Showing posts with label Son. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Son. Show all posts

Friday, August 30, 2013

Kevin Help Us

Sometimes, you can find encouragement and enlightenment in unexpected places. I heard this quote recently:

“Do stupid shit that’s cool. It helps.”

I know what you are thinking. But no, this quote is not from the wisdom of the Buddha or the writings of Rene Descartes. I heard this quote while listening to a podcast.

I love listening to podcasts while I am doing mindless activates, such as housework or online dating. One of my favorite podcasters is writer/director Kevin Smith.



I don’t even remember in which of his podcasts he said this. But I remember hitting the tiny iPhone button that rewinds the audio 15 seconds. I listened to it again, and I wrote it down.

Aside: Do we still rewind when there is no longer any audio that is actually on tape?

Anyway, I dig Kevin Smith. I admire his writing ability, his voice. I like that he curses a lot, just like me. I like how he became a filmmaker. He just decided to be a filmmaker. Then he did it.

In his book Tough Shit, he writes:

“There’s a trick to being whatever you want to be in life. It starts with the simple belief that you are what or who you say you are.”

Most of the things I "am" are not because of a calculated decision on my part. I am technical writing for a living, because the first job I got after graduating--with a fairly useless communications degree--was writing for the software industry. It was serendipitous that I found a writing job where I could be part of an exciting industry. It was also unstable, because that is how the software industry is. But am I a technical writer? That isn’t what I want to be in life.

I have an amazing son, which is great. But motherhood happened mostly because that was just the path that I thought I should take. Being a mom was never something I dreamed about being as a young girl. I was married, I was approaching 30. I thought a baby was what was next. I wouldn’t trade that pisser of a kid for anything in the world. But is a mom who I am?  I’m not sure. Maybe?

I certainly never want to think of myself as sick. I don’t feel sick. I don’t know what having a chronic illness is supposed to feel like. But right now, MS is mostly in my head, as well as my brain. I think about it all the time. It’s never very far away. I know I have to accept the fact that this is my normal. But I refuse to believe that I am anyone’s patient.



I want to be a Derby Girl. I want to be tough, and strong, and powerful. I believe I am a Derby Girl. I am terrible at skating. I struggle with endurance. I still haven’t done that damn crossover. But I am learning and training. I’m not going to be a Derby Girl. I am a Derby Girl. Believe it.


So do some stupid shit every once in a while. Chase a dream. Believe in yourself. It helps.


Sunday, August 25, 2013

The Mailbox Assault

In these days of texts and emails, how often do we ever rally get anything good in the mail? Yesterday, I got three bills, an Entertainment Weekly, and a flier soliciting donations to MS. I have probably thrown away a few hundred of these mailers since becoming an adult and needing my own mailbox. I hardly give them a second glance. But this one, with the all to familiar red lettering of my least favorite initials, jumped right out at me.


It feels strange to donate to the MS cause. I have already given so much money to MS.  MRIs, office copays, prescriptions, vitamins. These things add up quickly. And wouldn't my dollar be better spent helping an eight-year-old girl's final wish than to try to figure out why this forty-one-year-old girl has scars in her brain?

But it feels equally strange NOT to donate to MS. Aren't I at least slightly obligated to help fund the research to cure my disease? To help my peers with failing central nervous systems?

I have always struggled to figure out where to donate what little money I have to give. If I give to breast cancer research, I can't give to Planned Parenthood. If I choose to donate to a political campaign because I like the candidate's stance on Syria, am I somehow denying that little bit of money to the lab that would have otherwise found the cure for MS?

I'm not sure, even after my diagnosis,  that MS is the cause I would support with my very limited amount of donation dollars. Yet how can I, in good conscious, ever ask someone else to contribute to a cause that I have myself not contributed to? Especially a cause that directly benefits me?

Even giving away my ill-fitting clothes or my slightly worn coat makes me question: Wouldn't the women's shelter be a better place for those?

I can't donate that much of my time. I can't even donate blood. How does someone choose?

My son has the most beautiful heart. We never pass a homeless man on the corner without my kid asking why that man is there and how we can help him. He wants to find every lost pet. He asks for quarters so he can toss them into collection buckets. He offers to give his own money when there is a drive for donations at school.

It is clear to me. The best way I can help the world is to invest in my son. He will be my donation to the world.