kidney reminiscing

Today I had my year post-transplant check up. 3 and a half months late.

But that was ok. As a donor it's more of a formality at this point. I'm not on a regular drug regimen. I don't need blood levels checked often. I'm just healing.

Healed.

No, actually, still healing.

I still get a bit nervous heading uptown. Much emotion is tied to that mostly beige waiting room, the run down hallways, the overcrowded lab. I spent so much time there, had so many vials of blood drawn, heard such good and not so good news. But today was more of a dipping my toe back into the donation process than anything too overwhelming. 

I discovered:

the lab bathroom still doesn't have instructions on how to give a urine sample

I still could spend hours chatting with my surgeon

the people in the lab are, as always, delightful to talk to

I weigh less now than when I started the donation process (who knew my kidney was more than 5 pounds?!)

it's not crazy that I feel the effects of medication more strongly than I did before

Advil is not completely forbidden

it's time to have my done density checked

And I remembered how profoundly I changed someone's life. Even though I struggled so hard afterwards—my own emotions and anxiety knocking me flat for awhile—I am nothing but grateful that I was able to do something, to make a difference, to help change things for the better. 

a day in the life

Today started off like most back to school days. Up at 6:45, breakfasts for everyone, packed up lunches, made Rice Krispy Treats (that doesn't happen every day). Left at 7:30 to get Jack to school, then back home to walk the dogs. Met a dear friend for breakfast at 8:15 and then things took a turn for out of the ordinary.

Jack's doctor's office called to say they couldn't fill out the medical form I'd dropped off Friday until he had a physical. He needed the form for flag football practice today at three. Good news was they could see him at 11. So, I did alternate side parking unit 10:30 then ran back to school to pick him up, much to his surprise.

Zipped him to the doctor—he's now 5 feet tall, gained 5 pounds, got 2 vaccinations—and zipped him back to class in time for lunch.

Ran home to pull together options for my wardrobe fitting for the Kotex documentary project I'm thrilled to be a part of. Grabbed a garment bag full of shirts, pants, shoes and jewelry and headed to the film offices downtown where I spent 2 hours trying on a variety of sadly drab outfits. In the end we came up with a funky NYC writer ensemble that worked for the many people who needed to approve what I'll be wearing.

From there I ran home to let Iz in—she'd been locked out for 45 minutes.

Back up to pick Jack up from tryouts.

Quick pit stop at A Salt and Battery for fries.

Back home to walk the dogs.

It's been a day—a mix of ordinary and extraordinary, regular scheduled programming and experiences I've never had before. Relaxing with kids and puppies and chatting up creatives and account people.

I love days where my different worlds lap at each other's edges.

Now it's writing, baths, dinner, laundry, design work and bed.

last minute musings

Days are getting away from me—easing into my writing practice with some sort of regularity hasn't clicked yet.

But it will.

Ideas are starting to swirl.

Faintly. Quietly.

I'm feeling more grounded in myself than I have in a really long time.

Just committing to take time to write, even if just for a few minutes is a soul tonic.

Oh. That's a great name for something.

Writer's Soul Tonic. Could be a cool pen and notebook pack.

Hmmm.

Love random ideas that fit into a space I didn't know was there.

working through the rust

This getting back in the writing saddle isn’t easy. It’s creaky. It’s strange. It’s uncomfortable when writing used to flow like breathing.

I’m rusty.

Tentative.

Nervous.

Having said that, I’m relatively sure it’s all in there, waiting to be given space again.

My writing voice, which my kids say is remarkably like my talking voice and that’s what makes it so good (this unsolicited observation is one of endless reasons I’m eternally grateful to be their mother) was on hiatus for a long time. I’m not used to accessing this part of me.

I’ve been feeling so badly about myself lately—actually for a long time—about how little I’ve accomplished since my last book came out 3 years ago. But yesterday this mini refrigerator light bulb went off. All the things I thought were filler, were time fillers, were not significant enough to give credit to were actually all necessary to get me to here, a place where I’m ready to tackle something big on my own.

With FLOW I wasn’t ready. I didn’t know how to stand up for myself. To be heard and respected. To value my own opinion and worthiness. I let myself be treated like a light weight, a fluff ball, an intellectual subordinate. I gave myself no credit for who I was in the process and allowed the denigration of all I brought to the project to take over.

That destroyed my creative soul for awhile.

And I couldn’t put myself out there again.

Turns out I was putting myself out there in different ways. Building confidence, composure, conviction in who I am and what I do.

Donating a kidney was all about bravery and selflessness. Looking at a bigger picture and putting someone else first. Staring into the unknown and not running away.

Running a PTA was all about leadership and vision. Communication and organization. Creating systems and forging new paths. 

Being a more present mother was all about attention and focus. Living in the moment. Love. Empathy. Understanding. Instead of being so wrapped up in the side projects I always had going on I was able to be a better part of my family.

I’m feeling a little flow. Not much. This isn’t effortless like it used to be. I’m editing and revising as I type instead of letting it pour out with ease.

But that’s ok.

It’s still here.

Now it’s time to nurture it a bit.

day 2: ideas flowing

Menopause. Kidneys. Crazy inventions.

I'm finally in a place where I can imagine delving, diving back into a project. There were so many things to write flowing through me today but I never got to put words to keyboard.

That though, isn't my 40 day goal.

Tomorrow I start the day writing.

put one foot in front of the other

I stopped writing. Abruptly screeched to a halt something that had become meaningful and personal and enriching and sustaining.

I only started writing on a regular basis about a month or so before Flow, my last book was published. More than once I'd been asked what my writing practice was and I was ashamed to admit I didn't have one.

I felt like a phony. In spite of this big book, my dream project, about to hit shelves everywhere, I didn't consider myself a writer.

So I started writing. I set myself up with a 40 day challenge and it was hard. I'd grapple with ideas, struggle with sentences, debate whether or not I should it the publish button on this blog.

Was anything I had to say worth it? Would anyone care? Would people realize I was faking this author thing and call me out on it?

But I kept writing.

I wrote the experience of sending a dream project out into the world. The thrill, the excitement, the despair, the crushed hopes, the frustration of it not doing well, the yearning it would do better.

As that came to a close I was lost about what next. But I kept writing, often about just that.

Then I donated a kidney and my subject matter and reason for being melded again. I had purpose and substance and meaning.

I wrote that journey from even before I knew it was starting through the months and months of anxiety and joy and endless unknowns.

After that I froze. I was healing. My brother was doing great. But I couldn't write anymore.

I couldn't feel.

I couldn't create.

I couldn't breathe.

I was petrified at the most basic of levels and didn't know how to get out.

But I'm feeling that perhaps in all that time writing had become a lifeline and I'd been denying myself a vital outlet. That expression is necessary. That even when no else one is listening, it's important to hear yourself.

So I'm starting at the very beginning. One step at a time. 40 days of putting words down, of thinking, of feeling, of crying, of creating. And then who knows.

rolling oms

After chanting final oms during a yoga class last week, sun glowing through shimmering orange curtains, walls dancing vibrant sunset hues, I thought about how many times I’d be there. Not exactly there as in color, time and space, but how many times I’d been sitting up from final rest, stretching my arms over my head, breathing easier than I had been an hour or so before.

The numbers started coming together in my head.

I’ve been practicing at Laughing Lotus for seven and a half years. That in it self made me stop and ponder for a moment. Back then I’d been taking classes at my gym but knew it was time to take the next step. Or, as it felt to me at the time, jump off the yoga cliff. I’d decided to try all the studios in my neighborhood—there are many—and started at Laughing Lotus.

I never went anywhere else.

I’d found my home.

My first class had been in that same studio. Gods and goddesses radiating from murals on brightly painted walls. Sunlight streaming through enormous windows. Soundtracks that inspired and made me laugh. The thing, one thing, about Laughing Lotus is that I laugh. Often. Not something I thought came with a yoga practice but to me flowing and laughing go together.

They get it.

Anyway, back to numbers. I practice a minimum of twice a week. Which is 100 classes or so a year. Of course there are vacations, and injuries (shoulder, wrist), a surgery, sick kids. But, I generally practice more. 3 or 4 classes a week much if not most of the time.

Which, at the very minimum, brings me to over 1000 classes.

One. Thousand. Classes.

That’s a lot of yoga.

That’s a lot of chanting, breathing, moving, stretching, learning, growing, flowing.

I thought about how much more comfortable I am in my skin. About how I now move with grace in my practice when I used to be self conscious and stuck. About how easily I can do a headstand in the middle of the room when that wasn’t even a remote possibility when I started.

About how I sing loud and true instead of feeling uncomfortable and unsure.

About how much this practice has saved me when I didn’t even realize it.

About where I’d be if I didn’t take care of myself this way.

About how yoga is more than time on the mat.

About how far I’ve come.

About how far I still have to go.

About how grateful I am for the here and now.

Namaste to all my teachers—every class has been a blessing.