling the lot with him while he marked his territory.  That Saturday (the Saturday before Labor Day weekend) I decided to take Poncho home with me for a trial stay.

And home is where he has been since that Saturday.  I knew it was meant to be from the first day, when I was picking out supplies from the store to bring home with us.  I wanted to buy him a toy, but the SPCA rep said, "He only plays with frogs... he doesn't really like other things."  Just like my dog son, I've collected frogs since elementary school.... and became even more interested in them as a college French major... when I learned that they were used (however derogatorily) to describe French people.  

In the beginning, I adopted Poncho because I had a broken heart and thought I needed a dog....  but he has been so much more than just something I "thought I needed...".  He has become my friend, my confidant, my dance partner, my bacon taste-tester, my psychologist, my in-house jester, my pillow, my protector, and my family.

 Sure, we have had our ups and downs.  I have chased him  through the parking lot on Thanksgiving Day, cleaned his accidents from walls, carpets, clothing and so many other places where they just should not have been, and nursed him back to health and confidence after a bloody fight with a bigger dog.

This past Saturday someone tried to get into my front door.  They opened it halfway, and Ponch shot outside, growling and barking wildly.  I ran out after him, as fast as my bare feet could carry me., yelling, "Pooooooncccchhhhhhoooooo!" completely out of breath.    I heard two screams, both human, and feet hitting the pavement.  When I arrived at the door, he was sitting next to it, outside, waiting for me.  He looked over as if to say, "Mama, there were some strange dudes out here, but I took care of it."

Sure enough, they were nowhere to be found.  I told him to come back inside, clearly shaken up, and he jumped up on my leg as if to say, "It's all good.  I'm right here.  We're fine." We went back inside, and he stayed close to me the rest of the night, sensing that I wanted him there.
Some skeptics might say that I was selfish in adopting him... how dare I think I could take good care of a dog??  Who cares about what I need.  It's about him.  And they're right, Poncho's needs do matter.... they matter more to me than the needs of most people. But I say the skeptics' opinions don't matter.  Poncho's opinion is the only one that matters. And if this past Saturday proves anything, it proves that I didn't just adopt Poncho.  Poncho has adopted me.

The Ice Bucket Challenge: My Perspective

I've posted a couple of things on my Facebook-- an article and a video-- that have been critical of the IceBucket challenge.  People just don't seem to understand why I would be so critical of efforts to raise awareness about a disability when I work in the field of disability rights. 

That's just it. I work in the field of disability rights. I'm thrilled that all of these people are donating money to help find a cure for ALS, a fatal condition with no cure. 

But as someone who has worked for and alongside people with ALS for the last 13 years of my life (yes, you read that right) I wonder where all of these celebrities, and public figures, and ice dumpers with their big checks have been before now. 

Where was their motivation? Answer: there was none. So why did it suddenly appear, full steam ahead?

I'm not saying this is true in every case, but I do think narcissism plays a contributing factor. The world can see the good they do, can watch them feel the momentary discomfort of  cold water cascading down their bodies on You Tube-- a moment of discomfort that compares NOTHING to the months and years of discomfort that people with ALS experience while losing control of their bodies, and ultimately, their lives. 

And since we're on the subject of discomfort.. Do you know what people with ALS need more than your discomfort or your money??

Your friendship. 

Your love. 

Your support. 

I don't like these videos because they perpetuate the sense of "otherness". Many people don't know someone with ALS. To them, they're just these "poor people" off "suffering somewhere."

But here's the truth. Anyone could develop ALS. Or any other disability for that matter. 

And from what I've seen of people with ALS, they do all they can not to suffer, for as long as they can, fully living their lives until the fullness is drained from them, without their consent. They live with ALS, until they don't live anymore. 

And it is uncomfortable to think about... But you could become one of "those people" everyone feels so sorry for. 

You, yourself, could acquire a disability. 

And take it from the perspective of someone who already has one -- no amount of public dunking videos-- from Martha Stewart or Justin Bieber, or even the President himself will change that. 

They won't affect how the disability ravages anyone's lives. They will make a positive impact on awareness--yes. But I'd much rather have someone become aware by getting to know me, befriending me, working with me for the cause. 

Because we're all in this together. All under the same ice bucket. And we're all eventually headed toward the same end. 

The Day I became Dizzy Gillespie....

It has been awhile since my last update in this blog... Primarily because... well... I haven't felt like updating. There wasn't much to say. I'm still healing from last month's crazy (though unsurprising) events, and I've decided to just let that happen naturally and not to be hard on myself if it takes longer than I would like. 

My heart is big, but with its largesse comes a certain fragility. It seems that, for me, there can't be one without the other. I'm proud to be me. I'm confident in the way I love others, wholly and completely, and from my soul. And even though it's arguable whether some would deserve such love at times, if you're with me, that's what you get. 

It's the only love I know how to give. Bruises heal, but my love... It's a forever thing... 

Unfortunately though, so is my clumsiness.  Such is true in my love life, as well as in my everyday activities...

At least I'm consistent?

Last night, I stumbled out of bed, half asleep around 1 am to use the bathroom. I don't usually take my armbraces into the bathroom with me. Typically, I prop them up on the door frame and walk in unaided. 

Last night though, in my sleepy fog, was different. 

I walked straight into the bathroom and my right armbrace slipped on the rug next to the shower. I fell face-first into the toilet. 

As soon as my head hit the porcelain, I knew I was bleeding. I could feel the warmth running down my chin. 

I checked to see if my teeth were all there. Then I just laid in the floor for what seemed like the next half hour (but was probably more like 10 minutes) holding my t-shirt to my face applying pressure to lessen the bleeding. 

I debated calling the ambulance, but decided against it. This was not a real emergency. Just a minor fall worth a few stitches. 

No big deal.  Just impaled by my own tooth. That's all. (I took these pictures to send to my parents last night to show them why I was headed to the ER.)

I was able to call a cab and was at the ER in 20 minutes. The face is a particularly sensitive area, but this wasn't my first time with face stitches, so it was old hat. 

I did however find it ironic that I had to wear a "fall risk" bracelet for the duration of my stay. Given my current state, I thought that fact seemed pretty obvious. 

About 3 hours and 3 stitches later, I was back home walking the dog around 4 in the morning before heading back to sleep. 

All in all, the fall could have been much worse, and things at the ER went pretty smoothly. I was grateful that those 3 stitches were my only damage. 

But as I was riding in the cab home last night, the cabbie, who had driven me to work a few times before, said, "I know you live alone... but you don't have any friends you could call??"

I sat in silence, because in that moment, I felt very alone. 

I did have people I could call. I'm blessed in this area to have a number of friends who live relatively close and wouldn't have minded to help. 

But to be honest, when I fell, my main concern was getting myself to the ER on my own...Not waking someone else or their family up for a situation I could easily handle alone. 

 

Sure, it sometimes makes me lonely to think that I don't have a "person" for this... Or any of life's crazy situations. But at the same time, I don't need one either. I want people to want me around because they want me around, not because they feel obligated to help me. 

I am a person who likes to serve others, so I understand the desire to want to get to know someone through serving them... But at the same time, I would feel much more comfortable asking someone to help me if that person has already made an effort to get to know me outside of any acts of service. 

 

I am a person to know, not just something to do. And I think that fact can get lost when someone sees me through eyes of pity. To a typically functioning person, it might seem that my life is harder, or that I have "so much trouble" with certain tasks...just because I live life differently....

And maybe because I tend to have an accident every 7 years or so (my last er trip was in 2007...so I guess I was due.)

But I don't see it that way at all. I think quick on my feet... And lying on the floor after a fall for that matter...

I am unfazed by blood, guts, gore, and most pain. 

I don't freak out and go all drama queen in unpleasant or unexpected situations. 

Accidents happen. 

Sure, I may have more experience with them than some... But my experiences have cultivated in me characteristics that I love.

Characteristics that make me flexible and approachable and not easily shaken. 

That make me a strong will and a sturdy soul. 

Characteristics that make me a good friend. A strong advocate. 

A capable wife. A confident mother. 

I am more than just a "poor girl who needs help" or "a set of unfortunate circumstances..."

I am the soul that God created me to be. 

I know that He believes in my abilities. He proves His belief in me and His love for me over and over....each time He allows me to experience something new or difficult and push through to the other side....

And if God, Who knows all of me because  I am His, has such confidence in me as His Daughter and His Servant, who are any Earthly beings who only know what they choose to see in me to think otherwise?? 

Low points...

All weeks have them, and I guess you could say I've hit mine.

Annnnnnnd it's Tuesday.

My apartment smells of mildew from a weekend washer issue, which flooded the hallway and part of my dining room.

I met a guy last week, who thought I was cool sitting down.  Cool enough to have a 4 hour conversation with, flirt with, and laugh with, but who quickly exited the picture once he saw what I look like standing up.

The guy who I've been "talking to" for over a year now, finally let the cat out of the bag that he wasn't interested in having an actual relationship with me-- just pseudo-relationship like behavior and no commitment, because as his words IN AN E-MAIL said, "if I wanted you we'd be in a relationship."

Apparently, he's none too interested in maintaining a friendship either or he would have chosen to be less of a complete and total jerkface about it.

And come to think of it... the cat wasn't really in the bag... it was out prancing around, kneading on top of my stomach, I just chose to ignore that it was there... because well, he said he loved me, and that I was perfect for him.

Multiple times.

And.

And.

And.

What?  All that other shady behavior actually matters????

Oh.

Well, Wednesday has the potential to be a much better day.... so I'm looking forward to climbing out of the valley and into the sunshine.

Because I'm worth mountaintops and sunshine and people who love me standing up, sitting down, and passed out on the ground...

Or from 350 miles away even....

And so are you.

Dear 16 Year Old Me

Dear 16-Year-Old Me,

You got your heart broken today, and I'm so sorry.  I'm sorry because I know it hurts.  You're a sensitive girl, and you think like a Jane Austen novel.... so I know you feel it more than most. It's ok to be a feelings person, and it's ok to cry, but you need to learn to wear your feelings.  Don't let your feelings wear you.  (I don't know why I'm telling you this; you won't listen.... but you should).  I'll go ahead and tell you right now that you are going to spend the next 2 to 3 years pining over the guy who just broke your heart.  Again, that's ok, because I know you loved him.... but I want you to understand something.

This was not your fault.  You did nothing wrong.  It had to end; it wasn't meant to last forever.  Promises fall so free and easy from teenage lips, because they are taken lightly.  Tomorrow seems like eternity sometimes when you are young, and you are not thinking about who you will be in a day, a week, or a month-- much less ten years.  Let me let you in on a secret.  You may even think you know who you are now, but you don't.

Remember though, this was not his fault either.  Just as you don't know who you are, he doesn't know who he is.  You both need to meet yourselves for the first time, and honestly, it is better if you make those introductions alone.  That way, you can be sure the you that you get to know is the pure, unadulterated you--  the you you want to be, and not the one somebody else expects. You're a people-pleaser, but you need to learn how to find your own voice.  The truth is, you can't add to others' happiness when you're unhappy.  It's going to take you a while to discover this truth, so you should start digging for it now.

You need to shape your own self without worrying about how to fit into another person's mold.  But if you need guidance, look to God.  Use His word as instruction on who to become.  Keep your gentle and kind spirit, and your patience.  You are going to need them so much in the years that follow.

And remember to thank Him for what you had.  You spent almost every day for 4 years with one of your best friends-- someone who did not mind carrying your books, giving you piggy-back rides, driving you around, or responding to strangers who were rude to you.  Because you two grew up together, he knew you, and knew that you were no different from any other girl your age.

He looked into your eyes and saw you for who you really are.

Already, you have had an experience that is rare for most people your age who have disabilities.  You don't appreciate that fact now, because you're sad... but it's true.  And you should thank God for the gift He's given you in that boy.

Also, appreciate how kind and patient he was with Matthew-- that he talked to him, laughed with him, and made an effort to understand him all the time.  Unfortunately, some of the guys you bring home later will be complete jerks to Bucky... or just not speak to him at all.  Remember that you want someone who loves your favorite person as much as you do.... and you are going to be able to tell a lot (and very quickly) about a man's character by the way he treats your brother.

One last thing--try not to be so angry at this young man later in life.  He'll try to befriend you; accept him.  If you don't, it will be a decision you'll regret later.... over and over.

And eat the chocolate rose that your Daddy just brought home.  It will make you feel better.

Love,

You at 32