Stop being selfish with your resolutions

There are thousands of things one can choose to 'work on' and 'aim for' in their life. Everything can be improved upon. Even by the 1% percent rule- being 1% better today than you were yesterday will leave you leaps and bounds better after 365 days. That's the effect of compounding interest. One of the goals that I wanted to tackle in 2024 was my haystack hair. It is so dry and rats so easily. Also, my face. I wanted to find the right products, makeup, and routine to give me a young, dewy, glowing complexion. 

But why?

Why is it that of all the things I can work on, all the resolutions I can make- I picked things pertaining to the imperfect things about my appearance? Do I struggle with low self-esteem? Do I seek the approval of others on superficial levels because that is all I find valuable?  Am I so shallow that my preferences in others relate to these same things? Who am I judging and comparing myself to, that I find myself coming up short? Am I lowering my potential because of  the bar that society has set?

Do you know what you want in life? 

Can you articulate the physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual goals for your one, singular life?

If you can- I would ask you "Are those yours, or society's?'.

If you can't- I would ask you "How do you know what to go towards?". How do you know what to ask God for if you don't know what you want? (Hint- let's want to be closer to God).

The purpose of life is not a wrinkle free face, an immaculate retirement portfolio, or even the knowledge and wisdom of the ages. What will those things gain you? What will those things protect you from? How will those things feed your soul? I suppose that desiring these things, in and of themselves, isn't a bad thing, but ultimately, in our striving for love, joy, and belonging they are mere crumbs leading us away from the true source of all that we search for and need. I believe every person on this earth feels a restless and urgent need for something that they can't put into words. That feeling of lost car keys, waking up late after the alarm didn't go off, or having a word just on the tip of your tongue- leaves you feeling off kilter a bit or even unknown to yourself. 

So, what is the purpose of life? What should we be resolving to do every New Year? What is our aim and our goal? What is a worthwhile quest for this one singular life? What is good and noble and right?

Truthfully, we are wise enough to know that the material and sense feeding things of this world will not quench our need for love, acceptance, and belonging. The wonderful truth of it all is that when we lead our lives from a place of being loved and accepted, then all we can do is thrive; all we can do is live into other people's lives for the better. Our Lord God loves and accepts us just the way we are. 

What does that look like on any given Sunday, Tuesday, or New Year's Day?

It involves the acceptance of being a part of something bigger than just your one life. 

It means a reconciliation between the life society has placed on a pedestal and the ultimate reality of finding the community of relationships that lend purpose and meaning to your existence. Living for your joy and happiness will assure your misery. Living each day as an opportunity to show loving kindness to others will assure you a life of fulfillment and meaning. Share a smile, hold a door, wish someone good luck, listen intently, give a hug, provide a hot meal - these are the things that love does. The purpose of life- is to be love, to act lovingly, and to maintain those abilities in the worst of times- just like Jesus did. 

New Year's Resolutions

 January 1, 2024

I felt it fitting that I didn't post one blog in 2023. It was a bit of a mean year. A sort of grumpy year for me. Prickly. Don't get me wrong, my year was also AMAZING!

I think this is probably the first real sign of old age. This vague sense of grump. Noticing weird body aches and pains, hearing my inner voice say "Does this music have to be so loud?" or some other complaint, and the enjoyment of bird watching. Why does this start happening to the majority of us in middle age?

As it turns out, I have a few thoughts on that. 

We're freaking over it already. Our minds have been spiraling in multiple directions for decades now and we just need things to shush for Pete's sake. OVER STIMULATION is totally for the 20 and 30 somethings. By 40- we want to have some control over the 3-ring circus that is 'life-work balance'. I also think we spend so much more time engaging in conversations that never actually happen, that by the time we get a moment of peace, we just need silence. The space that the imaginary conversations take up in our minds is absurd, and frankly, I'm sick of hearing it! Shut up, Brooke! Stop with the nonsense and go meditate. I am capable of calmness. 

At our age- we aren't developing our character or molding some public persona- when we are out in public, it is on purpose for some sort of utility to our lives. We no longer need to be coaxing people into thinking we are interesting, intelligent, and irreplaceable because we know we are all those and so much more. Because many of us have suffered through the hard thing, or things, and have a sense of sturdiness in who we are, the music can be turned down. We don't have to hide behind the loud drums or head banging guitar solos. We are who we have become. Take it or leave it. 

Which is why New Year's resolutions don't work on us. We do things when they need to get done. We buy things for ourselves when we need them. We'll make lifestyle changes when staying on the same course becomes more painful then trying something new, something better for us. Our risk and reward decision making process has gotten very streamlined. "What's the worst that's going to happen? I lose $2000 dollars? I've spent more for less important things." 

No. I'm not making New Year's Resolutions. What I am going to do is challenge myself to a new healthy habit each month. By the end of the year I hope to have:

    1. Walked 30 minutes every day.

    2. Read/Listen to a book once a month.

    3. Incorporate a skin care routine daily.

    4. Spent a day with my niece and nephew once a month.

    5. Incorporated specific proactive wellness practices. 

    6.  Chosen healthy meals when eating out.

    7. Stopped drinking coffee and soda, drink water and coconut water.

    8. Been intentional with my shopping. Shop local, made in the USA, Organic.

    9. Limited my alcohol intake to 2 drinks in one sitting. 

    10. Stuck to a sleep routine.

    11. Practiced gratitude daily.

    12. Prayed and meditated consistently. 

Happy for me in the New Year. 

Love Does.

One of my favorite authors is Bob Goff. He says "You'll do with your life what you do with your love." This is such a simple statement but really profound in its far reaching consequences. In a recent low period in my life, I struggled to feel worthy, to get things right, to feel connected. My depression was so worrisome that I started back in therapy and increased one of my anti-depressants. I confided in my partner, but the days just did not get better. UNTIL I thought about what I did with my love, and dialed into the questions of  who am I? and why am I feeling this way?

What I realized was a pattern, in a few of the significant depressive episodes that I have had. Including the one I was currently in. Something triggered the thought that the body keeps the score. Our bodies are these sensing beings taking in so much information, with so little of it reaching our conscious thought. Malcolm Gladwell has a book called "Talking to Strangers" and in his research that he shared there was a particular study that came to mind. The study was trying to see if someone will show a physiological response when it notices a pattern, and how they tested it was to use a deck of cards and the person was to guess higher or lower (I might have that wrong, but it was something just as simple). The basic results showed that our bodies reacted (with a change in vital signs, etc) when the mind recognizes a pattern on a subconscious level, well before it was recognized on the conscious level. Again- that's probably the worst synopsis possible, but you get my drift. 

Do you know how often you make eye contact with one particular person in a day? Or how about how often you smile around that person or they smile at you? What about reaching out and touching their arm or giving them a big hug, or a half-hearted hug? I am certain that I have never kept track of these things, but I do believe my subconscious noticed. How does my subconscious notify me that something is wrong or that the other person has shown less of these signs of attention? Well, apparently I get the notion that something is wrong, and believe that it is my fault, which leads to deeper feelings of unworthiness when my attempts at being more loving and attentive are not reciprocated. This is my working theory. When the other person withholds communication, eye contact, thoughtful appreciation, loving attention, and casual contact it would naturally make someone assume that the person is upset with them. Not me. I assume that they have found me out and realized I am unworthy of love. Which is complete and utter nonsense. The other thing I found out about what I do with my love is that I am generous, caring, supportive, thoughtful, and even sacrificial. I am somewhat fearless with the love I give. I am also independent. The kind of independent that doesn't require a lot of "taking care of". That's when I realized, it wasn't me it was him. Similar to my ex-husband John. When there are so few 'needs' that need met with me, not getting the basic kindness and support that should be found between two people in a relationship, is a huge deal. 

God teaches that he wants what is good for us, and that we should love others, even strangers, as we would want to be loved. There comes a point in love when it is no longer loving. I'm not talking the horrific situation of abuse, because that is not done out of love. I am talking about the clear absence of love, the verb, in a relationship. I will never forget another thing Bob Goff says and that is that "Love does." Fill your life with people that do the work of love. 

June 28, 2021- Threads of my life

So here I am again. Dangling with my feet, my mind and my being, into the frayed edges of depression. If I am honest, I'm no longer just dangling in the nearness of depression, but tangled in the thick strands of it; the same old upholstery of my mind that has been mine since my birth. If you've ever seen the two sides of upholstery up close you know that one side is the pretty side, the outcome of the sewn mess of threads that make up the ugly side. Being tangled is not so bad. It is being undone that I fear most. What is most important for me to keep in mind while I am sometimes feeling like I am losing it, is that so much of what is going on is because of pharmaceuticals. In this particular instance, for me, it is the changing of medications that is wrecking my life right now. This is the bullshit of it all and I can't help but clinch my teeth as a wave of angry tears reluctantly jump from my eyes. 

I've brought this round on myself. Starting in December of 2019, which was 5 years since my last hospitalization, I began a holistic approach to dealing with my entire self. I sought the nutritional and whole food supplementation advice of Dr. Michael Whitman and Dr. Adrienne Hagedorn and have been seeing them on a maintenance basis for over a year now. With the improvement of my gut lining, the ability to assimilate and actually absorb the nutrients, vitamins, minerals, and most importantly the proteins that are the building blocks of my neurotransmitters, I was able to wean off 2 anti-depressants (out of the 4 I had been prescribed since 2014). Anti-depressants have saved my life, more than a few times. They have also stolen it, in months and years at a time. It's not really as dramatic as it sounds, well wait, maybe it actually is. My desire to decrease the number of medications I take for my depression stemmed from my desire to fall in love again, to become emotionally available to others, and to be joyful AND down right pissed off when it is called for. All things that were proving to be impossible on the dosages that I was on. Apathy and the cardboard box life that high dosages of medications can cause were a total pain in my nothingness. And if there is anything I want out of my life, it is for the absence of nothingness. So, I worked with my doctors to wean off the medications. 

And Guess What?- I fell in love.  Boy, he sure didn't know what he was getting himself into, but we sure are smitten with each other. He sure is healing to be around and I find peace in his strength. 

At 44, almost 45, I found myself still dealing with cystic acne. The kind of acne caused by hormonal imbalance. I know, can't a girl catch a break already! I know my hormones are doing something to me but it has been hard to tell whether it's my depression or my hormones that is causing my low mood. They have always worked for and against me most my life. My mental health practitioner suggested a new medication. One that she has seen a lot of great results with and I just wanted to hope that one new pill would do away with the last two meds I was still on and so I agreed to try it. Weaning off anti-depressants, especially one that requires 24 days for half of it to get out of your system, is as fun as having - well I can't even imagine what is equivalent to it- it fucking sucks. The new medication and the withdrawal of the other leaves me feeling so off center. I am writing this for over 2 hours because I can't stay focused. I get up and think I should mow the yard and then instead I make something to eat when I am not hungry. I am irritated at sitting still and irritated at not having a place to sit. All at the same time. I am tearful at church and crying during every worship song and yet I feel more connected to God through those tears. I am so emotional, and it is great and beautiful, and very, very hard. I can't decide whether I want to go and do something or sit and stay. I am raw in every mental and emotional way and I pray that this new pill will do what it is good at doing and that the withdrawal of the other medication just gets on with it already. 

The difficult life of a gypsy with a mortgage. January 31, 2021

Gypsy heart with a 30 year mortgage. It's going to take some getting used to. The only endurance event I ever completed successfully was a marathon. Jobs, relationships, and addresses have not customarily enticed me to endure for more than 3 or 4 years. Which is why 2 ex-husbands, 19 previous "permanent" residences, and 20 some different hospital contracts later- I am not surprised to find myself curious about the prospect of buying an old home in Southeastern Italy for 1 Euro (how do I get the Euro symbol? Must put at the top of my to-do list that I never intend starting on). Wouldn't that just be so "Under the Tuscan Sun" of me? It sounds romantic and carefree, and deliciously carb friendly. Damn you corporate America. What is this stingy hold you have over my life, and others, slivering vacation days like some plastic surgeon shaving off the end of someone's nose. I like my vacations in big honking chunks. "Doctor- take it all off and leave nothing to spare!" Let's give vacation time to employees in days, not hours. Let's take vacations in weeks not days! I'm already thinking like a European. Maybe a life in Italy is not such a bad idea after all. Oh hush, I know. I am already having those practical, life application arguments with myself. Ugh, what if what if what if? Shut your pie hole hussy- life isn't being lived by merely having acceptable responses to all the what ifs about a situation. That's for cowards. Or for people with children and responsibilities. Not for dreamers and doers like me! I'm a vagabond heart with Google translate downloaded on my phone. Nothing has to hold me back. Except for COVID and 29 more years on this mortgage. Closed borders are not a gypsy girl's friend. Mortgage smortgage- that can be dealt with in various ways. Did you hear that? The heavy exhale of a defeated soul. Is being carefree and impractical at 44 3/4 charming and enviable or tacky and childish? Only tacky if wearing big, neon pink hoop earrings. That's my final answer.

Life on the ordinary is difficult. Mostly because I've wrapped up my identity with the doings of my life. The coming and going has been feeding my curiosity for 20 years. Since owning my home here in Southern Indiana I have watched more TV then in all the years combined up to this point. It is NOT who I am. (I will only allow the pandemic a small nugget of responsibility for it's part in keeping me home). Sitting around while time ticks by fuels my restlessness. Gray skies and cold wind irritate the travel bug inside of me. It is the last day of January. (Happy Birthday to my beautiful older sister, Carrie).

Dear God, It's me again. When you nudged me homeward bound in 2018 I obeyed. Your mercy and grace in my life have shown up in fairy tale ways. Ways that I will never earn nor deserve. Thank You. Two words that are used so cheaply sometimes. This would not be one of them. Thank You. Thank You. Thank You. I give you all the glory. IJNIP- Amen. 

Florida bound in 12 days. But who's counting? Go Brooke!

January 24, 2021- looking down the barrel of 45

 I'm looking down the road at turning 45 later this year. Forty-whatyoutalkinboutWillis-five. That's not in dog years either. I have to say I'm not sweating it. Literally, not sweating it because I am not having those crazy hot flashes that I assume could be on the horizon, as my pristine never used uterus and ovaries begin to reign in MENOPAUSE. Which is really kind of a kick in the crotch because if I am honest the last few years have been nothing but men-on-pause. When I decided to move back to my exotic home scape in Southern Indiana, I knew that dating would be a challenge. Wait, there are plenty of guys who would likely take me on a date. So let me rephrase that- finding a man who does not smoke, has a well-paying job, and the capable mental acrobatics that can keep up with my own would be difficult. There are lots of men out there but I require teeth, the absence of facial and/or neck tattoos, and currently single. These are my preferences. Call me judgmental. If I were to tell you my list of ideal qualities- you'd understand how very low my standards have fallen. The caveat to all of this is that I am no longer a prime catch. I am no longer built like a brick-shit house... more of a flabby inflatable jump house, and rarely wear clothing that I couldn't do yoga in (as if I actually did yoga). I'm not trying to date outside of my league by any means. You can imagine my surprise when a dating site hottie matched me and he was 14 years my junior. He wasn't from Nigeria and didn't ask for money and he really just liked older women. Yes please and Thank You. The age difference wasn't the reason we ended things. He ended it I suppose since he was the one who didn't respond to my text messages first. But I didn't throw down any road blocks if you know what I'm sayin. He was a "musician" and lived in his Mom's basement. It was a fun 3 months. Very fun. A LOT of fun. 

Anyway....45. I have decided this isn't my midlife point though. I expect to die at 93. So I have another year and a half before I reach THAT mountain top. It's been a hell of a climb so far. No, I never had children, and that's an unfortunate/blessing from God. The climb has been challenging and I am looking forward to the down hill ease of conversations about bowel movements and retirement villages to tour. I already feel like a senior citizen around my nephew and niece who are far more technologically savvy then I ever want to be. Neither one can brush their teeth above the sink like an appropriate human being. Which oddly makes me feel superior in the technology department. Go Brooke.  

Found this June 19th 2020 in a notebook Happy Father's Day, Dad. I love you..

November 5th- St. Vincent's Hospital, Evansville, IN

I watched Dad's face as the doctor went  over the CT Scan results from the evening before. He had swallowed some dye and then imaging was done to see if there was a hole or a fistula communicating between his esophagus and right lung. Dad finally felt hungry today. He looked forward to eating for the first time since his cancer diagnosis in June. I didn't need to hear what the results were. All I could see was despair on Dad's face. He just stared at the wall. It was a look of pain like I've never seen. All I could say was "I'm sorry Dad". He probably didn't even hear me over the sound of the high flow oxygen he was receiving. He stared off most of the day, or had his eyes shut. I hated that he wouldn't talk to me.

How does a daughter help her father during such a difficult cancer journey? Where is the balance between optimism, guarded hope and harsh reality? Being at his side has been a blessing and a curse I watched him become paralyzed to do anything but exist since his diagnosis. He didn't pull himself up by his bootstraps, start living a healthy life and a new fitness routine as if assuming the stance of a cancer warrior. Rather, he seemed to collapse in on himself, so deep into darkness, that daylight caused him pain.

I watched him lose 20 pounds, then 30 pounds and I feared he would actually starve to death. I called Dr. Poirier to talk some sense into Dad about getting a g-tube. Dad reluctantly agreed. He had all the chemo and radiation and now all that was left was for him to do was to get stronger and put on weight.

His lungs and esophagus were irritated from the radiation, so Dad had copious amounts of sticky thick secretions. He was dehydrated, got pneumonia, and then got c-diff. We began once daily IV antibiotics at home. He had nurses, physical therapists and occupational therapists coming by throughout the week.

He finally admitted he was depressed and yet still refused to talk to anyone or take anything for it. He was failing to thrive and my hands were tied on how much motivation, reprimanding and pleading that I could do. He wouldn't hear any of it. So I loved him. I stopped blaming character flaws for his poor health and I cared for him. He was still Dad and yet he became a man who was dying of cancer. I'm sure  that compassion and empathy are more readily available when all my emotional memories and needs were put away. I'm not saying I only looked at Dad through rose colored glasses. I'm saying I chose to look beyond who he was to me and see him as the person who needs me. I had many moments of anger and frustration at how stubborn he was being, but with the help of God's grace I became tolerant of his, understandably, foul moods and depressed outlook. Eeyore must have had esophageal cancer. I started asking myself who he needed me to be. More often than not, all he needed was his daughter in the corner looking out for him. Mom taught me how to be present without being intrusive when she stayed by my side at the hospital in Indianapolis when I had Dengue Fever.

Today, sometime between the news of the fistula and me leaving the hospital for the night, Dad came to terms with something. I'll probably never know what brought it on, but when I was leaving I told him to "Give 'em hell tonight" and he laughed a real laugh. I love you Dad.

November 11, 2019 IU University Hospital, Indianapolis, IN

It's Veteran's  Day. Because Dad's situation is so complex we asked to be transferred to Indy. This is where his post-chemo and radiation surgery will be if he ever is able to have his esophageal tumor resected. We transferred on Friday night. Today will be a week without any nutrition. I want to list briefly how Dad's course has gone.
After diagnosis, Dad did very little to improve his health to take on chemo and radiation. He actually went through them pretty well. He was weak, but also depressed and didn't do much more than go from the couch to the bed.

December 21, 2019

It's been a month today since Dad died.