MymudpieS

This title really makes no sense, other than the fact that I want to write about COFFEE. Plus, I needed a catchy title that might even lure some young Padawans into my blog-fold. Lately, I am obsessed with java. I love it’s smell. I wake up craving it. I go to bed excited for my morning cup-o-Joe. I think I’m addicted to this intoxicating drug.

I didn’t start drinking coffee until I was 54 years old. I always loved the smell but hated the taste. So bitter and vile. In med school, I would go study in coffee houses just to smell the aroma. I loved the feeling of being in a coffee house. What is it about stepping into a coffee house that suddenly transforms you into this calm, cerebral, evolved human? I feel like George Jetson, finally escaping that fast paced treadmill, screaming, “Jane, stop this crazy thing!” (ref. a 1960’s futuristic cartoon, for you young padawans) Even opening the door fills me with anticipation that I am giving myself a gift. I’m giving myself permission to slow down and savor. In this insanely fast paced demanding world, there still exists a place where you can just sit and think, sit and stare, sit and people watch, sit and talk, or just sit and bond with your Mac…it’s a heavenly safe haven to just…be.

Whether you are savoring that first morning sip ( insert : “tea” here for you Dark Siders) or stepping into that zen-like coffee shop, it all heralds the beginning of a new day. A fresh start. A “ do-over”. What if, with every morning sip, one thing in my life could change. What would it be? What would be your do-over?  A regret, a goal never met, a path never followed? Isn’t there just something about caffeine that gives you a waft of introspection. From your nose to your olfactory bulbs to your brain, it’s instant chemical warfare that entices you to think…What if?

Would I banish my M.S.? Would I stop self-shaming? Would I start treating my body better? Would I feed my soul more? Would I look outward more often? Would I hug a bit longer? Would I make better eye contact and listen more intently? Would I have still become a doctor? Would I have taken the road less traveled? Would I have heeded my parent’s sage advice? If I were granted a do-over, what would it be?

Every day, we make decisions that forge our paths. Some are wrong for us and right for those around us. Some are right for us and horribly wrong for those around us. And hopefully, we learn from our mistakes. Maybe that’s the key to evolving into a better self. Not repeating our same patterns, our mistakes or missteps.  In fact, perhaps that’s our chance for a do-over. Luckily, life is full of things we can change, despite the overflowing bucket full of things we can never change. So maybe that’s the wisdom I get from my morning “buzz”. Reflecting on my past but savoring the present. Less regret and more intent.

But, until I wake up, my do-over is going to be my second cup…Aaaaaa yes…Carpe diem!

My neurologist told me that one of the best things I could do for my MS was to exercise daily. We all know that whether it’s MS or aging or depression ( insert excuse here)… we seem to look upon it as a chore. It’s a challenge to make ourselves get up, get out, get moving. Many with MS can’t stand or walk unaided. For those, exercise is a monumental challenge. I’m thankful that, as of this moment, I’m able.

There is something about this disease that lures you into wanting to rest, to resist movement. There is a tightening or spasming of the muscles that feels as if you are turning into stone on some days. The remedy is to move, in whatever capacity you can that day. I look at my ability to move as a blessing and a privilege bestowed upon me daily. Because I know that living with MS means this ability could be taken from me at any moment. It’s the nature of the beast.

So, I asked my doctor, what type of exercise is most beneficial besides aerobic?

She told me to do Pilates or yoga to strengthen my core and shore up my balance. So, I took this prescription and filled it. One of the daily reminders from my Pilates instructor is to “find my Powerhouse”. She means to tighten and strengthen those deep muscles that support your spine , those corset muscles that bind your core and give your body it’s “inner strength”. My Powerhouse!! For some reason, whenever I write this word, I feel the need to capitalize it, no matter where it is falls within the sentence. Just as we capitalize important places and landmarks and people’s names. This word commands our respect.

So this week, as I found my body in class and my mind trying to drift, I heard her reminding us all to find our Powerhouses and “engage”! Engage our muscles, our cores, our minds, our breathing. Not to drift through life, allowing the wind to take us wherever it feels. But to visualize and utilize our core muscles when we walk, we sit, we breath. To be active not passive in all that we do. I left class thinking about my Powerhouse and my ability to stay engaged, not just with my muscles but with my mind and spirit. And I left class thinking …hmm…Powerhouse. Where have I heard that before?

There are many different theories about what causes MS and one of them is that it may be a disorder in a tiny, but mighty component found within every cell in our bodies, our mitochondria. In my pre-med biochemistry class, years ago, I remember learning about mitochondria, a.k.a, the “Powerhouse of the cell”. These little bulldogs take nutrients from the cell, break it down and turn it into energy. They take glucose and oxygen and turn into ATP, which is fuel for our bodies. So if we run out of ATP, we run out of gas.

As anyone has learned from reading my blogs, I can’t help but to think in metaphors. So, I started thinking about how we all need to find our metaphorical Powerhouses.

What is my Powerhouse? What is your Powerhouse? It is so different yet so essential for all. It could be your faith, your family, your spouse, your companion, your pet. It could be your profession, your giving, your talent. It’s that essential component in your life that you feel you could not live without. It’s that internal flame that we forget to stoke. It’s that person or pet or inherent gift that we take for granted. It’s that ability we still have that we assume will always be there. It’s what makes us keep on ticking.

So, how do we feed our Powerhouses? What nutrients are we providing to keep them churning and burning ? It could be meditation, exercise, writing, prayer, creating, or simple daily thankfulness. It could be better nutrition. It could be deeper breathing. It could be going out of our way to make someone’s load a bit lighter. It could be just feeding your soul or body daily.

So, I guess I wake up every morning, thankful for another day in this realm, reminding myself that my Powerhouse needs to be fed today. I feed it. It feeds me.

What a beautiful yet fragile, symbiotic relation I have with my Powerhouse. My silent warrior.

I never liked metallic rock. I was more of a Jim Croce/Bread kind of girl. But the title of this blog is not about a 70’s rock band or bisexuality. It’s in reference to electricity! The very thought of my life as being made up of energy, the type of energy that longs to flow freely… like electricity, has been on my mind as of late. What forces do I allow in my life that block its flow or impede it’s maximal potential?

One of my goals when I had to give up my profession was to “take better care of myself, de-stress”. I know it sounds like an impossible task for those of you with young children, stressful jobs or chronic pain/sorrow. I can truthfully say I’ve been there and never had ( or maybe never TOOK ) enough time to nourish myself. But now that I am faced with MS, a silent disease that would like to rob me of my life force, my energy, I’ve been thinking. What else is potentially blocking my “chi”? What are some ” resistors” in my life that are reducing my “current” situation…Get it? (“Current” as in Amps). Ok…on with the rest of the equation…

One resistor is time. I feel some days, time or lack thereof, is this invisible resistive force. ” If I just had more time, I could get one more thing checked off of my to-do list! I could volunteer more. I could exercise more. I could learn a new language. If only there were a few more hours in the day.” Unfortunately, that list and the anxiety it creates, drain my life force. I’ve learned to shorten my lists because I can’t create more time. And I’m learning to say no. No to…” time-sucks”, to people and events in my life that really don’t bring me any joy or give back in return. I’m learning that it’s OK to say no and not feel guilty. I’m learning to be more protective of my time, more discretionary.

Another resistor is self doubt. Yes, it’s that little inner critic that shames me or makes me question my own strength. ” You don’t have the skill set, the moxie, the know-how to do that! Get real.” This little saboteur can be a mighty road block on some days. Where did that voice come from? What negative/misinterpreted comment or non-verbal experience/trauma taught me that? What narrative did I create and hang onto for all of these years? I’m starting to be more aware of this self talk that is holding me back. It bubbles up daily for sure, but as Queen Elsa would sing, “Let it go…Let it go”!

And then there is fear. Fear of failure. Fear of the unknown. Fear of losing my ability to walk or my eyesight from MS. Fear of aging. Fear of becoming obsolete, not needed, having to acknowledge my own shelf-life. This form of resistor really likes to slow the flow. Yet, in actuality, fear is my body guard. My hunky, strong non-cerebral “dude” checking ID’s at the door, making sure no one messes with me. I love that! Just knowing he’s there when I need him is so cool. Thanks Mr Fear, but you know this is a part time job, right?

So, maybe I need to start thinking about conductors in my life. Conduits that will allow my energy to flow more freely. Better sleep, healthy eating, more laughter, daily exercise, less need to control others…These are all of these things will augment my life’s force and allow it to do what it needs to do without dissipating so readily. My body is programmed to crave those conductors. I just need to honor this more.

Which brings me to insulators! The padding that hugs my life force, preserves my voltage and keeps me warm…My loving family, my amazing husband and sons, my sweet dog and my tried and true friendships. Even on those days that all of my resistors are working overtime and I can’t seem to find a conductor in sight, I always know I have my insulation.

What if I became my life’s superconductor…allowing life’s energy to pass through me with a resistance of zero…embracing it while it’s mine and being thankful for it when it leaves…pretty cool, huh? Sub-zero cool! Brrrrrrr…I’m ready for summer.

As a pediatrician, I saw first hand how most growth spurts, from infancy through adolescence, were preceded by pain. Painful nighttime infancy hunger with it’s associated nocturnal awakenings , just as those sleep deprived parents had adjusted to six hours of blissful sleep. Leg pains in their children just as night fell, requiring Motrin and massage, their long bones stretching literally overnight. Pain in the parents’ eyes as they questioned why their pre-teen was suddenly so embarrassed to be seen with them around their peers; yet still craving hugs when safe from the public eye. This is the nature of growth spurts. They are without warning. They are sudden and most of the time, preceded by pain. The pain heralds the need for change and the need for growth.

I’m reading a fascinating book called Women Rowing North by Mary Pipher. It is filled with narratives of how women navigate life’s currents and flourish as we set sail into our “mature” years. My sister told me of a funny quote from one of her aging friends. “My make-up doesn’t work anymore!” I thought that was hilarious but sadly true. There comes a point in our lives that our eyelids bag, our eyebrows disappear and our lips become furrowed. We look in our magnifying mirror, not because we love horror movies and a good scare, but because we can’t wear our damned readers as we put on our mascara. So, I guess the need for a magnifying mirror is the pain before the “growth spurt”, right? The growth spurt being…we are wise , sage women with wrinkles born of love and life and sorrow and joy. We realize our precious crow’s feet and laugh lines are just as important as our Deputy Dog disappearing jaw lines. Can I get a witness?

I think as females, we always crave attention. Maybe its our culture or survival of the fittest crap. Or maybe it’s as simple as having 2 X chromosomes. Whether it’s the ultimate make-up, the perfect outfit, the cutest shoes or being the perfect student, the most energetic cheerleader, the greatest Girl Scout…we are always trying to please. At some point in our lives, we have to realize that our looks are fading, everything else is heading south on our bodies as we “row North” and we need to discover our new arsenal. We have to come to the realization that we are more than our looks, our sex appeal, our fashionable flare. We are such vessels of knowledge, of wit, of wisdom…We are the bomb! It was an epiphany for me when I truly realized that the the most important person to impress in my life was not my parent, my teacher, my spouse , nor my employer. It was me!

Along this journey of maturation, we hopefully will become our own ” Radiant Sovereign Selves” ( a tag coined by nineteenth century American author Margaret Fuller…more to come about this below, if you are still awake). To get to that point in our lives, we need to experience pain/growth cycles. I see now that my growth spurts didn’t end at 13 yrs of age as my growth plates slowly closed. I ask myself, ” When were your growth spurts, Lisa?” And how did you adjust to each? With fear and resistance or openness and gratitude?

Maybe my first was when I was 5 yrs old and decided to run away from home on my little bicycle. I rode miles in the hot Midwest sun to my first rest stop at Mr L’s gas station. I chugged an icy cold Chocolate Soldier as I unknowingly ratted myself out to him, bragging about leaving my family and starting over in the big city. I remember the pain of just wanting to be my own boss and escape my life on the farm…ride to the big metropolis of Oblong, Illinois. I felt like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz. If I could just get to civilization, the shiny Emerald City, where the Great Oz would grant me immunity and a life time of free of chores and eating my vegetables. My yellow brick road was made of steaming black asphalt and smelled of bean fields with a hint of manure. Unfortunately, I can still conjure up the bovine “essence” but more importantly, I can literally taste and feel the love of that chilled Chocolate Soldier. The relief it gave me as I tried to convince myself that I was strong enough for this epic journey was priceless. And who knew it would come in the form of a 12 oz glass bottle. It was liquid courage.

I’m still trying to convince myself that I am strong enough for this epic journey. My inner critic has become smaller and smaller with every “growth spurt” I have survived. Be it driving from Illinois to Colorado alone in my Dad’s borrowed Buick to start my pediatric residency, having no place to live yet but a 2 month cat/house sitting gig lined up in order to have enough cash to survive until my first real paycheck…to adjusting to no longer being a pediatrician and joining the M.S. band wagon. I was scared and full of trepidation and self doubt with every new situation. Lucky for me, I rode the wave of each time of change with the knowledge that I was never really alone. My friends and family were and still remain, my secret ingredient for success. But I have come to realize that unless I am my own best cheerleader, I won’t feel strong enough to ask the universe for change.

And the one common denominator for growth seems to be change. It is preceded many times by crisis, unhappiness or unrest but it almost always leads to change. I don’t embrace change very well. It doesn’t excite me like some. But I have come to realize that the more curious I am and the more self-aware , I seem to be able to tolerate change and perhaps even invite it into my life.

Wake up, readers! I promised to tell you more about the “Radiant Sovereign Self” crap I introduced above in paragraph 4 line 2!

Sovereign= Full right and power of a governing body over itself…You go #MeToo movement. And yes, it’s a movement, not a moment. It may be made up of moments. Moments of enough is enough. Moments of unrest and anger. Moments of trauma and death. Moments of self deprecation and existential crisis. But also moments of ” I can do this.” Perhaps you have survived abuse, sexual harassment or a life time of marginalization. In the face of all of this, hopefully you will come to realize… you are enough.

We live our lives striving to be better, new improved versions of ourselves. This is not a woman thing. Its a human conquest. In the book Women Rowing North, the author reminds us that there exist times in our lives when it’s best to put down our paddles and just enjoy. Enjoy what is. She quotes a German word ” Schlimmbesserung”, which translates…”to be worsened by improvement”. We could say this about the unintended consequences of artificial intelligence and the social media craze. Or we could also bring it down to a personal level, like striving to get that raise at work only to find out it comes with more deadlines and stress. Or perhaps, feeling we are never good enough as we are and trying to be something we aren’t. Bending our version of self to fit the mold others may have forged for us…the “new and improved version.”

She goes on to say…” Maybe the constant quest to be a better person has kept us from enjoying who we are?”

So, right now, I’m enjoying who I am. Despite the fact that in looking back, my life is made up of losing sight of who I was! I guess because I’m not who I was. I’m who I am. My growth spurts keep changing me. I am not that 13 year old girl trying to figure out what the hell was happening to her body, nor am the homicidal maniac I was as I marched through menopause, narrowly avoiding prison time.

I am me…My own radiant sovereign self. I’m a 59 yr old strong woman with M.S. who is just perfect the way she is. At least until the next growth spurt hits. Ok, I my personal taste for liquid courage may have evolved from warm milk to cold Chocolate Soldier to a sweet Riesling by now.But the cool part is that I now realize I don’t really “need” any liquid courage. I have me. And that’s enough.

Ok. You gotta stay with me on this blog. It may seem a bit scattered or discombobulated to the common reader. The good news is that my audience of dedicated blog followers is not of average IQ and for sure, you are well above average on the EQ scale…Emotional Quotient.( If you needed this definition, then I’d probably say you are on the lower end of the EQ scale, but keep hope alive.)

I was raised by two really smart sons.  They have taught me so much about parallel universes, black holes, quantum physics…and string theory. For those of you who are starting to nod off or are asking Siri “what’s string theory?”, please have patience and read on. (As Siri responds, “ Stream Harry is a colorful trout, native to the northwest pacific coastal waterways.”)

String Theory is called the Theory of Everything. It’s an attempt by cosmologists (not to be confused with cosmetologists. Both valued players in our daily existence) to be able to explain the inner connectivity and fundamental particles that make up space ,wrapping it all up into one Unified Theory of This Is Us ( My favorite series on TV right now BTW). Reasoning that there may be, not only 3 or 4 dimensions within the universe but perhaps even as many as 10! String theorists believe that the smallest of particles are actually vibrating strings, formed into circles like little pieces of calamari, little vibrating filaments. They each send off a unique vibrational charge that communicates with all the other little strings, much like petite synchronized swimmers.

So, first of all, as hard as I try, I really don’t get it. I’m closer to the cosmetologist end of the scale, rather the Cosmologist end. And that’s OK. I know how to enhance my outer self with facial contouring and the right shade of plum shadow. Carl Sagan, eat your heart out. But seriously folks, how does string theory resonate with me? Good question…

Brett and I were watching an episode of Parks and Rec with Amy Poehler, as she showed one of her male coworkers, her bulletin board. The board looked like an air traffic controller’s screen at JFK. It had pictures of all of her besties, her acquaintances, her old teachers, old boyfriends, favorite outfits, favorite wine, past pets and family…all interconnected by actual string, the fuzzy yarn type. It was like a spider’s web basically. My husband jokingly said, “ So that’s what the string theory looks like?” We both laughed and realized we now have a new phrase to add to our family lexicon, with dual meanings. I told him, “That’s how I see life. Its the theory of everything and everyone for me everyday…in my head. And they are all interconnected in some chaotic , glorious way.”  That blew him away. He was just thinking about drinking his coffee and what’s to eat?

Our connectedness is essential. Our ability to touch other’s lives indirectly or directly, perhaps affecting people we’ve yet to meet, is pretty darn powerful. It’s cool to think that the vibrational energy I emit, affects every other wavelength in my environment. It’s also cool that I’m able to absorb the energies coming my way, or for that matter, choose not to. But what makes this all possible is our connectedness, in so many dimensions. My friendships, my family, my pets are all part of my safety net, spun out of love, need, self-preservation, desire and sometimes fear. It’s this intricate web that has allowed me to navigate some pretty choppy waters, knowing that I can’t possibly drown.

My girlfriends from Oblong let me know that a cherished teacher and friend had passed yesterday after a long dance with cancer. He and his wife attended as many of our class reunions as they could, including our most recent one last summer. They were always the first on the dance floor, showing us young ones how its done. Even with his gaunt face and yellowing skin, I asked him how he was handling his end stage cancer. He looked at me with his child like, sparkling, smiling eyes and said, “ Lisa, I am just grabbing the gusto out of everyday. I’m visiting as many friends and family as I can. Staying connected and giving of myself until I can no longer give.”

So, there you go. The gift that keeps on giving. His memory is an indelible piece of my life fabric now. He’s an honorary pin on my bulletin board with strings of love shooting to all corners. So my girlfriends and I are all lighting a candle in his honor today. But unlike our candles’ flames that will shine for only a finite time, his burns forever, in our hearts. He was a living example of the “string theory”.

Stay connected and realize that your vibrational energy impacts others, sometimes in profound, life changing ways. Make intention your new bestie. Get out on that dance floor and feel the vibrations, make some vibrations. Thank you Mr H. And Mary.
We love you!

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“A doctor walked into a bar”…Well…ok, I was the doctor and this was no joke. I did walk into an establishment but it wasn’t a bar. It was a Denny’s on the main drag in beautiful Sierra Vista, AZ. I was about to start my first job since our relocation from Colorado. The entire office staff had planned a luncheon to meet their newest edition in pediatric care. I knew none of the staff, only the physician/owner of the practice. So, as you can imagine, I was a bit nervous.

As I made my way around the back of everyone’s chairs headed toward my final destination, the only empty chair at the table, I passed by what I ASSUMED was a preteen girl with a high ponytail, wrapped in a pink scrunchie. I ASSUMED one of the staff had invited their daughter to my celebration. Being a pediatrician, I immediately gravitated toward the only child in the room and proceeded to start stroking her cute little ponytail as I asked everyone, ” Who does she belong to?”

To my horror, the staff became deadly silent. Then as she turned her head so I could see her face, I realized I was stroking the hair of a forty-some year old woman. My heart went into a flat-line pattern with no defibrillator in sight, as one brave soul squeaked out, ” She’s our office manager”.

As you can imagine, this will go down in the how-stupid-can-you-be-Lisa annals. It was and still is one of the most awkward and hilarious moments of my life. You see, what I thought was one thing, was something completely different! My ASSUMPTION had led me astray.

Assumptions can be so dangerous. They lead us into erroneous thinking, self-shaming and a shit storm of negative self-talk. Assumptions start wars and end relationships. Yet, we need them in our daily arsenal to function. They are the mind’s way of making sense of what we see or think we see. Assumptions allow our mind to quickly build roadmap and tuck it away for future access when needed. Assumptions allow us to create quick narratives that usually serve us well, save time and perhaps, save our life.

I’m sure you are aware of the human eye’s blind spot. We all have an area in the back of our eyeball where the optic nerve is connected to the retina. It’s an area devoid of rods and cones, the essential components needed to absorb light and color. Without these cells, the brain has no input to tell the visual cortex what is in that area of the visual field. But the brain does an amazing thing. It fills in the blanks!

It ASSUMES that since the rest of the big picture looks like something it recognizes, it will fill in the blind spot with information stored within memory. Even if it’s a novel image, it will quickly fill in the blank spot with the most logical probability. So if it sees only webbed feet, a beak, and white downy feathers, it will add a cute little bunch of upturned tail feathers to complete the picture. I even think our brains can override poor assumptions we may make. Like assuming that those soft brown feline eyes staring intently at us cave people eons ago really didn’t belong to a saber-toothed kitten, but rather a feline of sorts with 10 inch fangs! That’s where the adrenaline kicks in.

So, in essence, we need our ability to assume. We need it to infer and to make split second decisions. It’s a life saving, integral part of our make-up. Unfortunately, in life there are so many times that we don’t need to be saved. We just need to navigate our way through this insanely chaotic world. But so many times, our assumptions kick in before we allow ourselves enough time to obtain more information. If I had taken a few more seconds to look at my new office manager’s face, crow’s feet and all, before I started playing with her TOTALLY age-inappropriate choice of hairstyle that day, I could have saved myself a lot of embarrassment and humiliation. But my brain filled in the blanks for me. It just assumed…

So, in our relationships and our daily human interactions, we need to try to avoid assumptions. We need to ask for more information or communicate that we are hurt or admit that we don’t understand. We shouldn’t always assume it was something we said or did or didn’t do. The other person may just be having a bad day or we may have started our own day ripe for self-pity.

So, I guess, if we just try to remember we all have blind spots. We all have to rely on assumptions to some extent because of this. But we need to be able to ask for clarity. Be patient. Practice honesty and diplomacy as best we can. Give someone the benefit of the doubt, but more importantly, give ourselves a break. Don’t allow the knee jerk reaction be one full of negative self-talk. Because in between all of our successes, there will be lots of failures. And don’t be led down the path of assuming either of these entities are all entirely of our own doing.

And remember, if it looks like a duck, swims like a duck and and quacks like a duck…It might just be an assumption.

As the one year anniversary of quitting pediatrics comes into sight next week, I have found myself feeling content to know that I made it through a full year without a mental breakdown. This time last year, I was a pile of mush on an emotional roller coaster. I have found myself wanting to make a list of all of my accomplishments, goals met or exceeded, lives saved…as if I were creating a new dossier ( I had to look that one up!) about myself, just in case I might need to defend my “unproductive” year. In reality, the list was kind of short but I did attain one goal. A goal that wasn’t even on my original list. I started getting to know myself.

We can spend the majority of our adult lives taking care of everyone but ourselves. As women, it seems to be in our genetic makeup. We give and give and hope that some is left over for ourselves at the end of the day, week, month, year, decade. So, I wanted to share excerpts from a book given to me by one of my dear friends last year when I retired. It is eloquent and simplistic and beautiful. Written by M.H. Clark. It’s called Today, Tomorrow and Everyday. ( The following is all from the book. None of my words, but at times it felt as if the author had been recording my thoughts.)

One day, she stepped back and took a look at her life. A long close look, as though it were a city she loved and she was flying high above it, so high that she could see the whole thing. And she realized something: She liked what she saw. She liked where she had been. She liked where she was going. She hadn’t always been this way. She hadn’t always been as strong and resilient and brave and joyful. Like any garden or work of art, it had taken her a long time to make things the way they were. Sometimes, she grew as much in one year as others do in five.

“Things really changed, when I started to be more generous to myself. I began to try to live like a tree. I stopped fearing the leaves falling away…That is all part of my living.” She could hold sadness and hope, disappointment and joy, frustration and potential and heartache all together. She discovered that she didn’t break. She found she was bigger and more wonderful than she had imagined.

“Once,” she said, ” I stepped outside of myself for a moment. I saw myself as a stranger on the street. I saw what others loved in me- the substance and the spark that are mine alone. My priorities changed. I started making time for things that truly mattered.”

Some days she wakes and the sun is shining through her windows. Other days, there may be only one wonderful moment… She continued to believe the world was very large and full of surprises. She embraced a combination of heard work and magical thinking. She asked for the things she wanted. She invited them into her world.

She cultivated something she called, everyday courage. She listened to her heart…As a little glowing ember that wanted. Like the needle of a compass, to lead her to the place she wanted to be. She looked back and saw, that the rough times had polished her.

She created the best possible version of herself. The version that included all of her.

“This,” she said, ” is a picture of me when I was still so young I had no idea of all the things that would be coming my way. I have such tenderness for that woman. I want to sit down with her and tell her that things are going to be more complex than she will ever be able to imagine. And more beautiful, too. And that she is going to turn out okay.”

She gave generously, and she gave with joy. But she always saved some of her for herself. She decided she was not yet done with her transformation.

” I look back at the huge high points, the small satisfied moments, the days that were filled with love, and see that they were everywhere running through the fabric of my life like threads of gold.

“It’s true,” she said. “There may never be a perfect time, so I choose right now.” And right now chose her- completely, joyfully- in return.

Ok. So far, I’ve gotten my “ghost of past” updated from ferrel farm child to University of Illinois college Freshman finding her way through life.

As I sit here on a cold, snowing Colorado morning with my little Amber by my feet, I realize that all of a sudden…I’m a senior citizen! I have a lot more stories to share about my journey from college to this point in time on this day, October 11, 2018. So, I’d better get crackin’.

One thing I have learned along this magical mystery tour, is that we cant take ourselves too seriously. Our youngest son, Nick, would always warn me, “ You’re going to embarrass yourself, Mom”. Usually, it was when he knew I was going to say no to a new toy or deprive him of what he may have wanted at the time. But boy, was he right. My life has been a series of embarrassing moments, all strategically placed to teach me a lesson. That lesson is humility. Luckily, most of my lessons thus far have been comical. Or perhaps I choose to remember those the most and selectively forget the painful ones with more dire consequences? Who knows but anyway, here’s one of my most humbling moments.

It was the first day of medical school at University of Illinois. All of the incoming students were meeting the Dean of the school at a banquet thrown in our honor. I looked “gooood” in my new suit with my “Farrah” hairdo, circa 1982.  I had never had a cup of coffee in my life but I saw the Dean standing over by the large silver “hot” banquet sized coffee pot. This was my chance to introduce myself. So I meandered over to the coffee pot, poured a cup of piping hot java into a little white styrofoam cup and proceeded to say “ Hi, I’m Lisa Cunningham “. I needed to shake the Dean’s hand with my right, so I transferred the coffee cup to my left hand. First mistake!
In my effort to look a little suave, I leaned my left elbow up against the large banquet size coffee pot, which was 180 degrees Fahrenheit.

Since my left elbow was connected to my left hand which was connected to my sympathetic nervous system/spinal cord, I proceeded to throw the cup of hot coffee in my own face! This all took place EXACTLY as my right hand was shaking the Dean’s hand and introducing myself. As I stood there with piping hot coffee dripping from my face, he asked, “ Why did you throw hot coffee in your own face?” He obviously hadn’t made the connection that I had leaned up against a burning surface with my elbow.  Nor had I. It all happened so reflexively, my cerebral cortex had no time to process the assault. So, I answered…”I don’t know”. Which I’m sure, at that moment in time, made him wonder if admissions standards had dropped to an all time low or perhaps I was one of those hardship cases let into his school to satisfy some governmental quota.

So, what did I learn from this unfortunate scenario in the evolution of me? Don’t try to be something you’re not. I wasn’t a coffee drinker?I didn’t know that silver banquet coffee pots weren’t childproofed? I had no common sense? There is a feedback loop in our nervous systems that bypasses our cortex, putting  a new meaning to “knee-jerk” reaction? Who knows.

But in the end, it’s part of the fabric of me. That’s what has helped me become more humble and vulnerable and funny, I guess.

“ Hi, my name is Lisa”…splash!

When I went off to college, I thought it would be fascinating to learn about another culture. I had spent the first eighteen years of my life in a town of a thousand people, where the only person of color had been my father’s best friend.

I had read about other cultures and other ways of life in my high school education. I was eager to experience this first hand. So I chose the option on my university application to spend my first semester in a foreign language dorm. I think I envisioned myself as being some kind of missionary, learning a new language by total emersion. How fascinating and Jane Goodall-like!

And so it went. My mother dropped me off at University of Illinois. I was so excited to start this new chapter in my life. The campus had fifty thousand students. The side walks were swarming with humans. My first day on campus was exhausting. I was attempting to say “Hi” and wave to every single person that passed me on the sidewalk. Much to my shock, no one said hi back to me. I was in tears by my first night on campus. Where “I” came from, it was customary to acknowledge and smile and maybe even exchange a few niceties as you passed another on the sidewalk. What had I gotten myself into? Had I landed on the moon with no oxygen tank? I was a fish out of water for sure, trying to find my gills.

I was a giant in a world of tiny people. Hundreds of petite Asian Americans filled my dormitory. I was the only 5″8″ white girl. Correction, I was the only 5’8″ girl! I felt like I was the suddenly the…Canopy of the rain forest, the Ozone layer of the earth’s surface or perhaps even that Big White Marshmallow man in a sailor’s suit floating down the streets of New York as they all scrambled for shelter. Everyone glared at me, silently asking ” Why is she here?”. My roommate was from China. The dining hall was filled with Chinese girls. The halls were packed with Chinese girls. I was literally the only white girl in the entire dorm! All because I checked that little box on my college application. “You’re not in Kansas anymore, my pretty” ( insert evil witch laughter and Toto shivering in my arms).

It was total emersion alright. The mornings were filled with silence for me as we all shuffled to the communal bathroom with our little plastic hygiene buckets in hand. The halls echoed as their little flip flops/my big flip flops clanked down the hall. The air was filled with Chinese buzz. I didn’t understand one word, nor did I try. Breakfast was eggs and bacon with a side of Mandarin. And so it went, for six months, I spoke to no one. I felt like a POW, an outcast, a mute. For the first time in my entire life, I knew no one and no one knew me.

I spent my days bowing and smiling and my nights weeping.I soon realized I had made a big mistake but it was too late. I had to endure this cultural emersion experiment for six months. And so I did. And you know what? It pushed me into finding a part of me that I never knew existed…Me. I had to have internal dialogue with myself. Who am I? What do I want? Where am I going? How will I forge my way? Who will guide me?

I know that most people make life long bonds with their freshman roommate. I know many girls go off to college and dive head first into the pool of partying and their new found freedom. I felt as if I had gone off to college and landed on a lunar surface where no white girl had gone before. One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind. I was a minority for the first time in my life. It was a good learning experience for me to feel first hand what it felt to be an outsider. I went from ” most popular” to ” most invisible”.

But as I look back on my life and the evolution of me, I realize that what has made me stronger, more resilient and more determined were my mistakes. The path to my success was defined by my failures. I learned about what I wanted in life, by learning about what I did not want in my life. Once I realized I could endure six months of being silent and knowing no one but myself, I felt stronger. I felt like a survivor.

So, as my journey continued and I left the Chinese dorm into the land of English speaking people, I continued to make big mistakes. No actually, I continued to make huge mistakes along the way. But with each misstep came clarity. Clarity for what I did not want for my life. Clarity for what I envisioned moving forward. I was always told, you learn from your mistakes. But I always thought to myself, what do you learn? And now I know. You learn not to do it again. You learn that you are human, fallible and delicate. You also learn that you are human, driven and powerful. You learn that your choices have real consequences.

You learn that some things choose you. I didn’t choose to get MS. But I chose to accept it and learn about it and adjust to it. I chose to roll with it’s punches and find the silver lining in it all. My life has changed since I became Lisa with MS. Once again, I had gone from ” Most popular, MD” to ” Invisible Me”, with an invisible disease. I guess I suddenly felt like I was once again, plopped down in a foreign land. But this time, I chose to learn the language. I chose to give up my profession to save myself . I chose to respect each day as a gift. I chose to laugh at myself. I chose to believe that ” ask and you shall receive” really works! I chose to learn that it’s true… you reap what you sow, “sow”…you better start watering that garden!

I learned a new language after all. And much to my surprise, it wasn’t Mandarin. It was the language of gratitude.

Xie Xie ( Thank you in Mandarin)