INVICTUS

It’s like riding a bike”- a cliche meant to reassure a person that whatever obstacle they are currently facing is, in fact, easy. You know what is easy? Microwaving Easy Mac. It is literally in the title. But as I sit here trying to think of activities, emotions, tasks that are universally easy, I struggle. For something to be considered easy, it must be the opposite of difficult. My company’s Marketing Director can whip in, out and around spreadsheets without even the slightest hiccup. They make me want to pull out my eyelashes one by one. Being witty comes effortlessly to Maggie, who has an unparalled sense of humor. I cannot even think about myself in the same capacity which my mother thinks about others- her thoughtfulness is unreal, y’all. Of course, there are some things that come naturally, easy to me; painting my own nails, doing anything with my brother (except wrestling where I inevitably get my ass kicked) and love.

Grief, however, is not easy. For anyone. It is not even kind of easy. It is hard, messy, and unpredictable. This is because there is no telling what will send someone into a grief-stricken oblivion. Being human means that we have different triggers. For some it’s the loss of a loved one; for some it is a cancer diagnosis; for some it is an ended marriage; for some it is an unpredictable birth; for some a broken high heel can really send them over the edge. It is not our place to say that someone’s trigger is any less traumatic than “typical” or “legitimate” hardships. You would be amazed at the things that can put me in tears. I cried in Bill Miller’s BBQ a few weeks back for heaven’s sake…and everything at that place is pure gold.

Grief is the way we process loss- regardless of the significance of that loss to others. I had an aneurysm. I started bleeding in my brain and actually almost died. And yet, I burst into tears one night in ICU, wailing to my mother that “I will never dance again”. (ps- my talent level pre-aneurysm was not enviable… by any means. Just so you understand that it was not something to cry over). But I have come to learn in the last 60+ days, that what makes grief so messy, so miserable for anyone has actually the same common denominator- the loss of possibility. Maybe it could’ve been prevented. Maybe it could’ve been delayed. But what is gone is gone and you’re left, often alone, to reel yourself back in.

I have learned a lot in the last two months, about myself and others. I have seen the true side of people, some of which I wish I could unsee. But I also have been witness to a level of compassionate, empathy and love that I’ve never known. The people in my world have restored my faith in humanity and in myself. I am overwhelmed with gratitude for those that brought me back to life. I was never left alone and that is the greatest blessing, the real champion in my recovery. But I’m not 100%. I may never be. The reason I can’t say a lot of things are easy is because I had to relearn the “easy” stuff. Learning to walk as a child isn’t difficult because you’ve never known what it’s like to walk. Trying to teaching your legs to move normally when it once came easier than breathing is hard. And while I am grateful every day to be alive, to be back in Fort Worth navigating my twentysomething world, to have a support system unlike most—it does not mean that I am not grieving the loss of the abilities and a life I had before 3pm on August 1.

Someone told me that they admire my “strength” like it was a gift I was born with. I was born with two legs. I was born with a big nose. I was not born “strong”. I don’t believe you are deemed weak or strong at the beginning. You do not come out of the womb capable of being a successful single father. You are not destined to kick cancer’s ass. Some people may disagree. There are people I know who think that we are born equipped to deal with whatever obstacle is in our life’s “plan”. I don’t buy it. I don’t think I am any more capable of surviving an aneurysm than anyone else. I don’t believe that my brother was born with Down Syndrome because my parents were “made” to handle it. You don’t lose your spouse because you’re strong. You don’t have a sports career ending injury because the universe determined you capable of moving forward at conception. Things, good and bad, happen to good and bad people every day. The way you respond is a choice. It may not be a conscious choice, but it is a choice nonetheless.

Of course, I believe in destiny. But I believe that each person has the potential and ability to determine their own destiny. If there wasn’t a choice, a choice wouldn’t be presented. Choices change the course of our lives every second… thus why time travelling is so frowned upon. You alter a moment, you decide differently, you change the course. It’s that simple.

I may be naïve. I am certainly clouded by my own grief. But to me, choosing strength is the same thing as choosing happiness. You may not feel it all day, every day… but you should aim for a daily glimpse or two. We all live in an uneasy reality; one that is marked by living through moments that are so internally traumatic, yet almost undetectable to the onlooker. But adversity, like grief, comes in many shapes and sizes and severity. No one chooses adversity, but you always have the ability to choose strength as your weapon of choice when adversity comes knocking. William Ernest Henley believed in the potential of the human spirit. He believed that it can be indefatiguable. He believed that strength, while rooted deep in our souls, was a choice. Because of those beliefs and because he made the same choice for himself, he wrote “Invictus” (translation: unconquerable)

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul. 

You, me, friends, family, and strangers alike are all innately unconquerable. We all have the potential to succeed, to survive and to thrive in the midst of the most unimaginable adversity. Choice, not chance, determines our destinies. You are the master of your fate. You are the captain of your soul. The only thing you have to do is chose to reach your own potential, trusting that your intentions are good, your eyes are clear and your heart is full. Then, and only then can you not lose.