Growing up, I was as close to a wannabe princess as a little girl living in middle-class North America can get. I lived for dolls, ballet lessons, Disney movies, dresses, lipstick, pretty dresses, and birthday parties that revolved around me. I remember loving that there was an entire day (or entire season, if I got my way) when everyone’s attention was devoted solely to me.
Maybe we get out of our system as children what won’t be conducive to our lives as adults. Or maybe I just grew up.
Either way, I know that my 10-year-old self wouldn’t have settled for the day I just had. And more importantly, my now 27-year-old self wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. On the general theme of love that I seem to be rolling with these days, I had so many more opportunities to give and receive it than the 10-year-old could have ever imagined. And, if I had the chance, I am pretty sure I would tell her that what I get to experience now is so much greater than what she thinks she desires.
This grand revelation requires a bit of background and thus the story of yesterday evening: After tucking in my nieces and nephew (aka – the loves of my life) last night, I was watching a rerun of Sex and the City. It was the one where Samantha finds out that she has cancer. Amidst the hype of Miranda’s wedding, Samantha’s rather earth shattering news comes out. Initially they try to hide it from Miranda – because she is the bride, and they don’t want to ruin her day. The scenario goes as follows:
Miranda: Tell me what you were talking about.
Samantha: I'll tell you tomorrow. I don't want to ruin your special day.
Miranda: Forget about my special day and be normal, please. I beg of you.
Samantha: I have breast cancer.
Miranda: What?
Charlotte: See, this is what we were afraid of. Go back to your people. We'll talk about this later.
Miranda: You are my people and we'll talk about it now.Now start at the beginning.
Despite their overt promiscuity, those trendy new yorkers are just sometimes so insightful and profound that I have a hard time not idolizing them. (Sometimes, I think Carrie lives inside my soul…but, that’s beside the point). The important part is that I am blessed beyond my wildest dreams to be like Miranda and have “people”. I am privileged enough to be in relationships that can not only withstand, but are essentially founded upon the fact that we can say “screw the special day. I don’t want to pretend that you aren’t hurting”. I don’t ever want to be the bride if that means pretending that things are different from what they really are. Little by little, I am learning that the opportunity to give love is so much more valuable than the opportunity to receive it. And that idle attention and flattery quickly fade in comparison to true relationship and that ultimately, I couldn’t be more blessed.
Maybe I am becoming less of a princess, and more of a Miranda. Either way, it's been a very Happy Birthday to me
Archive for August 2009
I don’t cry very often. Despite my tendency to purposely plunge myself into environments that lay claim to more than their fair share of human suffering, pain, and tragedy, I have become increasingly good at keeping it together. I suppose it comes with the territory. You don’t do it if it wrecks you every time.
But, every once in a while, my heart breaks. Into 17 pieces. And when it does, I cannot – for the life of me – keep it together.
Last night, it happened. Driving home from work, I absolutely fell apart. And whatever that snowball metaphor is and what it is supposed to represent happened somewhere deep inside my soul. The thing that always happens…happened. One patient reminds me of another. One sorrow-filled story brings to memory something else that broke my heart and I tucked away for a "more appropriate time". And the alligator tears and hysterical sobs become so overwhelming that I seriously question how on earth I will ever regain any degree of composure. Even when my good sense tries to get the better of my internal drama-queen and I make the effort to “accentuate the positive”, I end up overcome by the feeling that there is nothing positive to focus on because one person’s gain is another’s loss.
Irrational. Overwhelming. All-consuming.
And every once in a while, when my heart is breaking, I can’t help but ask my God why he made us so raw. Why are our hearts so fragile? Why do we feel emotion in such an intense way?
And then I experience this:
And it all makes sense. If our hearts didn’t have the potential to be broken, we wouldn’t be able to love. If we didn’t care about anyone, we would never be able to experience the intense satisfaction of relationship. If nothing was personal, then nothing would be personal. If we didn’t feel true sorrow, we would also never feel true joy. It’s what makes us human. And alive. And us.
I’ve always been pretty proud of my resume. One of my life’s biggest confessions is actually that I look a lot better on paper. Seriously. I have being toiling with the idea of going on "The Bachelor" for quite some time now, for the sole purpose that it would make my resume more diverse.
The majority of the time, I am overwhelmingly content with the path that my life has traveled down. With some degree of regret, I will admit that there are times when I even feel proud of my accomplishments. And, if I am being perfectly honest, most of that has less to do with academics and career than it does with the whimsical nuance and overall philosophy which infuses the majority of my decision making and social interactions. I like climbing mountains that are clearly too big. I like jumping in without being totally aware of what the water is like. I like having a story that no one else has.
Most of the time, it is enough.
Which is why days like today and feelings like this always throw me for a freaking loop.
There’s no real explanation for why it happened today. No particular critical incident. Maybe it was too many consecutive night shifts and my defenses are just low. Maybe it’s too many muscle relaxants. Or maybe it is just the reality of my resume and what deep down I know it lacks.
Because today, being a nurse, a best friend, a coworker, an aunt, a daughter, a sister, a disciple of the God of the universe, and an all-round fabulous person didn’t really seem to cut it for me. The things that were missing seemed so much bigger and more important. And, I am not even implying that I want a house, a husband, 2.5 babies, a puppy, a dishwasher, a winning 649 ticket, more expensive clothes, a personal chef, and a white picket fence. Given the option, I would pass on most of those. But today, given the option, there are a few that would entice me into a second glance.
I know it all comes with a price. I know it. I know that the life God has given me is mine and it’s mine because it is what he knows is best for me, right now. I know it. I know that when presented with this particular hypothetical fork in the road, 363 days of the year, I would chose the path I have chosen. And that my particular road less traveled is the only road where I can experience God’s true desire for me.
Unfortunately, every once in a while, knowing doesn’t make what is usually enough feel like anything close to enough.
by Jennifer Louise Carrol (ya, Louise...I know, it's "pretty")
Seriously?
Growing up, I was as close to a wannabe princess as a little girl living in middle-class North America can get. I lived for dolls, ballet lessons, Disney movies, dresses, lipstick, pretty dresses, and birthday parties that revolved around me. I remember loving that there was an entire day (or entire season, if I got my way) when everyone’s attention was devoted solely to me.
Maybe we get out of our system as children what won’t be conducive to our lives as adults. Or maybe I just grew up.
Either way, I know that my 10-year-old self wouldn’t have settled for the day I just had. And more importantly, my now 27-year-old self wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. On the general theme of love that I seem to be rolling with these days, I had so many more opportunities to give and receive it than the 10-year-old could have ever imagined. And, if I had the chance, I am pretty sure I would tell her that what I get to experience now is so much greater than what she thinks she desires.
This grand revelation requires a bit of background and thus the story of yesterday evening: After tucking in my nieces and nephew (aka – the loves of my life) last night, I was watching a rerun of Sex and the City. It was the one where Samantha finds out that she has cancer. Amidst the hype of Miranda’s wedding, Samantha’s rather earth shattering news comes out. Initially they try to hide it from Miranda – because she is the bride, and they don’t want to ruin her day. The scenario goes as follows:
Miranda: Tell me what you were talking about.
Samantha: I'll tell you tomorrow. I don't want to ruin your special day.
Miranda: Forget about my special day and be normal, please. I beg of you.
Samantha: I have breast cancer.
Miranda: What?
Charlotte: See, this is what we were afraid of. Go back to your people. We'll talk about this later.
Miranda: You are my people and we'll talk about it now.Now start at the beginning.
Despite their overt promiscuity, those trendy new yorkers are just sometimes so insightful and profound that I have a hard time not idolizing them. (Sometimes, I think Carrie lives inside my soul…but, that’s beside the point). The important part is that I am blessed beyond my wildest dreams to be like Miranda and have “people”. I am privileged enough to be in relationships that can not only withstand, but are essentially founded upon the fact that we can say “screw the special day. I don’t want to pretend that you aren’t hurting”. I don’t ever want to be the bride if that means pretending that things are different from what they really are. Little by little, I am learning that the opportunity to give love is so much more valuable than the opportunity to receive it. And that idle attention and flattery quickly fade in comparison to true relationship and that ultimately, I couldn’t be more blessed.
Maybe I am becoming less of a princess, and more of a Miranda. Either way, it's been a very Happy Birthday to me
I don’t cry very often. Despite my tendency to purposely plunge myself into environments that lay claim to more than their fair share of human suffering, pain, and tragedy, I have become increasingly good at keeping it together. I suppose it comes with the territory. You don’t do it if it wrecks you every time.
But, every once in a while, my heart breaks. Into 17 pieces. And when it does, I cannot – for the life of me – keep it together.
Last night, it happened. Driving home from work, I absolutely fell apart. And whatever that snowball metaphor is and what it is supposed to represent happened somewhere deep inside my soul. The thing that always happens…happened. One patient reminds me of another. One sorrow-filled story brings to memory something else that broke my heart and I tucked away for a "more appropriate time". And the alligator tears and hysterical sobs become so overwhelming that I seriously question how on earth I will ever regain any degree of composure. Even when my good sense tries to get the better of my internal drama-queen and I make the effort to “accentuate the positive”, I end up overcome by the feeling that there is nothing positive to focus on because one person’s gain is another’s loss.
Irrational. Overwhelming. All-consuming.
And every once in a while, when my heart is breaking, I can’t help but ask my God why he made us so raw. Why are our hearts so fragile? Why do we feel emotion in such an intense way?
And then I experience this:
And it all makes sense. If our hearts didn’t have the potential to be broken, we wouldn’t be able to love. If we didn’t care about anyone, we would never be able to experience the intense satisfaction of relationship. If nothing was personal, then nothing would be personal. If we didn’t feel true sorrow, we would also never feel true joy. It’s what makes us human. And alive. And us.
I’ve always been pretty proud of my resume. One of my life’s biggest confessions is actually that I look a lot better on paper. Seriously. I have being toiling with the idea of going on "The Bachelor" for quite some time now, for the sole purpose that it would make my resume more diverse.
The majority of the time, I am overwhelmingly content with the path that my life has traveled down. With some degree of regret, I will admit that there are times when I even feel proud of my accomplishments. And, if I am being perfectly honest, most of that has less to do with academics and career than it does with the whimsical nuance and overall philosophy which infuses the majority of my decision making and social interactions. I like climbing mountains that are clearly too big. I like jumping in without being totally aware of what the water is like. I like having a story that no one else has.
Most of the time, it is enough.
Which is why days like today and feelings like this always throw me for a freaking loop.
There’s no real explanation for why it happened today. No particular critical incident. Maybe it was too many consecutive night shifts and my defenses are just low. Maybe it’s too many muscle relaxants. Or maybe it is just the reality of my resume and what deep down I know it lacks.
Because today, being a nurse, a best friend, a coworker, an aunt, a daughter, a sister, a disciple of the God of the universe, and an all-round fabulous person didn’t really seem to cut it for me. The things that were missing seemed so much bigger and more important. And, I am not even implying that I want a house, a husband, 2.5 babies, a puppy, a dishwasher, a winning 649 ticket, more expensive clothes, a personal chef, and a white picket fence. Given the option, I would pass on most of those. But today, given the option, there are a few that would entice me into a second glance.
I know it all comes with a price. I know it. I know that the life God has given me is mine and it’s mine because it is what he knows is best for me, right now. I know it. I know that when presented with this particular hypothetical fork in the road, 363 days of the year, I would chose the path I have chosen. And that my particular road less traveled is the only road where I can experience God’s true desire for me.
Unfortunately, every once in a while, knowing doesn’t make what is usually enough feel like anything close to enough.
by Jennifer Louise Carrol (ya, Louise...I know, it's "pretty")
Seriously?