In search of a Personal Legend

I just finished The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho.

For those who haven’t read it, it’s one I would recommend reading at some point in your life. For those who have read it, you already know its meaning.

I was told, in the last week, that hopefully one day I’d know what it is to work full time. Kind of a stinging blow knowing that I’ve been working full time since graduating college.

Instead of dwelling on it, I have to know that anytime you try to do something a little out of the ordinary, off the track of what is considered ‘normal,’ there is going to be pushback, lack of understanding and maybe even resentment. To expect everyone will be outright happy with you for pursuing a dream is an unrealistic expectation. I’m becoming more ok with that. I’m realizing more about myself. I’m enjoying my days more and more.

Now that the book is done, I wonder if it won’t help me in helping others understand the need to seek and even understand something this book centers around. Your Personal Legend.

The story is about a boy, Santiago, who dreams he must go to the Pyramids of Egypt to find a treasure. With the instruction of a gypsy and a man claiming to be a mysterious king, he sells off his sheep and travels to Africa.

“To realize one’s destiny is a person’s only obligation,” the old man tells him. “And, when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it.”

At one point, much further on in his long and arduous journey, the boy tells the alchemist his heart is a traitor and does not want him to continue. The alchemist encourages the boy to continue listening to his heart or he will never again be able to keep it quiet.

“You will never be able to escape from your heart. So it’s better to listen to what it has to say. That way, you’ll never have to fear an unanticipated blow.”

A few pages later, the alchemist, with whom the boy is traveling, tells him to continue in the direction of the Pyramids and continue watching for and listening to the omens.

“ What you still need to know is this: before a dream is realized, the Soul of the World tests everything that was learned along the way. It does this not because it is evil, but so that we can, in addition to realizing our dreams, master the lessons we’ve learned as we’ve moved toward that dream. That’s the point at which most people give up. It’s the point at which, as we say in the language of the desert, one ‘dies of thirst just when the palm trees have appeared on the horizon’.”

I focus on these three quotes because they struck a chord with me. In talking with another about this book, he told me he had read it five times now. He said he reads it when he needs to. When he knows he is in a spot where he has stopped listening to his heart and encountered challenges he was not expecting.

Following the path of finding the treasure, understanding the Soul of the World, and realizing his Personal Legend, Santiago teaches us a few things about the obstacles which stood in his way. The obstacles that ultimately can stand in everyone’s way.

Negativity. As we grow, negativity grows. We are told certain things are not possible or cannot be done. Not letting the noise drown out passion is the key to overcoming this negativity.

Love. We do not want to disappoint those we love. But those we love, want what is best. They want us to be happy and realize our own personal legends.

Failure. Obstacles will be encountered along the way. Falling down is just as important as getting back up and trying again. Even the not-so-direct path can lead us to a sought after destination.

Guilt of Success. Believe you are worthy of your success. Even if others have not yet realized their personal legend, don’t let that stop you from reaching yours. Don’t stop short of the palm trees appearing on the horizon. You’ve worked this hard. Keep going.

Just something to think about.

“The secret of life, though, is to fall seven times and to get up eight times.” ~Paulo Coelho

 

Day 24: Could’ve, Would’ve, Should’ve

I’m going to take a moment to sincerely apologize for my lack of commitment to this project. I should have completed Day 30 sometime last week, and now am just getting to Day 24’s entry. It’s not that I don’t want to see through what I’ve started and would feel undeniably guilty for not keeping a goal that has been so publicly shared. It’s that life gets complicated.

I started last week with the intent of getting through as many entries as I could before a brief planned break for an out-of-town wedding. It didn’t happen.

I had been thinking a lot, as I often do, about visiting my grandma. She is the only living grandparent I have and will be turning 92 in a little over a month. She lives in an assisted living home not that far from me, and yet it is so easy to let time, sometimes months go by, without going to visit her. I make excuses and then feel badly I don’t go. Even though she has been a huge part of my life, I struggle to make the time. I am aware of how selfish it is.

She has never been much of what I would consider to be independent lady. After moving in with my parents in early 2000, she left her familiar surroundings, gave up the few friends she was in contact with, discontinued her activities and stopped driving. I always thought it was too early. She wasn’t even 80 yet. But this was her choice. I worried she had already decided to give up and wondered how much longer she had.

Over the next few years, life changed for everyone in the family with marriages, divorces, kids, and new jobs. Dementia was developing. I still get confused on the differences between dementia and Alzheimer’s. She has never been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, which has been a blessing. Doctors say that dementia is a symptom and Alzheimer’s is the cause of that symptom (but not always, in this case). Regardless, her short-term memory went from bad to worse and she had trouble recognizing people she had been the most close to.

When she went to assisted living, she was still relatively capable of taking care of herself. Then, she fell and broke her wrist. She was going to need more help. Still in assisted living, she is rarely left alone and is no longer cooking for herself.

Keeping track of when her fall happened or even how long she has been under assisted care is a blur to me. She has been one of those women who, despite the feelings of wanting to give up from time to time, muscles through and lives on. It’s remarkable really.

She is a little woman. Fragile and frail. We knew if she were to fall again, it would be bad. It could mean the end of her quality of life.

And so, as soon as last Monday, I was making my promise that I would go visit her when I got back from vacation. I needed to be better about it. On Tuesday, my mom called to let me know she was in the ER with a broken hip. I was too late on my promise.

Below the blankets in the hospital room, I swear I couldn’t even tell she had legs. It looked like her body was part of the bed. She has become so skinny I don’t know how her organs can pull her through this even though the doctors determine she is strong enough for surgery. But, she recognizes me. She says my name. I feel an overwhelming sense of guilt knowing I haven’t seen her most of the summer, but have to let it go realizing she doesn’t care, she is just glad to see me. I want to be strong for my mom. I know this is very hard on her.

Statistics state that about 25% of patients who go through breaking a hip in their advanced years are gone within a year. Even though she had the surgery, she will need to be able to recover. To move freely. To walk. If she cannot, it is difficult to know what will happen. Inevitably, it could mean that I will never again visit her in the place she was living. She will have to go to a nursing home. And then what?

I don’t know how to handle aging. I don’t think I’m afraid of death, but at some point, I seem to tell myself I can’t deal with it. That I don’t know how to deal with it. I’ll just close my eyes until it’s all over. If it’s part of the cycle of life that everyone goes through, why is it so hard for me to see? For me to accept?

I remember how excited we would get knowing grandma was coming when living overseas as kids. It was awesome to have any visitors from the U.S., but there was always something special about her visits. I remember her townhouse, her pool, how she would let us pick out a toy at the grocery store, trips to Disney and other fun destinations, her peaches and sugar dish, cobblers of every kind, how she was the only other person in the world I would allow to sleep with my stuffed dog Baxter when she’d come to stay overnight, and her support of me no matter what it was I wanted to be. Soft spoken and kind, it’s always difficult to see what something like dementia can do to the mind.

The beauty of the symptom, if there can be a silver lining? Long-term memory is crystal clear even if she cannot recall two hours ago. It would be a shame for me to let her slip away without getting to hear everything she may have to say. I have to believe I will get to do this. I will not sit idly by waiting for the call.

Before surgery last week, I sat by her bedside with my mom and aunt in the room. For as weak as I thought she looked, her grip on my hand was stronger than I thought it could be. Not being as big on physical contact other than the hug here and there, I could not remember the last time we had sat like this holding hands. She told me she loved me and I told her I loved her. I kissed her on the forehead before leaving. From this moment forward, things would be different.

She told me on her birthday last year that she hoped she would not see this year’s birthday. I explained to her how much she has to live for and how loved she is. She is so strong, she’ll be around for a long time. But I am not her. I cannot know what is going through her mind. Her soul. She has lived a remarkable life and if she could think through even the most recent years, would not be disappointed with all she has done and how much she means to so many people. But I do understand that, at some point, you decide enough is enough. You want to go out on a good note leaving a legacy of happiness and goodness. I know this is what she wants.

Even though I keep hoping she is not right in what she said to me last year, I know only she can make that decision. When God says it’s time, it’s time.

Could’ve, would’ve, should’ve. I hate that. I hate that I do that. It’s never too late, right? Until one day, it is.

Day 13: Let the music pull you in

Followed an idea today and decided to write a note in song lyrics (anything italicized is a lyric).

Oh what the hell she says. I just can’t win for losing and she lays back down. Man there’s so many times I don’t know what I’m doing like I don’t know now. But if you really want to know, I have my addictions. I keep my share of secrets and things you’ll never see. I get selfish and defensive and pay too much attention to my insecurities. I laugh at silly movies, tear up when I see babies, and I’m stubborn as a stone. I criticize my body. I wonder if I’m ready to ever be alone.

It is ok. This is who I am and this is all I know and I must choose to live for all that I can give. The spark that makes the power grow. And I will stand for my dream if I can. A symbol in my faith of who I am.

What then? All my life I’ve tried to make everybody happy while I just hurt and hide waiting for someone to tell me it’s my turn to decide. All for these feelings. Because I wish I were pretty. I wish I were brave. And if I were fearless, I’d speak my truth. And the world would hear this. That’s what I’d do.

But what if I just…Put the world away for a minute, pretend I don’t live in it. Is it the answer? Probably not since I don’t want to spend my life jaded, waiting, to wake up one day and find I let all these years go by wasted. I don’t want to keep on wishing, missing the still of the morning the color of the night. Maybe I should stop walking like a one-man army. It’s not your destiny to be the king of pain. Finally let the sun illuminate the words you cannot. Live your life with arms wide open. Because today is where your book begins.

I know that I don’t want to be left behind. Distance should not be a friend of mine. Instead find yourself laughing hard with the windows down leaving footprints all over town. Take a risk. Take a chance. Make a change.

But yet, I’ve seen people try to change, and I know it isn’t easy. Then again, nothing worth the time ever really is. Put up a fight. Face the cardboard masks of all the people I’ve been. Thrown out with all the rusted, tangled, dented goddamn miseries. One foot in and one foot back? It don’t pay to live like that. There has to be a crossroads, a place to draw the line.

Stop.

Don’t compare where you are to where you want to be. You’ll get nowhere. Instead, know that all the doors closed one time will open up again. Have faith it will come in time. Be patient. Your blue might be gray, your less might be more. Your window to the world might be your own front door. Your shiniest day might come in the middle of the night.

And then you find love. You helped me see the beauty in everything. Every long lost dream led me to where you are. You just call out my name and you know wherever I am I’ll come running. He tells you if this world makes you crazy and you’ve taken all you can bear, just call me up because you know I’ll be there.  For when I lost hope, you were there to remind me this is the start.

Those moments, those minutes, those years that go by. In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights and cups of coffee. In miles, in inches, in laughter and strife. Forget regret or life is yours to miss. No other road, no other way. No day but today.

xoxo

Day 7: Writing what you don’t want to write about.

It was in an article I read a while back. Ways to spark your creativity include writing what you don’t want to write about. Write for 10 minutes straight. At the end, don’t go back and read it, just tear it up. Delete it. What if you don’t want to delete it? Here we go.

I can still see her. She would sit in that closet when the world felt like it was caving in on her. It made her feel safe. The darkness. The ability to shut the world away if only for a moment. She could be sad. No one would ever know.

She had a very normal childhood. Good food on the table, roof over her head, more travel opportunities before the age of 6 than most people get in their lifetime. There was nothing wrong with the world in which she was growing up in, except herself. She didn’t like who she was. Taking for granted the life she had been given.

She told her mom after the haircut she received when she was 10 she hated what she looked like. She looked like a boy. She looked like a really ugly boy. The kids at school tomorrow would be relentless. She cried that whole day, refusing to eat, to talk, sitting in the corner of the living room. She was too exposed and looked ridiculous. She knew it, but didn’t care. That’s when she discovered the closet.

As the esteem started slipping farther and farther away, she fell into an eating trap. Proud of the day she showed up at school and realized she did not need to eat her lunch. She could throw it away and not be the slightest bit hungry. She was thin, she had a problem. But that wasn’t enough. People still picked on her in the very best way middle school girls can. She would spend hours the night before choosing clothes and deciding what to do with her hair just to have it all fall apart the next morning when someone told her she looked ugly. She felt incompetent in almost everything she did. She didn’t think she was good enough in dance class, she had been terrible at tennis, she cried when she had to do math, she wasn’t as smart as her sister.

She would listen to her parents argue over her mental state. She was pretty sure she was crazy. She would go back to her closet and cry. Talking to the stuffed dog she’d had since infancy helped. He just listened. And listened. And listened. She really was crazy.

One night while in high school she took too many pills. She didn’t think she wanted to die, just wanted help. Stop spending so much time in the closet crying to a bunch of stuffed animals, regardless of how much she loved them, and tell someone, anyone who would listen to what she was feeling. She didn’t die and she never tried again. It was a scary night.

When the psychologist asked her if she had ever thought about suicide. She lied.

Years went by. She didn’t feel good all the time, but it was infinitely better. People complimented her even if she never complimented herself, or believed what they were saying. It made her feel good. She relied on others for her happiness.

After college, weight gain happened. She was too focused on superficiality of her appearance. She stopped eating and exercised far more than her body could sustain. The result of her hard work gave her eight stitches in her head after passing out in an elevator while at work. Everyone knew. Everyone could see what was going on with her. She tried to go back into her closet, but it was too late.

She needed to run. To try and be her own person away from everything that she knew. Start new. Maybe she would find out who she was and learn to truly enjoy the company she kept.

It worked for a while. For the first time ever she had some confidence. People gave her respect. Gave her compliments she listened to. She felt in charge of her life. She loved the people she was meeting.

She couldn’t sustain it. Eventually she thought she was losing who she was or who she thought she was. She was listening to too many other people who were trying to give her advice on what to do with her life. She wasn’t sure if she had ever made the right choices personally or professionally. It felt disconcerting, meaningless, hopeless. Maybe she needed help…again. Someone else to give her the happiness she sought.

Her dad was diagnosed with cancer. She cried a lot thinking about the relationship that should have been. She should have been trying harder. She started spending more time in the closet thinking. She had kept all her animals. Too sentimental to let go. They continued to listen. She was spending too much time alone. Her problems were trivial compared to what he was going through.

He beat cancer because he had the will to live. He was strong. She felt inspired by his determination but was still struggling with her will.

She finally gave in to the asks for a date. She moved in with him. She conceded to his ways of never wanting marriage or kids. She needed someone to give her happiness, even if it wasn’t really happiness he would ever be able to give. It was good enough. Maybe this would be as good as it got for her. She found herself settling.

She didn’t cry in the closet. She didn’t really have a closet. She shifted her time alone to the workplace and hid her sadness from him. Some days it was five or ten minutes alone in the bathroom until she could make sure co-workers wouldn’t notice her puffy eyes. Some days she would sit on the curb outside the office trying desperately to convince herself to go back in.

By this time, she had stopped sleeping. Insomnia became her best friend. While the world slept, she could be alone to think. She thought far too much. And then one day, without telling anyone, she decided to apply for graduate school. She spent a very gray and dreary day inside a coffee shop writing essays in an effort to convince admission this was the right program for her. It worked and she got in. It made her proud for the first time since making the decision, without anyone’s input, to move across the country for a job flying.

Then she told people. He feigned support. When she told him what she wanted to do with her degree, he told her he had no reason to move. She knew it was over. She probably knew it was over even before it began.

It was January, her least favorite month of the year. She had been dumped, had no where to live, just started grad school, was incredibly sick from a medication withdrawal, and was about to turn 30 in less than a month. This was not exactly how she had pictured her life.

Then, it started happening, and fast. Her hair was coming out in clumps. She had to make the appointment to chop it off. It was too hard to see the long strands falling to the ground. She knew she had an autoimmune disease. Knew it wasn’t life threatening. Knew it was ridiculous to be caring about her appearance. It didn’t matter what she knew. Her thoughts took over and she sunk into deep depression.

She barely saw friends. She did most things by herself ashamed of who she had become and ashamed she was letting something so like this take over her life. It was not as much a physical disease as it was emotional. She hated seeing the magazines focused on beauty. She knew she would never pick up a fashion magazine again.

She hit bottom. The insomnia was the worst it had been. She was unable to sleep in her bed and spent most nights lying on the couch just staring into the darkness. Waiting. Waiting. It had to get better. It got worse.

It was the first panic attack she’d had. It will probably be the worst. Lying on the floor unable to move she could not go to work. She would not have been able to drive. Her mom spent the day with her, first at the hospital and then on her couch watching TV trying to forget what was happening. She wasn’t able to be alone.

That night, a dear friend who had seen her through most of her life, the ups and the downs, sent her a message. Told her to read Jeremiah 11-13. “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” Crying because it was the first time that year she felt hope, she was able to get up off the floor. She slept that night. In her bed.

She decided she was supposed to do something with this. She had some purpose even though she was not sure what it was. Maybe she should move to another country and provide something to those less fortunate. Maybe she should help girls overcome issues of insecurity. Maybe she would lose every hair on her head, but be able to show people how strong she was. It wouldn’t matter what her appearance was, something she been obsessed with most of her life since she was 10 years old. She would be brave.

She agreed to take a weekend trip with some friends. She was doing an excellent job in school and getting congratulated on her writing. She was seeking out networking opportunities to find a new job in the field she was pursuing. She finally went to the running group she had wanted to go to for so long. She went alone, talked with complete strangers. She realized she could make new friends. She met him.

Her hair started to regrow. She bravely decided she would quit her job even though she had nothing specific lined up aside from an unpaid internship. Her boss wouldn’t let her go and wanted to help her until she found full time work. It meant a lot how much they valued her as a person. A month later she got a full time internship. Her persistence had paid off. Her sleep was slowly getting better. She loved being with him. He pushed her. Challenged her. She needed him. Things were going uphill, fast. She couldn’t believe what was happening to her. It all started with a bible verse.

She wasn’t able to sustain. The slip happened. She started losing even more hair than she had before and had to cut it even shorter. She hated it, and made the appointment to get it shaved off hoping it would stop her obsession. She changed her mind last minute and cut it even shorter. Stress had caused it to start falling out again, and the stress of it falling out sustained the loss. She couldn’t do it. She was worried he might leave her. She was sure he was going to that day up on the mountain on their trek to base camp. She had really messed up this time. She had gone too far and would never have it this good again.

But he didn’t. He stuck with her because he believed in her and knew she was capable of pulling through this. She knew she was capable. She had a track record of pulling herself through. Getting up and keeping going.

She pulled out that verse again and again and again. For some reason, it did not have the same meaning. Why? She didn’t understand. She tried other quotes, other verses. She gave herself pep talks. She talked to her stuffed dog that she still had. She desperately wanted to go back into the closet and hide. But knew she couldn’t and had to power through this regardless of who noticed or who did not.

A year went by. It had been three years since she found her first spot and was told about what was happening in her body. This was going to last the rest of her life. A part of her image would never be the same. She thought back to the ridiculousness of her childhood, adolescence and early adult years when she was overly concerned about her appearance and was sure it would be the only way anyone would like her. Funny how life comes full circle.

She felt lost. He had committed to wanting to be with her the rest of his life and so had she. Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that if she could not find her confidence, this would not be able to last. He would regret his decision. It was not something she wanted to happen.

How does one change something they have dealt with their whole life? They say it takes at least 6 weeks to break a habit. But she had been insecure more than half her life. So insecure that she had become afraid to be alone, something she had never feared before in her life.

After her last breakup when things started to spiral, she had come to the conclusion that if God had meant for her to be single the rest of her life she would be ok with that. She would do something to make a difference and to leave a legacy on this world. She wanted that back, not afraid to be left.

She realized she needed so badly to open up to friends, but felt foolish doing so after holding it in for so long. Her problems so trivial. She was having difficulty opening up to him. Trying so hard to put on a brave front and then falling apart over the smallest of things. It was unfair to him.

Some days she feels like she is standing on a platform in the middle of all the holes she has dug for herself. They surround her. If she steps forward or backward she will fall in. She must stay where she is. She must give herself credit for being able to stand in the middle of challenges. Give herself credit for taking small steps to recovery. What exactly did she need to recover from? Hopelessness.

A few days back she looked in the mirror. She has been afraid of mirrors most of her life. Her family used to wonder why she cleaned bathrooms with no light on. Promising them they were cleaned, she told them it was because she didn’t want to have to see herself in the mirror. As though she was ashamed. They thought she was ridiculous, but it was who she was and they let it go. This time, she forced herself to look. To really look. She felt pretty. She didn’t know why, but she did. It made her smile.

There is nothing anyone can tell her. No book she can read. No video she can watch. She will never give up. She has pulled through far too many times and knows it gets easier with each passing day even when she feels lost and confused about the cards dealt. Maybe she is stronger than she thinks.

I needed to tell someone even if it is difficult to confess. A creative writing teacher explained that even in fiction there is always an element of yourself in the story. You cannot avoid it. Each experience I have had will bring the novel to life.

Seven days in, I don’t necessarily feel like I’m changing. Maybe I won’t notice it until day 30 or 3 months from now. Don’t stop hoping. Find that faith I know is there.

My new word: “Blesson.”  It’s when you’re able to view painful lessons as blessings.  A blesson is what happens when you see the blessing in the lesson that your challenge taught you.

~Karen Salmansohn

Finding beauty in each and every picture along this journey. The transformation, but with the same smile: