15,705 - LJ Idol Season 10, Week 11
As I write this, I have lived through 15,705 sunrises and 15,705 sunsets. Many of those changes from night to day have found me sleeping. Many of the movements from day to night have found me too busy to marvel in the subtle changes in color that paint the sky. The blue hour, as it is known, when the sky is awash in various hues of bue, often passes without remark, because I am too busy dreaming, too busy driving, too busy reading, too busy yelling, too busy cleaning, too busy loving, too busy living. At first glance, I think of these moments as inconsequential. After all, they are happening whether I pay attention or not. I cannot control them. I cannot make the sun rise or fall more quickly or slowly. I do not choose the shades of red or orange, blue or black that color the sky. Because I cannot effect it, it shouldn't be important. But it is. Because each of those 31,410 changes are another opportunity to see greatness in the every day. Each pair is another cycle in which I am glad to be alive. Each is a moment that, had things gone slightly differently, I would not have had the chance to miss watching because I was too busy living.
I was born with a small hole in my neck. If I remember correctly it was a small water sac that was pushing on my spine. At three months, I had surgery on my neck to remove it. Had the surgery gone badly, or if I'd not been able to have the surgery at all, I could have been paralyzed. I would have lived, but I would not have been able to spend my childhood playing in the fields around my home. I would not have climbed the large tree in my backyard, or sit under it with a book in summer reading. I would not have been able to break my ankle when my bag of books got caught in the spokes of my bike. I would not have been able to try to take the long, shallow steps under the esplandes at Florida Southern College in one step. I would not have been able to live in a basement apartment of a home on Long Island, which would one day be crash space for my future husband and several friends while they were in town for a gathering of people from the message board we all frequented. I don't know what my life would have been, but it wouldn't have been the one I have now.
On September 11, 2001, I was working in New York City. That day, I was at my company's main office, directly across the street from the Empire State Building. If the terrorists had decided to hit that historic building instead of the Twin Towers, I could have been caught in the debris. Instead of being someone that cried over the fliers of the lost that papered Penn Station, my face may have decorated one of those fliers, earning the empathy of others. I would not have been able to meet the love of my life face to face after almost a year of getting to know one another online. I would not have had a chance to say live in Philadelphia, exploring the area around the University of Pennsyvlania. There would have been no rainy September ceremony in which I pledged to forever love, honor and cherish the man that has honored that pledge to me. I would not have had one last, wonderful memory with one of my best friends before she left this world almost a year later. I would not have been able to find a home in Nashville, to find friends that I can count on, to raise my children, to learn how to fight for what I believe in, and for what my children need. There would be no child named after my father, growing into a young man that my father, my husband and myself could be proud of. So much would have been lost.
Mother's Day, 2007, Rich and I were helping my parents by driving a trailer full of their things from Florida to Tennessee. As Rich moved from one lane to the next, the trailer behind us fish-tailed and we lost control. I still remember watching the world flip as the truck rolled down the interstate, things flying all around me. If we had landed just a little differently, the break in my husband's neck could have left him paralyzed rather than just having to wear a neck brace to help him heal for several months. If the people around us hadn't been paying as much attention as they had, we could have been hit and instead of walking away with cuts, bruises and a stubborn tick, I could have been taken away covered by a sheet. If the accident had been just a little worse, I wouldn't have brought a bright, silly, loving little boy into the world that has helped teach me to look at the world in ways I'd never expected. There would not have been the chance for me to become even closer to my step-mother before she passed away, and my father would have been so alone here Tennessee. I wouldn't have had the honor of being a Parents' Day Out teacher, or the joy of getting to know the little ones that have helped fill my heart and give me new stories to remember every day I'm in their presence. I wouldn't be playing Pokemon Go with my family, or learning karate with my boys, or sitting in Starbucks writing this entry.
Tomorrow I turn 43. By this time tomorrow, I will have lived through 31, 412 blue hours. I would like to say that I tomorrow will be a day of rising early to savor that the hour that changes night into day. I would like to say that I would commit every moment of the day as a precious memory to savor in later years, until I can sit enjoying the sky change from day into night. But almost 43 years has taught me that won't be how the day will go. Instead, I try to sleep in but instead rise with my husband to see him off to judge the local Destination Imagination tournament. I will become exasperated with my children as I try to remind them that on Mommy's birthday, they should be trying to make my day go smoother rather than fight me as I try to get them to put on their gis for karate. I will sweat and strain as I try to master the various kicks, blocks and punches alongside the boys and wonder why, just WHY, I decided to participate in a session on my birthday. I will try rush to the library, wishing I had time to read the book that I'll be picking up while lamenting the fact that I am having to return so many unread. There will be board games and card games, and maybe a special dinner. I may even find a movie for us to watch as a family as the day ends. And I will definitely lose an hour's sleep between that night and the next day, thanks to the time change. None of this will be anything I'll remember as more than a faint whisper of how it probably was when my 44th birthday rolls around.
But if you want to know the truth, none of that bothers me. Because if I'm trying to savor the moments, I'm not living in them. If I try to make every minute of my birthday memorable, I won't be as focused on the now, on just being and living and loving and enjoying it for what it is. I don't need to remember every minute. I don't need to remember the every day as a crystal clear moment. I just need to have the feeling of a past well lived and well loved.
I was born with a small hole in my neck. If I remember correctly it was a small water sac that was pushing on my spine. At three months, I had surgery on my neck to remove it. Had the surgery gone badly, or if I'd not been able to have the surgery at all, I could have been paralyzed. I would have lived, but I would not have been able to spend my childhood playing in the fields around my home. I would not have climbed the large tree in my backyard, or sit under it with a book in summer reading. I would not have been able to break my ankle when my bag of books got caught in the spokes of my bike. I would not have been able to try to take the long, shallow steps under the esplandes at Florida Southern College in one step. I would not have been able to live in a basement apartment of a home on Long Island, which would one day be crash space for my future husband and several friends while they were in town for a gathering of people from the message board we all frequented. I don't know what my life would have been, but it wouldn't have been the one I have now.
On September 11, 2001, I was working in New York City. That day, I was at my company's main office, directly across the street from the Empire State Building. If the terrorists had decided to hit that historic building instead of the Twin Towers, I could have been caught in the debris. Instead of being someone that cried over the fliers of the lost that papered Penn Station, my face may have decorated one of those fliers, earning the empathy of others. I would not have been able to meet the love of my life face to face after almost a year of getting to know one another online. I would not have had a chance to say live in Philadelphia, exploring the area around the University of Pennsyvlania. There would have been no rainy September ceremony in which I pledged to forever love, honor and cherish the man that has honored that pledge to me. I would not have had one last, wonderful memory with one of my best friends before she left this world almost a year later. I would not have been able to find a home in Nashville, to find friends that I can count on, to raise my children, to learn how to fight for what I believe in, and for what my children need. There would be no child named after my father, growing into a young man that my father, my husband and myself could be proud of. So much would have been lost.
Mother's Day, 2007, Rich and I were helping my parents by driving a trailer full of their things from Florida to Tennessee. As Rich moved from one lane to the next, the trailer behind us fish-tailed and we lost control. I still remember watching the world flip as the truck rolled down the interstate, things flying all around me. If we had landed just a little differently, the break in my husband's neck could have left him paralyzed rather than just having to wear a neck brace to help him heal for several months. If the people around us hadn't been paying as much attention as they had, we could have been hit and instead of walking away with cuts, bruises and a stubborn tick, I could have been taken away covered by a sheet. If the accident had been just a little worse, I wouldn't have brought a bright, silly, loving little boy into the world that has helped teach me to look at the world in ways I'd never expected. There would not have been the chance for me to become even closer to my step-mother before she passed away, and my father would have been so alone here Tennessee. I wouldn't have had the honor of being a Parents' Day Out teacher, or the joy of getting to know the little ones that have helped fill my heart and give me new stories to remember every day I'm in their presence. I wouldn't be playing Pokemon Go with my family, or learning karate with my boys, or sitting in Starbucks writing this entry.
Tomorrow I turn 43. By this time tomorrow, I will have lived through 31, 412 blue hours. I would like to say that I tomorrow will be a day of rising early to savor that the hour that changes night into day. I would like to say that I would commit every moment of the day as a precious memory to savor in later years, until I can sit enjoying the sky change from day into night. But almost 43 years has taught me that won't be how the day will go. Instead, I try to sleep in but instead rise with my husband to see him off to judge the local Destination Imagination tournament. I will become exasperated with my children as I try to remind them that on Mommy's birthday, they should be trying to make my day go smoother rather than fight me as I try to get them to put on their gis for karate. I will sweat and strain as I try to master the various kicks, blocks and punches alongside the boys and wonder why, just WHY, I decided to participate in a session on my birthday. I will try rush to the library, wishing I had time to read the book that I'll be picking up while lamenting the fact that I am having to return so many unread. There will be board games and card games, and maybe a special dinner. I may even find a movie for us to watch as a family as the day ends. And I will definitely lose an hour's sleep between that night and the next day, thanks to the time change. None of this will be anything I'll remember as more than a faint whisper of how it probably was when my 44th birthday rolls around.
But if you want to know the truth, none of that bothers me. Because if I'm trying to savor the moments, I'm not living in them. If I try to make every minute of my birthday memorable, I won't be as focused on the now, on just being and living and loving and enjoying it for what it is. I don't need to remember every minute. I don't need to remember the every day as a crystal clear moment. I just need to have the feeling of a past well lived and well loved.