Tiny Lies

There is a phrase that I see people weaponize that now that it has been brought to my attention I can no longer ignore.  I believe that I have finally pinpointed why it has quietly bothered me for some time.  

Let's set the context with a hypothetical scene.  

You're in a popular coffee shop.  And, boy, is the place busy.  There is a long line and many people already seated happily chatting away with other folks, another few people with headphones on working on their computers, etc.  All of the normal hissing and growling sounds from the espresso machine continue at a steady pace, one creation after the next and names politely yelled at the far counter to announce the result.  After placing your order, you wait at the other end of the counter.  

A person in front of you collects their chosen beverage.  They look at the cup for a moment, take a sip, and then call the barista back over.  "This isn't what I ordered."  

The barista apologizes and seeks clarification, stating the order back to the customer.  The customer talks over the barista and corrects one piece or another (erroneously or otherwise) and the barista states that they will remake the drink.  

The customer then turns to the other people waiting, including yourself, with a small but smug smile:  "I just don't understand why they can't get it right the first time."  

I feel immediately rankled in my own hypothetical.  Here are some recent examples from my own experience:  

• "I don't understand why it takes so long to get a Tylenol."
• "I don't understand why the doctor would order that--they know nothing about the right way to treat pain."
• "I just don't understand why my shoes won't fit." [though there were many explanations as to why additional padding/bandages were used this time]
• "I can't understand why no one could get my mother a water for over half an hour."  
• "I don't understand why my appointment is taking so long."
• "I don't understand why they wouldn't have a backup plan for [situation that I cannot be specific about]."

There are so, so many examples I can think of.  Why this bothers me is simple:  the statement is usually a lie.  It's not that they don't or can't understand.  Rather, it's a purportedly gentler way of stating that something is wrong, a way to stand on a sanctimonious hill of righteous indignation.  But it is a lie.  

In the case of some of them at work, I've just asked back directly, "would you like reasons or would you just like to feel heard?"  Sometimes the speaker mumbles off and clarifies what the need is, and I state that I can get it now, implying to me that they simply wanted to feel heard in their frustrations.  Cool.  I can do that if that's what they need.  I've only had one or two that would answer "feel heard, I guess," where I gave them specific space to voice their frustration, which, when acknowledged, allows us to move forward.  I have had only one or two people tell me that they wanted reasons--in one specific case, they were actually doubling-down on the lie, where they continued to escalate their frustrations (FYI, I set a boundary and left the room, stating that I wasn't there to absorb their frustration, particularly as these were things that were done prior to my meeting them and were out of my control).  

It's disingenuous to say "I don't understand X," when really it's "I'm frustrated about X."  In these situations, it's not about understanding, which would be a request for clarification.  Instead, it becomes a passive aggressive attack.  What's worse is this statement is often spoken to people who cannot control the offense.  In the case of our hypothetical coffee shop, there could have been a breakdown in communication between the order taker and the order filler or the customer and the order taker or even the general chaos in a busy setting.  Regardless, this was most likely not a malicious mistake.  In the clinic, the provider has been spending a long time in another patient's room or on the phone with a different provider in order to give that patient the full care they deserve, which sometimes simply takes time.  In the hospital setting, I'm not slow to answer a call light out of malevolence--I have a whole slew of triage and prioritization that happens in how I plan out my next action.  I keep using the water example because it keeps happening--getting someone a drink of water in the hospital setting is incredibly low on the list of emergencies that could be happening at that particular moment.  

The phrasing "I don't understand" also implies that this is unbelievable, whatever the frustration might be.  This can be hyperbole in the coffee shop setting or the minor inconvenience; in some cases like the  shoes/bandage example above, it can also be a backhanded way of saying that they are in disbelief about their situation, though these seem to be rarer usages of this phenomenon in my experience.  With so many instances of the former, it is difficult for me to accurately see the latter, where I might be able to reach out with what they need.  In the case of the former as well, it implies that not meeting some invisible expectation is unreasonable, whether or not this happens to be realistic.  This denies the context of the setting, whatever it happens to be, in favor of invisible absolutes that may or may not actually exist.  It is presumptuous, too, to assume that everyone adheres to this same set of absolutes.  

I don't have much patience for passive aggressiveness.  I have less patience for lies.  When I hear someone use "I don't understand..." in this manner, my immediate thought now is "stop lying to me," barring those few exceptions of symptomatic expression in grief/disbelief moments.  I rankle against the attempt to rally me to their side of self-righteous indignation through acceptable social convention.  This is a manipulation tactic, consciously or otherwise.  It obfuscates the intent behind the veneer of false modesty, trying to defer their emotions to another source rather than own them.  It's a tiny, socially acceptable lie, but it is still a lie.  

I would prefer the direct, truthful statement of frustration.  Honesty rather than a gentle lie.  Direct statements like "I'm frustrated about X" help me meet someone immediately rather than spend my energy attempting to explain something that doesn't actually need clarification.  

In short, I am championing for direct language, slowly modifying my own speech toward directness where I can, too.  This saves emotional energy and time.  Repackaging the ask within a gentle lie wastes both.  

Body Intuition

I started going to a Tai Chi class.  Forever and a year ago, I went to a couple of Tai Chi classes when I was in Scotland, but, yikes, that was over ten years ago now, and I cannot say that I remembered anything really.  Anyway, the group has been very welcoming and excited to teach me new things.  I'm excited to learn new things, so this works out admirably.  

It occurs to me that my movement would have been very different at other times of my life.  Where I'm at now, I've been to many Zumba and other dance aerobics classes, meaning that I can pick up on patterns reasonably well.  For complicated movements, I start with getting the feet right and add the arms or other elements later.  I'm also not afraid to throw in my own style, test out slight variations for an extra bit of sass.  

Somewhere along the way and partially tied with therapy, I started watching for movements that felt "right."  There were some movements that resonated differently, that were completing an action I didn't realize I needed.  As an example, I have been doing some individual songs from the YouTube channel TheFitnessMarshall and putting them in a playlist to work through at home.  Sometimes it was the song itself was a favorite, but the blocking arms above the head in the chorus of this one resonated with me.  I was returning to it, with the song in my head at work and all else.  I started to notice like moves that drew me back in, pausing to come back to that feeling as necessary.  

So for Tai Chi, well, there are many moments that make a flavor of sense, allowing a bit of disassociation in adapting to the natural flow of the movement, to pause and see how that registers in the body.  Listening for the flow of energy in the movement and how it disperses in the body.  Completing the movement while allowing the mind to wander in different ways.  In short, it's a new avenue of self-discovery.  

There are places where my body is smarter than I am.  There are conversations where I have noticed that I left clenching certain muscle groups, and I have to ask myself what about that conversation bothered me.  Driving up on 39, my body still has a freeze response, remembering trips past on the same path to the Mayo Clinic.  The body remembers.  The body realizes things before my brain does sometimes.  

And these signals have been there, more that I am learning better how to pause and listen.

As I was going through physical therapy for my ankle, I remember discussing with my physical therapist that I could go up and down stairs, but it required a lot of thinking.  We agreed that the best situation was to no longer have to have that awareness, where movements felt automatic and cohesive again.  And yet, that kind of awareness is something I want to build on.  Awareness to all stimuli at once is not safe, let alone possible, but checking in with my body before it forces me to, that's something that I want to develop.  

Peterson Family Update, Mike Alpha Yankee 61182

I am, in fact, not dead.

I have four separate half-baked blog posts that I had started writing but couldn't get myself to finish.  It's time for some recalculating and reorienting.  

But first, time to deploy the bulleted list of great destiny and catch up on a few things.

• I broke my ankle, on April Fool's Day, no less.  I was working on a bouldering problem, the kind of rock climbing without a harness and rope.  I did not put the crash pad underneath me for that fateful route because it was a V0, which is basically a glorified ladder.  Sure enough, I scuttled up to the final hold...and promptly fell when it twisted in my grip, landing fifteen feet ankle-first.  I made some gravel inside my ankle, chipping off pieces of bone from the tibia, fibula, and talus.  There were many swear words.  
  
• 
  Ended up in a short cast for two weeks, a boot for four, and an ankle brace for at least four, possibly more pending the next appointment.  Luna has been very confused but not displeased to have extra company and couch snuggles as I stayed with it elevated and iced for the bulk of that time.  She would also stare at me when she needed to go outside and, for some reason, could not grasp that I couldn't help her, leading to encouraging barks and attempts at treat distractions.  My ankle is definitely still sore, stiff, and intermittently swollen, but still gradually improving.
• So, yes, I have been on short term disability for the cast and boot time.  One cannot drive without significant modifications if the ankle is unable to bend and/or restricted from applying pressure/weight through that limb.  Additionally, if I was restricted from putting weight on my own limb, it would be nigh on impossible to help patients transfer or lift or balance etc.  Funnily enough, when one loses use of a leg, the common means of getting around it involves losing some use of arms as well.  I stayed mostly on the lower level of our bilevel home, cautiously hopping up with my crutches and a backpack only occasionally when Andy or Mike would be gone for a while with their mutual work schedules.  I very thankful how they both stepped up to help.  We were also supported with rides and folks checking in periodically--thank you, all.
  

• The dreadful pattern that led to my diagnosis with Crohn's all started with a broken leg, back when I was eleven.  I had a lot of time to ruminate on that.  The hypervigilance thing, it can really suck.  Lots to process there, and it was only safe to gently touch the idea from time to time.
• I am determined to heal properly--I know MANY healthcare providers that are bad patients when it comes to taking care of their own body, witnessing "toughing it out" touted as a virtue for their own pain and then turning around to tell the patient to rest and not push too hard.  We often give the advice we need most for ourselves.  This isn't to say that being patient is not frustrating.  I'm so annoyed noticing the difference between my calf muscles and wanting to take another walk and wondering about what I could get away with, before gently corralling myself back to my PT exercises and pieces that I can do.  I can do wound clinic functions right now, but I'm not sure when I can get back to working PRN for the medical floor as of yet.  
• The way my brain works, I like to have something to do to schedule other tasks around.  For example, I am more inclined to do my PT exercise set, fold the laundry, another exercise set, etc. when I have an appointment scheduled that day to plan those things around.  When I have all the time in the day to do whatever, absolutely nothing gets started or done.  So writing didn't happen in particular, since I had all of this time to do so.  I set my hope to the future, where ultimately having enough stamina to make it through a work day would then lead to more regular patterns.
• While I was laid up, however, my primary job was healing and managing the details thereof.  I was alerted, though, that the Bromenn Wound Clinic was hiring and had started asking questions, checking to see how a closer facility might fit better for our family.  The injury definitely highlighted how difficult the commute to Chambana could be--if I was cleared to work before I was cleared to drive, finding someone to drop me off in town would be far simpler than navigating the back-and-forth from Champaign.  Navigating the parking lot to the hospital, too, would have been six kinds of tiring after a full workday again after that much time being sedentary.  Long story short, I am in week four at Bromenn's clinic. More on this at a later time.  Shout-out to the Urbana Wound Clinic crew--will certainly miss ya'll.  
• Andy and I celebrated eleven years of marriage.  SO MUCH has changed in this last year in particular, Andy shifting from Rivian to Upper Limits.  I'm so proud of how he is continuing to grow into himself.  Even physically he's changed so much in the last year, finding both an exercise and a hobby he enjoys.  I'm proud of how we're continuing to grow together, further supporting different facets of exploration and continuing to find joy.  
• With the uncertainty of money, future, etc., Andy and I did postpone our Iceland trip to an undetermined future date.  However, the two of us were able to keep a tradition by meeting Josh and Morgan in the Wisconsin Dells, though they were all graciously accommodating for my busted ankle.  We did an escape room where we saved the Titanic from sinking--you're welcome--and went both to the Root Beer Museum as well as a torture museum, one of these significantly more wholesome than the other.  The other trip I had planned to be a part of was a group of friends to Nashville to celebrate a friend's birthday.  Unfortunately, I did bow out of that one; the fear of missing out battled heavily with the understanding that the trip would not be able to be the experience I had hoped for with my current physical limitations.  I know that we could have made it work, but after the Wisconsin Dells trip, I was acutely aware of how much space I took up and felt uneasy processing it.  
• Andy, Mike, and I all acknowledged another orbit around the sun, taking a more sedate birthday acknowledgement this year.  
• Mike is continuing to work toward a radiography program, chipping away at the prerequisites.  He took a long train ride to a friend's wedding recently as another new adventure.  He has another tattoo since I last wrote and another scheduled--the Majora's Mask on his chest looks badass.  
• Ah, Andy also got his first ink, Bowser with a Chain Chomp on his right shoulder.  I was not sure how that was going to work out, given that he does not do well with needles, but it was the right kind of uneventful.  He has a couple of thoughts for a new one, and we may yet get a dorky couples tattoo one day.
• Mike's car died, meaning that we have three drivers and two vehicles, requiring a bit of renegotiation in how we plan out household needs and various appointments.  It's going to take a bit of figuring.
• Andy has expanded his succulent garden and planted three trees so far this season.  The number of smaller plants has planted is...more than five and less than a fifty, that's all I know.  I think the sunflowers are what I'm most excited to see--they are already more than a couple feet tall.
• I started going to a Tai Chi class at my gym--the meditative movement resonates well with me, exploring spaces to simply be and spend time with a new group of people that are genuinely excited to teach me something new.  
• Andy had Kickstarted into a Monster Hunter Board game that arrived a couple weeks back.  It functions pretty well though better for those that have at least some knowledge of the video game, I would say.  There's a lot of love baked in, and Andy is excited to continue playing.  On the aspect of gaming, he streams on Twitch on Saturday and Sunday mornings.  Right now, I hear all kinds of fun shrieks as he completed Resident Evil IV.  I greatly enjoy spending channel points to make him drink more water.  

It has been a BUSY few months, in short. Lots of adjusting and readjusting, patterns broken and leaving us to decide what ones are temporarily changing instead of permanently changing.  Pausing to reassess.  Finding cleaner flow.  And occasionally holding on for dear life as I we do so.  

Bonus Luna Mlem

Oscillation Continues

I'm working a lot right now.  Switching from thirty-six hours a week to forty is a bit of a change.  Okay, so technically I tend to get out early on Fridays, but I've also still been picking up on my old unit, meaning that once a pay period I pick up a twelve-hour shift on the medical floor.  Even though the days are technically shorter, there are more days out of the week that are worked.

It's a lot.  AND I like the variety and keeping those skills that I worked hard to build sharp and ready.  There are ways where I feel that doing those shifts sporadically makes me a better nurse, that I'm not so worn down by alarms that I can treat them with fresh eyes when I see them, even provide rest to the team by shouldering the load.  I am also tired.  These both exist in the same space.

I have not figured out writing time yet.  I don't have a pattern for walks with Luna again.  There are books I want to read.  I have not figured out when to get back to the pool yet with any consistency.  I am still averaging at least one climbing night and one cardio activity a week, but I miss immersion and taking that time to swim a mile.  The hardest part is eternally just getting to the damn gym.  In other words, there is more honing to do on solidifying a rest schedule, returning to those activities that help me find best balance.  

My outside of work attention has been spent in attempting to iron out how to do appointment scheduling primarily--these pieces were triaged higher.  Figuring out the new order of appointments or switching care providers to fit with the new schedule, it's taken some intentionality and emotional space.  That means, though, that there are spaces where the body has to play catch-up, and it is no longer asking.  And it's time to disassociate on the couch for a while or forcibly hug your pet or channel your inner Ren.  

RAGE-DANCE TIME

The pendulum oscillates wildly until it finds a center again.  I feel like I'm out of the wide swings, taking a smaller arc but still moving, kissing the center space and moving just out of reach again.  And that's okay.  Frustrating, but okay.  

In the meanwhile, I'm enjoying the work I'm doing.  I'm enjoying the people I work with.  I feel fulfilled professionally.  I'm climbing 5.10s in the silos.  I am working on a new trick to teach Luna.  I am planning new adventures that are a few months out.  I am slowly reconnecting with a few folks at a time.  

The world continues on.

Fledgling Nurse, Part 14: Closure

I am fully out of orientation at my new job!  So while I'm reveling in how I don't have a phone with me over the course of the whole day that keeps ringing incessantly with necessary but still endless demands on my time and attention, I immediately noticed a huge difference between this role and my previous one.  I had a discussion with it one day with some nursing students back on my old floor.  Hell, I've even written about it already.  It's not something that's said explicitly in nursing school:  when patients discharge from the inpatient setting, they go off into the ether.  I have no idea what happens to them, unless they're readmitted.  I only know where we sent them last, not if they have improved or declined or followed anything that we have instructed at all.  There's simply void.  

I'm not entitled to know the conclusion.  In fact, I cannot legally get into their record to find out anything about their continued care from here, even if they remained in the hospital.  The most I can do is check the obituaries for any familiar names.  There is no closure.

Now the ambulatory patient world, this is a different beast.  I have patients that come into the clinic three times a week for multiple weeks, months even.  Even since I started at the end of November, there are patients that I have been getting to know (for better or worse) and that are getting to know me (ditto).  I can see their wound improve or worsen, celebrating or mourning with them in turn.  We see steps in the journey together; we talk about how adhering to the plan is going; we discuss how to work their care around life events and vacations.  

I can see progress.  I have packed and placed the same wound vac on some people multiple times, watching as it steadily shrinks, a nine-centimeter problem shrinking to five and one and a half and then in such a way that it cannot be stuffed any longer.  I can release them from care knowing a portion of that conclusion and that they know where to find us if anything new comes up.  It's rewarding, to see something tangible change and have a small part in it.  I have a role where I couch, guide, wrap, teach, correct, encourage, and see what happens.  I have people with chronic issues that we can bound over, finding mutual empathy in that shared space.  

There are spaces where there is grieving about that chronic issue when progress feels too slow.  There are times when I cannot force someone to take care of themselves.  There are times when despite everyone's best efforts, amputation is the best option.  These exist, too.  

And then there are days where we ring a literal bell specifically for this purpose and cheer and clap to celebrate healing.  

In short, I am liking my new job.

Commute

When I was considering the transfer from Bromenn to Carle Foundation Hospital, there was one resounding question:  what about the commute?

Bromenn is a whole six minutes from my house--the car scarcely has time to warm up.  I actually could bike to work if I felt inclined.  It's nice.  I could forget something at home and know that I could dart home over a break and pick it up.  I hadn't bothered to look much at the weather, even.  At most, I was vaguely aware of the weather to offer our home to anyone that needed to travel a longer distance.  Ultimately, there would be enough people talking about upcoming weather at work or in other outlets that I could plan the small difference of time to start and scrape the car.  

Well, there is more to consider for a fifty-mile drive.  I've been working through the calculations on timing for when the weather turns gross.  I have backup plans for when the weather is very gross.  I have managers who think ahead and get patients rescheduled so we don't have to come in on those very gross days at all, as proved by the pre-Christmas storm warning response.  

There are times when I really would rather be checking something on my phone or completing a task I could do if someone else was driving.  Driving into the sun both ways also has its challenges.  But there are also times when it's...nice, for different reasons.  I sip my breakfast and pick an album to listen to that I haven't heard in an age.  I've left the radio off and let my mind simply wander for a bit, process and decompress.  I've restarted the Welcome to Night Vale podcast and am revisiting those spaces.  I have made many catch-up calls on the drive home, enjoying a reconnecting space.  

And I have seen many lovely sunrises.

Yes, the photo is a repeat
But it was still a gorgeous morning

The twelve-hour workdays resonated well with me, so I do miss that, and on the other hand I am (now that the holidays are over) starting to find an actual pattern again, which was not something afforded to me by that schedule.  I'm rearranging how I approach appointments, which will take some figuring, but I have been able to figure it out before on an eight-to-five-Monday-through-Friday pattern.  

I'm in the malleable part of the process, testing what patterns might serve me best and slowly adding in new pieces again.  There is no normal yet, but there will be.  And then there will be healthy deviations from that normal.  

It's good to take advantage of that space and simply enjoy the drive.

Mandatory End of Year Reflection, 2022 (A Peterson Family Update)

So, yes, I have fallen off of the face of the earth lately and hadn't posted any blogs for all of December to this point.  I haven't figured out a writing schedule with my new position as of yet, particularly with the extra frills of the holiday season.  

It's been another eventful year.

The new view on my way to work

On Loss

Grandma Peterson died last year, the first of Andy's four grandparents to pass.  Given the vaccination status of some family members, I was not able to attend the funeral without risk to myself (as an immunocompromised person) nor my patients, tangentially.  This was its own source of grief, to emphasize that one of the loudest lessons I've learned through the course of the ongoing pandemic is that many people would not do the bare minimum to keep others safe, even others that would actively drill holes in their own lifeboat in the name of selfish freedom.  I have seen firsthand what the long-term effects of COVID can look like in the hospital setting and have no need to roll the dice there, subsequently meaning that I have less guilt in removing myself physically from certain situations and interactions.  It's a complicated grief, all the same.

Additionally, Andy and I have two other grandparents with waning health--there is an anticipatory grief in these circumstances, a quiet preparation for eventualities.  For my last remaining grandparent, my mother and I have had frank, clinical conversations on what pattern we see happening, acknowledging that knowing is both comforting and not.  These thoughts linger in the back of my mind, quietly simmering as I see other patients enact the same process in the hospital setting or in the occasional family mass text update.  

Certainly, though, the most significant upheaval in our home this year was when Andy was let go at Rivian.  There are still moments when it catches us, where we go "why Andy, of all people?" who proselytized Rivian with enthusiasm and joy.  But it happened.  And the logistics had to be addressed, allowing space for the emotional components to process.  There was a lot to think about, including (but not limited to) household needs, identity, and the health insurance we had been getting through the company.  

That last one in particular, I have been running orange for a while, just a gentle shove away from red-overwhelm on my internal status bar, watching the internal rpms of my brain and body rev to some dangerous sounds.  It is not healthy to run the system at that degree of stress for a long period of time, but I could not be settled until we were settled with specifics on insurance.  Now with a plan set in place, the system is still in the yellow until I see the household figures after the first month, but yellow is at least edging back toward a healthier green.  The survival voices have been loud the last few months, and the great injustice of how expensive I am to keep alive because of a disease that is not my fault, well, it's galling to say the least.  There is more grief here than I know what to do with, especially knowing how proactive I am toward my health.  There is no moral failing in having a human body that needs care.  There is a terrible moral failing in taking advantage of that to profit oneself.  

In short, we started the year as DINKs with a clear plan on a relatively viable (for this country) healthcare plan and our financial and personal goals laid out.  We end it still sorting some pieces out, having lost a degree of security in that upheaval.  My experience with the unknown means that we have had strong safety nets that have held us above immediate danger, but there is a degree of bitterness in needing to use them.  

Nothing is wrong with Andy's leg!
He's a good sport for letting me practice.

On New Adventures

So, we actually paid off the Rivian this year.  That's some crazy shit, yo.  We are Millennial Unicorns.  Our remaining debt is my nursing school student loans and our mortgage.  Depending how the student loan forgiveness elements shake out, we could potentially pay off my student loans by the end of the year.  Comparing to where we started our marriage to where we are now, it's extraordinary to see the progress we've made.  

We've had some great adventures this year, including a family vacation to Pigeon Forge, a few trips to the Twin Cities to hang out Josh and Morgan to seem them in different productions, an adventure to the Wisconsin Dells around my birthday (involving an escape room, axe throwing, and Wizard Quest), and a couples trip down to St. Louis to hit all of the Upper Limits gyms that direction.

Ah, yes, we started rock climbing this year.  Hard to believe we've only been doing that since May.  Andy--who never does things halfway--has been especially taken with it.  After a cooling period post-Rivian, Andy now works at Upper Limits.  I've been envious of the opportunity he has to climb, certainly, but delight in his excitement and my own milestones.  He's finding his footing.  

The increased exercise has done Andy a lot of good; I have also found a nutritionist and have made some good strides there.  It's been very gratifying to see some physical results of our mutual progress.

And because we cannot do household upheavals one-at-a-time, I switched from inpatient to ambulatory nursing working at the Wound Healing Center.  I'll have some further specifics on the new job in some upcoming blogs, but the short version for the moment is that I am delighting in expressing nursing in some of the ways I specifically went to nursing school for.  I still have one foot in the inpatient world and the relationships I've made there, and simultaneously I'm finding a groove in my new place.  Now that I've been a nurse for over a year, I'm simply amazed at how much I've grown and learned in that time, what tricks and processes I've learned in that time, how I've solidified setting boundaries, and so many unquantifiable workflows I've refined in growing my professional practice.  There is a rightness here.  

Mike started a new adventure, too, working toward radiology at Heartland, seeing his preparation pay off in completing his first set of required classes.  It's been fun talking biology with him, to share those spaces and even a couple of my textbooks.  

On Continuing Adventures

Luna is still and adorable little derp.  That's a beautiful constant at the moment.

We had to delay our Iceland trip originally planned for the beginning of December.  We probably could have made it work, but in retrospect it would not have laid nicely with my orientation to my new position--when we were juggling many things, it was a ball we could put down for now.  We'll be looking at doing that at some point in the next year.  

I had a wild hair the other day and bought hockey tickets for a Blues v Blackhawks game in January--looking forward to that mini-break already.  I have some additional ideas for upcoming hijinks but also finding the odd joy in being able to do weekend things, too.

As I've been continuing to think about the ridiculous amount of money that we spend to keep me alive in this country, I also cannot help but continue to think about leaving it for another one, finding what steps it might take to do that.  There's a lot to think about here.  

And Where it Leads Us

There was a lot of growth this year in unexpected places.  And all of it was certainly in that feeling of "becoming."  This year, I look forward to "becoming more."  Specifically, I would want for our household to work on becoming more of whom we are meant to be.  The three of us are in different transition states--I'm excited to think about what that can look like in another few months.  When I have my feet fully underneath me at the Wound Clinic, how will I move in that space?  How will Andy inspire his team and improve in his climbing?  How will Mike express his new learning spaces and enjoy the clinical time in the program?  

What new elements of self will we all discover in the process?  

So I approach the new year with optimism and curiosity, ready to probe some of those spaces.  ...And to find a new pattern for writing again.