The Light We Carry, Part Three

This is my third and final post about Michelle Obama’s book The Light We Carry: Overcoming in Uncertain Times.

(You can read my post about part one by clicking here.)

(And part two is here.)

There were parts of this book that read so smooth and easy, as if I was fortunate enough to sit down and have a conversation with Mrs. Obama. And there were parts that just stopped me in my reading, passages I re-read and marked with a highlighter because they really resonated with me.

Here are just some of those passages:

“When someone chooses to lift the curtain on a perceived imperfection in her story, on a circumstance or condition that traditionally might be considered to be a weakness, what she’s often actually revealing is the source code for her steadiness and strength.”

“When we share our stories with fullness and honesty, we often discover that we’re less alone and more connected than we might ever have believed.” 

“All I can do is try to draw closer to your uniqueness, to feel linked by the small overlaps between us. This is how empathy works. It’s how differentness starts to weave itself into togetherness. Empathy fills the gaps between us, but never closes them entirely. We get pulled into the lives of others by virtue of what they feel safe and able to show us, and the generosity with which we are able to meet them. Piece by piece, person by person, we begin to apprehend the world in more fullness.”

“For me, the process of writing can be an incredibly helpful tool when it comes to going high. It’s a means through which I am able to move through my emotions, filtering them into useful form.”

“Joy and pain often live in close proximity; they intermingle. Most of us exist in the in-between, following that most innate of human impulses, which is to hang on to hope. Don’t give up, we tell one another. Keep working.
“This matters, too.”

“Kids, for me, are always a reminder that we are all born loving and open-minded, free of hate. They are the reason the rest of us maintain a thick skin and keep trying to clear the path. Watching a child grow into an adult, you understand both how mundane and profound the process can be, how it happens slowly and quickly all at once, in steps and also in strides.”

Please note: I am including a link to buy the book that I’m highlighting this week. If you use my link, I do make a small commission on your purchase at no additional cost to you. I am working with Bookshop.org which also sends a portion of the profit to support local, independent bookstores.  

Why Not Me?

Before I became ill, I saw my primary care physician once a year for an annual check-up. Illness, especially long-term illness, seemed like a vague idea way out into the future, nothing I needed to worry about in my early thirties. 

Except that’s not the way it works. 

And by it I mean life, the future, my body. 

Since becoming ill with a chronic illness, it really does feel like there is always something — some lab result that seems a bit off and needs further testing, some symptom that isn’t easily explained and requires a meeting with a specialist, some worrisome finding that requires additional scans. 

So last week, when I texted one of my closest friends and told her about my health scare and upcoming appointment, her reply was spot-on.

“It never stops.” (She also texted me loving, supportive words, too.)

The waiting, the worry. The appointment, the apprehension. 

All of it — it never stops.

Last week’s appointment was one of the scariest I have experienced. Questions to answer, and three different sets of pictures and scans. And lots of waiting. I sat there, terrified, in my pink gown and tried to distract myself with a Christmas-themed novel (The Christmas Bookshop by Jenny Colgan). But the longer I was there (almost three hours), the more convinced I became that bad news was imminent. 

Except I got lucky. 

Very lucky. 

When the nurse came and told me it was all okay, I asked her to repeat herself, because I was afraid I had misheard. 

Why me? Why did I get an all-clear, while I’m sure other women that day heard different news? 

I don’t know.

Except it makes me think of something I read quite a while ago, something I have written about before. When it comes to chronic illness, there’s no point in asking Why me? Everyone is dealing with something, whether we can see it or not. The question really should be why not me?

So, why did I get really, really lucky last week? Why me?

Why not me?

Please note: I am including a link to buy the book that I’m highlighting this week. If you use my link, I do make a small commission on your purchase at no additional cost to you. I am working with Bookshop.org which also sends a portion of the profit to support local, independent bookstores.

The Light We Carry, Part Two

This week’s blog post features some of the oh-yes-passages from part two of The Light We Carry by Former First Lady Michelle Obama. What do I mean by oh-yes-passages? Passages that resonated with me. Passages that made me pause and reflect. Passages that touched me in some way. 

(If you missed the blog post about part one, you can click here to read it.)

“I’m not sure how friendship, or even just engaging with another person in the three minutes it takes to buy your morning cup of coffee, has come to feel like a small act of bravery. But increasingly it seems that way. Perhaps, as I mentioned earlier, it’s because we now carry with us little rectangular shields against face-to-face sociability — our phones — which I think also shield us from serendipity. Any time we avoid even a small real-life connection, we are to some extent avoiding possibility.”

“When we drop our fears about newness and open ourselves to others, even through quick and casual interactions, even while masked — saying hello to someone in the elevator, for example, or chatting in a grocery line — we are practicing an important form of micro-connection. We’re signaling a general okayness between us, adding just a drop of social glue to a world that desperately needs it.”

“The best way to be a friend to someone, as I see it, is to revel in their uniqueness, to appreciate each person for what they bring, receiving them simply as themselves.”

“Over the course of my adult life, I’ve lived in a number of places, but as far as I’m concerned, I’ve only ever had one real home. My home is my family. My home is Barack.”

“Like a lot of people, I had ideas about what marriage would be like, and few of them turned out to be right.”

“Much as it is with marriage and partnership, the fantasy versions of being a parent sit at the forefront of our cultural imagination, whereas the reality is way, way, way less perfect.”

“Caring for your kids and watching them grow is one of the most rewarding endeavors on earth, and at the same time it can drive you nuts.”

Please note: I am including a link to buy the book that I’m highlighting this week. If you use my link, I do make a small commission on your purchase at no additional cost to you. I am working with Bookshop.org which also sends a portion of the profit to support local, independent bookstores.     

My Spoonie NaNoWriMo

If you’re a fiction writer, or live with a fiction writer, you’re most likely familiar with NaNoWriMo, which is the abbreviation for National Novel Writing Month. NaNoWriMo takes place each November, with writers committing to work towards the goal of writing the draft of an entire novel (50,000 words) in one month. 

NaNoWriMo started back in 1999, and since then it has become a worldwide phenomenon. Writers find community, encouragement, resources, and support by participating and connecting with other writers going through the same process.

I don’t write fiction, and the sheer number of daily words required (50,000 words over 30 days works out to about 1,667 words a day) didn’t feel attainable for me, so I never participated in NaNoWriMo.

Until this year.

And it’s all because of Sandra Postma. (You may remember I wrote about Sandra and the incredible work she does as a Book and Spoonie Coach  in a blog post back in October. In case you missed it, you can click here to read the post.)

On her Instagram, Sandra encouraged spoonie writers to participate in NaNoWriMo in a way that worked for each of us. She pointed out that as people who live with chronic illness, we’re accustomed to modifying a variety of activities. Why should NaNoWriMo be any different? Sandra encouraged us to participate in a Spoonie NaNoWriMo — one with individual goals that work for each writer. That I could do. 

Being a former teacher, I printed out the goals I set for my NaNoWriMo, as well as a November calendar. Each day I met my goal, I put a sticker in the calendar box. (Again, former teacher. Plus I had all these cute stickers on-hand.)

My Spoonie NaNoWriMo Goals, as I printed them out:

Each day in November I will:

Complete a 5-minute writing exercise.

Write down one statement, acknowledging something I did, 

something my body was strong enough to do.

And I did it! (Note all the stickers!)

It certainly wasn’t easy. There were days I was tempted to skip the whole thing, but I’m glad I didn’t. The hardest part was the daily statement, a note of appreciation and gratitude for things my body is still strong enough to do, because I’m not used to highlighting myself in this way.

My statements tended to acknowledge a “bigger” outing or activity — taking down and putting away our Halloween decorations, decorating for Thanksgiving, grocery shopping (though I no longer do that by myself), a longer walk in the neighborhood. 

While those “bigger” activities were worth documenting, writing this list helped me see how hard I work each day, how much I continue to do each and every day, and all while my pain has consistently been more and more intense.

For instance: I make the bed each morning. I pick up my own prescriptions at CVS. I shower each night. I never skip brushing my teeth. I get dressed each day, complete with my daily jewelry (nine rings on eight fingers, bracelets, earrings, necklace). 

The unexpected result of my Spoonie NaNoWriMo is the feeling of achievement and pride — in my writing, yes, but also in myself! 

Dear Readers, anyone else participate in a version of NaNoWriMo? How did it go for you? Let me know in the comments.