Weird Artsy Girl on the Loose or Did You Ever Want To BE a Lilac??

I remember loving lilacs so much that I wanted to BE a lilac, that way I could never forget the beauty of it. The small, the tiny perfectly shaped flowerettes. The perfect bunches I could just squeeze in the palm of my hand. The heady scent as it filled my room. In college, one night I was inspired to, in the cover of darkness, go pilfering lilacs all over campus. I filled my dorm room with dozens of branches of lilacs all in plastic cups of water. When I love something, I tend to be very intense about it. I have some problems 'letting go' but I'm working on that.

I have a huge appreciation for living - my mother was only in labor for me for an hour or something insanely short like that. The family story is that I couldn't wait to get out into the world. In my early twenties, my whole family saw my father grow sick and disabled. And my family fell apart too. I felt like I had lost everything. And again, in my early thirties, I watched as 3000 people died in my subway stop at the World Trade Center in New York City. Each time, I determined to grab on to life and never let it go. The only problem with that is, it's not possible.

I understand why I did it. The reason, to appreciate life, this is not a bad aim. It's a good intent. But it's not realistic.

Living with something like Hemochromatosis (at least at this early stage) is teaching me about the tiniest ways in which something is impermanent. The sunshine I see out the window of the Google shuttle right now as I write this. The meal I just ate. Even the plastic bottle, whose permanence I fear more than desire. All these things wax and wane. Things are born and then they die. Thank goodness the poufy hairstyles of the 80s died.

 I'm grateful now when I wake up in the morning, when I get to exercise, when I brush my teeth. I'm grateful when I talk to people that dislike me. It's the oddest thing. The things that used to depress or bother me, either don't anymore or they are things that I now pause and give much more consideration to. I weigh every potential 'upset' against my new barometer: 'Is this more important than life or death?' 

Hardly anything causes me to answer 'yes' and, therefore, instead of reacting, I must wait, observe and trust.