Judgment Day

Being a "Millennial" is by far one of the most fascinating plights of my life. As if navigating through the real world at 23 isn't difficult enough, the ideology of Millennials has erased centuries of precedents. Anything goes. What was once deemed "taboo" is now basic. What was once deemed "right" is no longer the standard. It is a different world the one we live in and I couldn't be more grateful.

@betches instagrammed this today:

The caption read: "This is the most millennial headline ever" and IT IS SO TRUE. I am "liberal" when it comes to social issues and unconditionally accepting of however anyone chooses to live their life, but I didn't even know "sexually fluid" was a thing. Now I know and all I gotta say is "you go girl".

You see-- this is our world. There aren't rules of society to abide by. Stereotypes are for the weak and ignorant. This world, our world, driven by Millennials, is about breaking barriers and not just accepting, but praising the differences in each of our lives. We get to make the rules and our number one rule is the oldest adage there is- do not judge a book by its cover. I would think that would be hard to argue against, but I am disappointed to report that so many have not seen the light of acceptance and respect.

Despite this world we live in being rich with change, not everyone has jumped aboard. People suck. People are mean. And the most frightening and heart-wrenching is that people actively CHOOSE to hurt others. Luta said " You can be as "traditional" as they get. Know the stories, sing the songs, and suffer for the people; but if you can't stop gossiping, bringing people down and treating people like they are below you- our traditions mean nothing."

I have three tattoos. I like a stiff drink on an occasional week night. I curse more than I should and some days, I don't wash my hair. But I never show up to a dinner party empty-handed. I still send proper thank you notes in the mail. I strive to always be respectful and gracious. And my heart is as big as the ocean is deep. So which of those matter more than the others? I think they all matter. I think every facet of every human matters. Just because the cover is untraditional does not mean the content is unworthy. There comes a point in every human's life where they have to realize that they will never be 'good enough' for some people. The question that I beg you to ask yourself is this: Is not being 'good enough' your problem or theirs?

Please don't be fooled by the soapbox I am standing on today- I am not perfect. I am all kinds of judgey on a good day and it's not something I am proud of. But I am human. However, I would like to believe that I truly do not disregard another person's worth because of their "cover".

SCOTUS said this on marriage rights: "No union is more profound than marriage, for it embodies the highest ideals of love, fidelity, devotion, sacrifice and family. In forming a marital union, two people become something greater than once they were. As some of the petitioners in these cases demonstrate, marriage embodies a love that may endure even past death. It would misunderstand these men and women to say they disrespect the idea of marriage. Their plea is that they do respect it, respect it so deeply that they seek to find its fulfillment for themselves. Their hope is not to be condemned to live in loneliness, excluded from one of civilization's oldest institutions. They ask for equal dignity in the eyes of the law. The Constitution grants them that right."

Whether we are discussing marriage, friendship, or general humanity, the reality of the world we live in and should so desperately cling to is that EVERYONE deserves equal dignity. What Millennials, myself included, are fighting for in this world is not instant gratification and the abolishment of authority. We just want the people around us and generations before us to give us a chance to prove our worth despite our covers not fitting an outdated standard.

The reason people say that you find love when you least expect it is not to give false hope to singles swiping on Tinder. It is the clichéd truth-- you find love, friendship, success and fulfillment when you stop looking because then and only then have you let your guard down, become vulnerable and open to any possibility. We should not judge a person whose burdens we have not carried, whose challenges we have not faced, whose battles we have not fought, whose path we have not walked. We should only love and pray for them. We only know what life is like in the shoes on our own feet. Even Jesus knew that.

There are only two remedies I have found for battling the wrath of judgment:
            1. Surround yourself with good, kind-hearted people who respect you and the path you walk
            2. Know your own worth

If you keep the good hearts around and truly believe that all you are is worthy of love and respect, you will come to realize that those who don't see your worth are the ones missing out.

unbecoming

Life is a funny thing-- one minute it is this beautiful blessing filled with unicorns, good wine, all of your favorite people and jaw-breaking smiles; the next moment you are sitting on the floor sifting through the proverbial shambles wondering WTF just happened. Life is funny and fickle, but mostly, life is filled to the brim with light and love... if you know where to look.

Today is Monday August 3, 2015. Today was like most Mondays- manic, mind-numbing, slightly disheartening, hotter than the depths of hell and worthy of a very cold beer. But as I sit here listening to pop hits and watch Sam the Lab desperately rip apart something that used to resemble a shoe, I can't help but be grateful for all that today was.

Three hundred and sixty seven days ago, things were a little different. For most of you, I imagine if you looked back to where you were at this time last year, you would be keenly aware at how much can change in less than 400 days. Around this exact time last year, my sweet sister and former Merida Mate, Ashley, was heading out to Dallas for what became her evening shift at Zale-Lipschy University Hospital. She would come, armed with her iPad and Nalgene bottle and often dinner, and most evenings would just sit beside my hospital bed, while my mother took a much needed breath of fresh air. It wasn't a day full of meetings that could've been emails, 6 cups of tea, software training and no lunch hour. That day, like most that would follow it over the next few weeks, were stacked with constant vital checks, blood draws, catheters, and some sassy attending doctor asking me obscure questions to gauge my cognitive progress.

By now most of you are well-aware and probably so sick of hearing about that time my AVM burst and bled out into my brain. It's okay to think that-- some days I get sick of the story too. I get sick of trying to evaluate if my head hurts or if I'm having another stroke. I get sick of bad hand writing days. I get sick of forgetting things and being a little moodier than before. I get really sick of falling-- of losing my balance and legitimately falling. Last week, I was walking into the house with a HUGE jar of pickles from Sam's Club, only to lose my balance rounding a doorway and smashed the damn thing all over the floor. Luckily, it was my parents' house so I wasn't alone to wallow in self-pity that I just destroyed a concession stand jug of pickles that I planned to eat all by myself; but I fall at Merida more times a week than I will ever admit and each time it sucks. But if I am being honest with you and with myself, what I am most sick of is that tiny, nagging feeling that creeps in when things go awry and all my mess of a brain can muster are thoughts of incapability.

Please do not misunderstand me. I got lucky. I was saved. I have made a miraculous recovery and to the general onlooker, you probably wouldn't have guessed that last year I was a bed-ridden, mumbling, stroke patient who desperately needed to wash her hair. But grief and trauma are messy. They live essentially undetectable 90% of the time and then one tiny thing triggers a tidal wave of emotions. 3pm Saturday was that wave. I was sitting outside at a super rad bar, Javelina, in Austin waiting for my boyfriend to return with more drinks, and when 3p hit, the exact moment of the bleed, I lost it. I called my mom and all I could say was "I love you" in between ugly sobs. My precious father called a few minutes later, parallel to the time he called last year to see if I was still conscious/alive while waiting for the paramedics. By the time I hung up with El Jefe, the waves had crashed and I was reeling myself back to shore. Jakob set down the drinks, reclaimed his seat, immediately noticed the ugly tears and sweetly inquired about exactly what I was feeling. For the first time, it truly wasn't sadness. I wasn't sad about the setbacks I had and continue to experience. I wasn't sad about the version of myself I lost. I was truly so happy. So happy to have had my incredible friends text me with a range of messages from "you're an inspiration" to "glad you're still alive"-- all appreciated in their own context. I was so happy to have opened the hotel door earlier that day to a stunning bouquet from my best gal pal. I was so happy to have received a fabulous bag of goodies and two bottles of champagne from my parents for our weekend in Austin. I was so unbelievably happy to be alive and to be celebrating all that this last year has brought to my world with my best friend/brilliantly caring and supportive boyfriend who let me laugh and cry and feel all I needed to feel as the reality of this "anniversary" set in.

*crying is an ugly look for me, but I felt prettier because it was driven by joy and hidden by Ray-Bans.

A few weeks back, my mother shared a graphic on Facebook with a quote that read: "Maybe the journey isn't so much about becoming anything. Maybe it's about unbecoming everything that isn't really you, so you can be who you were meant to."

 I lost several months of my "normal life" in hospitals and rehab and general recovery and there are some things that will never be the same. There is no mistaking that I am a different person than I was last year leading up to the bleed. I am more sensitive (or as mom says "moody") and a little wobbly on my feet. I am stronger in my faith and even closer to my family than most could ever imagine. I hug tighter, laugh louder, love harder and smile more than I frown. I am still insanely flawed and definitely human, but my heart is happy. That quote is right-- last year, a lot was taken from me and my family and so much had to be rebuilt. But being forced to start over from scratch was a beautiful, perfect blessing in disguise. Learning to walk and talk and write and drive is hard at any age, but they said I was lucky because I was young and healthy (haha, OKAY super healthy with a bleeding brain? good one, docs). PLOT TWIST-- starting over as a twentysomething means battling an engrained sense of invincibility. Thankfully, I had to walk through HEB in a caftan with a cane and if that doesn't humble you, nothing will.

This last year has been exactly that quote- a year of "unbecoming". It has been a year of tearing down walls and expectations. It has been a year of starting over. Without the bleed, without being literally and metaphorically broken down, I may still be on a journey, chasing a person/dream/life that wasn't meant for me. There aren't words that do my gratitude justice for all who saved my life, rescued my family, who went through and are still going through it all with us. I am Eternally grateful for "our world" and that is where I find my light when the tunnel is especially long and dark.

 I wouldn't suggest an aneurysm to anyone, but "unbecoming" has been an enlightening, profound experience. I say you should never underestimate how or when you find your happiness-- just be grateful for the opportunity and never let it go to waste.