Weeds Happen

In Candide, Voltaire writes about the journey of a young man that has been raised in a world of optimism. When this life is suddenly turned upside down, he finds himself in a pain-filled struggle with the world that is a much harsher place than he was led to believe. He was unprepared for reality.

In the end, Voltaire embraces the philosophy that optimism creates a state where we are constantly seeking the ideal future, which is only ideal because it has yet to be created. And if we are not constantly looking forward, we are pining for the better times in the past.

Voltaire writes: "Optimism is the obstinacy of maintaining that everything is best when it is worst." How true. The only time we really call on optimism in our lives is when things are going badly. No one is ever eating ice cream at Disneyland and secretly thinking: It’s all going to be better tomorrow if I can just get through today.

Voltaire tells us that we must live in the present, where we should "cultivate our garden." Clean out the weeds, so the garden can grow. You can't just hope the weeds go away. You can't just think about how the garden looked before the weeds took hold. You should only focus on how your garden is right at this moment. Optimism is a crutch we sometimes use to avoid taking action today.

Lately, I've been encountering the word optimistic a lot. “We are optimistic that this medication will work.” “I’m optimistic because I haven’t had a relapse in two years.” “You should be optimistic because this new therapy wasn’t even available five years ago.” But here’s the thing.  I shouldn’t be optimistic. Not because I should be pessimistic. I should be neither.  Because being either pessimistic or optimistic means you are not focusing on today. Being optimistic or pessimistic means putting energy into what might happen, not what is happening.

Today, I am feeling pretty good. Today my hand is still bothering me. Today I am feeling a little sad about things. Today, I have a lot of work to do.

This last weekend, one of my dearest friends reminded me that, as each day starts, you begin as a completely different person. You are not the same person that went to sleep last night and you will not be the same person you wake up being tomorrow morning. The goal, therefore, should be to use each day to find your happiness and find your true self. That is a garden worth tending.

In essence, it is what it is.  I know it is a trite, overused phrase. But it is the best one to convey the sense of acceptance of a situation. The recognition that some things cannot be changed.  My cat will never be a tiger. I will never be an astronaut. My life will never be smooth sailing.
  

Some people don’t like that saying because it suggests the surrender of control. It implies that one has no say over what is happening in their respective lives.

But the truth is, we really have no control over most thing. I have no control over having MS. I cannot change the fact that bad things have happened. And all the optimism in the world will not prevent bad things from happening again. They will not be the same bad things. Tending your garden includes learning from your mistakes.

I am just trying, with all my might, to pay attention to the now, without spending energy wishing I could change the past and without worrying what the future holds. I am trying to weed my garden, which makes room for new growth.

My son started 4th grade today. Before I dropped him off, I was talking to him about the school year ahead. I was telling him about the things I remembered about being in 4th grade. Books I read, field trips I went on, friends I made. I asked him if he was excited to start.

He said, “Meh. I’m excited I got to wear my new shirt. I’m glad you are walking me in to find my classroom. I hope my teachers are nice. I’m bummed summer is over.”

Then he said “Ask me again tomorrow.” Yeah, I think he’s got the Voltaire thing down.

It's 'Bout Time

It could not have come at a better time.

Last night, I was at the Derby Depot for a bout between the Molly Morbids and my Derby Girls, the Bonneville Bone Crushers. This was the first bout I have seen since I started as Fresh Meat. I loved the few other bouts I had seen, the ones that relit the secret Derby Girl longing I harbored. But this bout blew me away.

I saw things in it that I never saw until I started skating. I saw not only the skill and athleticism. I saw the strategy, the grace, the energy and endurance.

In the past couple days, I have been battling my body a little bit. It has made me feel slightly pessimistic about whether I could ever really be a Derby Girl.  Being at the bout last night refueled my determination and desire. I so want to be out there on the track like those amazing women, skating my heart out. I am going to make it happen. I've not only renewed my desire, I remembered why I wanted this in the first place.

I needed that.

I got my team shirt. This will be the shirt that will someday display my yet-to-be-determined Derby name and number. It made me excited to imagine myself someday putting on that shirt to skate out and face the opposing team.

I felt included, part of the gang, and right where I belonged. And my girls won.

Head Games

I am too in my own head lately.

For the last couple days, my hand has been bothering me. I have no better description of what is going on with it. It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t quite tingle, and it doesn’t quite itch. It feels a little like it burns, but not really. Just kind of? Something is just off. I am way more aware of my hand than I ever remember being before.

And that is why I am in my head. I keep thinking the following thoughts, often simultaneously:

Should I call my doctor? Should she be aware of this? Is there anything she can do? Will I want to do what she recommends, which might very well be an IV infusion of steroids?

Am I coming down with a cold? Are my small aches and weird tingles the sign of an impending illness? Am I exhausted because I am coming down with something? Does my throat feel scratchy? Is it possible that I am tired because I have been running around all week without much rest?

Has my finger always had this vague sensation? Have I always scratched the backs of my hands out of habit instead of itchiness? Is there really a rogue hair attached to my finger that keeps me searching for the source of the tickle?

Do people without MS experience these things? Is this just the “normal” human condition? Have the times I have experienced this in the past been a typical and universal experience of our species? What is normal?

I so miss the days, not too long ago, when I didn’t know I had MS. I miss how things were. If my palm itched, I scratched it. If my foot fell asleep, I stood up and stomped on it to get some blood flowing. If I had trouble reading the PowerPoint presentation projected on the screen in the conference room, I put on my glasses.

My life has changed. And it will never be the same as it was before. Not only that, but this diagnosis has struck the one chord—stripped of myelin—that causes the most anxiety and angst in my life.

I’m the type of person that likes to know how things end. I read the end of the book. I look up spoilers on the Internet. Knowing the ending actually enhances the pleasure of the experience for me. I was the type of kid who, when given a Choose Your Own Adventure book, would start at the back and reverse engineer my choices to make sure I never turned the page to read “You have died.”

I know in my hole-filled brain that no one on earth gets to know the end of their story. Not really. There is the often funny, often cruel force of Chance that is active in every human life. I am not guaranteed the next 20 minutes, let alone the next 20 years.

But I thought I had a road map in front of me. A rough outline of where I was going and what I was going to do. That map has been wadded up and tossed out the window. I have to re-figure out a lot of things I thought I knew. Like if I am experiencing an itch or a relapse.  I need to figure out when to tough it out and when to call it in. I need to learn when to push through or pull up. And when to hold tight when to let loose.

But I still want to know how it ends.