Disregarding the disclaimers
I finally got out and went for a run this afternoon. Oh, I’ve been walking like a banshee the last few weeks but I actually went for a bonafide run after work today. I didn’t want to at first. I was exhausted. I was literally on my feet for 8 solid hours today taking care of 22 patients. TWENTY-TWO patients to pass meds to, play bingo with, place suppositories for. It was a different kind of busy than I’ve ever experienced in 14 years as a nurse and it kicked my tush. But I was also serenaded by a room full of old-timers during said bingo session. Apparently there’s a song called “Once In Love With Amy” that was first released by Frank Sinatra in 1948. How in the world this song has been around almost twice as long as me without me hearing it before today is beyond me. But there’s something special about a sweet little old stroke victim lighting up as he plays different versions of “your song” sung by Frank, Dean Martin and even the Muppets. It kinda makes all the silly suppositories worth it, you know?
So anyway, Ididn’t want to run today. My feet were killing me, my knee has been tight and painful ever since that fateful hike up Maple Mountain when I biffed it 100 yards from my car and I didn’t sleep much at all last night. In fact, I was pretty dang homesick and felt my first little taste of anxiety since arriving on the island start to creep back in. First of all, it was Christmas. No brainer. Being homesick was inevitable. Second of all, my little landlady scared the bejesus out of me when I went to brush my teeth before bed. She was laying on the couch in the dark wearing a sports bra and some “I️ Dream of Jeannie” pants and she bolted upright when she saw me. I would have peed my pants had I been wearing any, but I’ve recently taken to wearing muumuus after I shower to let all my nether regions dry before I crawl into bed, so the clean up was fairly simple. Anyway, the whole incident left me longing for a bathroom that I don’t have to peek around corners before using. I’m really good at being by myself. I lived with my parents for 3 years and would sometimes go weeks without seeing either one of them. I’m a solid solo artist at heart and I was missing the isolation last night for the first time in a while.
Today at work the anxiety was lingering and I started trying to eat the whole elephant in terms of figuring out my future and I found myself talking myself off the ledge a few different times. I knew I couldn’t come home and just sit around worrying so I made myself change into workout clothes the minute I got home.
L. O. Freaking L. I haven’t worn summer workout clothes in quite some time and I thought I had packed my “bigger” outfits for this voyage but I was wrong. Dead wrong. I guess I should have tried them on first. My sports bra was so tight I had front cleavage, armpit cleavage AND back cleavage and I’m certain I looked like a bouncing busted can of biscuits on my run. Luckily, my appropriately-sized-sports-bra wearing housemate had suggested a route that hid me from any human contact so I wasn’t too worried about what I looked like. I just wanted to run. (Something about being at sea level and feeling like you can go forever makes walking seem so inadequate.)
Ok. So even at sea level, it wasn’t easy!
I know I looked silly running today. I’m chubby, I’m out of shape, I’m seriously - though unintentionally - underdressed. But the scenery was gorgeous so the rest just didn’t matter; I needed to run. I needed the endorphins and the distraction and the reminder that the only thing I can control is the moment right in front of me. The end. And with views like this, how can you feel anything but giddy?
I spy an ocean...
Last night when I was feeling homesick and sad I pulled up Instagram and immediately cringed when I went to my profile. When I started this blog, I felt like I had to tell the world who I was in order to justify my writing at all. I added things like “mom, Mormon, nurse, tattooed, recovering addict, anxiety and depression fighter”, etc. I don’t know why I felt such a need to point out my struggles and flaws. I mean, if everyone decided to throw disclaimers about themselves on their profiles, social media would be full of “nail biters” and “midnight bingers” and “cheating narcissistic sociopaths”. I think even Instagram knew that would be a bad idea, which I believe is precisely why there is a very conservative character limit in the “bio” section. Thank heavens. I’m all about being real and raw and not pretending life is perfect when it’s not. But I’m also learning that you attract what you put out in the universe and labeling yourself as anxious or lonely or hungry all the time isn’t doing you or anyone else any favors. Ya feel?
Now when you look at my personal social media profile, it says “happy girl living aloha for a bit”. According to www.livealoha.com, to “live aloha” means your heart is so full that it has the power to influence those around you with your spirit. It means that the more you express your love and compassion for yourself and those around you, the more it comes back to you. It literally means “the presence of breath” or “the breath of life”. How cool is that? Two little words...so much meaning. It sure makes me happier to read than a crowded paragraph full of things I once felt defined me. Don’t get me wrong...I’m still a mom, a Mormon and a tattooed recovering alcoholic prone to anxiety and depression with really oversized boobies at the moment. But I’m also a happy girl with an appreciation for adventure, a heart even bigger than my bra size and a laugh you can hear from 10 miles away. And hey...Frank Sinatra said it himself when he said “Once in love with Amy, always in love with Amy.” If he believes it, by dang I should too...free from all those Debbie Downer Disclaimers.
So, here’s to winding down 2017 and welcoming in a brand new year. Here’s to the chance to swoon over new theme songs, living the best life you can and being HAPPY along the way - one day at a time. Here’s to living ALOHA!
XOXO ~Ames
