Worlds Collide

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Photo by Mark Larsen

Finding myself in desperate need of an attitude adjustment was a bit humbling. After all, I had just completed a Tough Mudder. I was a badass. (Okay, I had just walked a Tough Mudder, with a group of guys who had lifted me up to make all the walls totally doable.) I was still a badass.

I have a nasty habit of bad mouthing myself, most of it is internal, but it often the only words I hear. This is the worst thing in the world for trying to get healthy.

I have been making a lot of changes in my life lately. I am trying to be more active, trying to write, and trying to get out more socially. I am amazed at how much internal resistance to change I face.

I struggle with all the changes. Making good decisions about food, sleep, and exercise. Going to the doctor, and taking the advice of the doctor. It is hard. Take boxing for example. I get frustrated when I cannot figure out the combination, or when I run out of breath. I get frustrated when my right calf cramps up. I also get frustrated when we are doing burpees. Although, that could just be because burpees suck.

On a side note: As I sit here writing this, a Nike commercial about women just came on. It was several different women saying the things that run through their heads while they are working out. Despite the voices saying “I can’t do this,” they kept going until it changed to “I did it.” That is the coolest thing that happens for me. I am steady saying “I can’t,” and I keep going until I did. I wonder how one actually changes the inner dialogue to “This sucks ass, but check out what I am doing.”

I have this idea for a story that I am trying to write. I keep starting it, and then I convince myself that I cannot possibly do it justice and I put it away. It’s really too bad that I keep talking myself out of writing it, because I really want to know what happens.

Yes, that’s right. I want to see what happens. I want to see what I can come up with. That is the awesome part of writing, I get to experience the story as I am writing it. It is daydreaming times a million.

My story is about a woman, who has a lot in common with me, however there are quite a few differences too. For one thing, she is a successful writer. She found success. You want to hear a secret? It did not solve anything, which is the crux of the story. I love this character. It is almost as if she is my chance to do what I really want to do with my life.

Wait a second! Before you start getting any crazy ideas, I am not going to quit my job and start writing the great American novel. This is just an exercise and my first attempt at fiction.

It is not surprising that my main character is a lot like me. People write what they know. I suppose you could also write to learn or explore. This one is just my first try. I hope that I am able to grow and get better as I continue this foray into fiction. I have to give myself the chance though.

Change is hard. Growth hurts. Wandering into the unknown takes a certain amount of courage. For a person who wants to avoid uncertainty, it takes an insane amount of bravery and willingness. I never claimed to be adventurous. The problem is that I want to go on adventures.

I want to live a full life. I want to explore all the possibilities. All I have to do is give myself the chance. I think there must be a middle ground where the worlds between fear and self-loathing and courage and adventure collide. I imagine that battle would be epic. This is where I should be. I can’t run away from the challenge, I have to face it head on.

This is where I will find peace. I have to keep walking through the fear until I get through the “I can’t do it,” to the “Look at what I did!” It’s going to be great. Once I get through some of the growing pains.

 

16 things I learned from my son’s 16 years

My son just turned 16 years old.

What? I know, right? I am certainly not old enough to have a 16 year old. That is what happens when you have a baby entirely too young.

I have learned some things from being his mom, and here they are.

  1. I worry all the time.
  2. I never feel like you have done enough.
  3. I will never love anything as much as I love him.
  4. He will not go to sleep when I think he should- EVER.
  5. He will have his own thoughts and ideas; completely independent of me.
  6. He will find things interesting that bore me to tears.
  7. There is no one in the world who is more handsome.
  8. There are never enough hugs.
  9. I really don’t want him to drive, it just does not seem safe.
  10. It is hard to separate his needs from his wants. (I want to give him everything!)
  11. His taste in music annoys me to no end.
  12. He really does not care what shirt I want him to wear.
  13. He has strange ideas regarding a balanced diet. (Really? Ramen again?)
  14. He really wants me to let him go to Japan.
  15. He will always ask to drive, even if I don’t want to let him drive.
  16. I enjoy the time I get to spend with him more than anything else.

My son is the most important person in my life. I love him so much that to try to describe it would be ridiculous. I am so proud of him, and he is such a special young man.

I want him to grow up and be anything he wants to be. I want him to use his skills and talents to leave a mark on the world. I want him to be comfortable being himself.

So, my familiar refrain: I am a lucky girl. Somehow, I got to be this kid’s mother, and I am so happy that I did.

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Happy Birthday! I love you so much!

 

 

Pugnaciously and Pertinaciously Yours

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Words. I love words.

I love how using the proper word enables me to clarify my meaning when I am trying to explain something to someone.

The problem lies in my inability to find the right word at times.

For example, how do I describe myself?

  • quirky
  • eccentric
  • pugnacious
  • pertinacious
  • idiosyncratic
  • capricious
  • obstinate
  • resolute
  • open-minded (that one may be wishful thinking on my part)
  • intransigent
  • compassionate
  • curious

All of these words will work to describe me. Some of them are pretty similar, while others directly contradict the notion of the previous. If pertinacity and capriciousness both fit my personality, how can I be either? (By the way, if you don’t know any of these words- I recommend you download a dictionary app, or google them. I found a very interesting article about pugnacity and pacifism when I googled it earlier.)

So, here is the point. I am on a journey. (psst- we all are- that is what life is.) I have been told the whole song and dance about how you have to love yourself. Embrace who you are, appreciate you for you. It goes on and on. Be nice to yourself. LOVE YOURSELF. Sometimes, I am able to do that.

Other times, not as much.

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Who am I to be mean to that sweet boy’s mother?

People tell you to ignore the negative self-talk. The negativity that runs through your head. The worst part is, the negative stuff is just easier to believe. They tell you to look in the mirror and tell yourself “I love you.” Ugh. Don’t even get me started. Those are just words. I was raised to be strong and independent. I was told often that I was beautiful, and that I was loved.

I really have no excuse for the way that I talk to myself. I cannot explain why I judge myself so harshly.

I have a real conundrum when I look at the pictures of me working out or at the Tough Mudder. On one hand, I love that I have photographic evidence of it. On the other, I see a million flaws. I would never say the things I think about myself to another person, so why do I say them to me? I feel so strong and awesome after I workout. So, why does it fill me with so much dread?

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Why would this girl not be good enough to go to the gym? She loves it! Why can’t she go?

Because I am not there yet. I told myself for years that I would workout when I was thinner. I needed to lose weight before I could go to the gym. I am not sure how I expected this miraculous weight loss to happen, I just knew that I was not worthy of the gym until it happened. hmm. This line of thought makes a lot of sense right?

It’s the whole dress thing all over again. One of my goals was to lose enough weight to wear a dress. I know, dumb. Guess how I fixed the problem. That’s right! I went out and bought a dress. I wore the dress. Even now, I feel pretty fantastic in these dresses. I still have the negative thoughts every time I look at them in the closet, telling me I am not ready to wear the dress. I am not good enough. It is a constant battle. I get a negative thought, and I either give in to it, or I ignore it and go about my merry way. IMG_6182

Oh, and the negativity does not stop at the physical aspects of my personhood. I constantly tell my intelligent, somewhat articulate self that I am stupid, or uninteresting. Why? Why on earth would I tell myself that? I convince myself that no one cares what I have to say. (Despite repeated assurances to the contrary.)

So, if I know that the things I tell myself are not true, and if lots of other people whose opinions I respect contradict these lies, then why are these poisonous thoughts on a constant loop in my mind? When do they stop for good?

Now, don’t get all worried about me, I have plenty of tools to combat this problem. I have ways of dealing with myself that leave me pretty much okay most of the time. I am just perplexed at the pervasive nature of the thoughts. It’s like they are professional confidence killers for hire. Who hired them?

Oh, that’s right. I did! I am the one responsible. It is irritating. One more thing I can blame myself for. Do you see the inane nature of this? It is a perpetual cycle.

So, what is the answer?

I assure you, it is not looking in the mirror and murmuring sweet nothings to myself. (If you ever catch me doing that, I probably need either food or a drink because I will have lost whatever is left of myself to this insane cycle, and it could be a symptom of hypoglycemia or something.) I seem to be doing fairly well, with constant conscientious opposition to the negativity. As long as I remain vigilant, I suppose that I just might have a chance to convince myself to shut the hell up and get on with it already.

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The look on my face is hysterical. I need to find something to wear this dress to… Hey! I know! Sergio- wanna ask me out? I can wear this dress!
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Or, I may just wear a quirky hat. Or, maybe a tiara. I am still trying to figure out how to pull it off for every day wear.

So, I promise to ignore the little voice in my head (the one that screams louder than the rational one,) and to keep trekking along on this adventure. I am doing two more Tough Mudders. I am going back to boxing. I am going to eat well and right. I am even going to wear dresses that probably show a little too much cleavage, and wear a little too much eye makeup.

I am not going to stop having crushes on totally unobtainable men (Sergio Garcia- that one is for you.) I am going to go out-of-town to see a friend. I am going to seek to improve. I am going to work on my story (I still can’t call it a novel, but I really hope that is what it turns into.)

Despite the negativity, I am going to keep going. I know I am not the only one who struggles with this. Maybe that is the point. We all have problems. It’s a shame that mine just happens to be me.

 

*This whole post started with me trying to find the right word to describe myself- which led to a google search- which led to an article explaining why pugnacity was not always the best trait- which led to self-doubt- which birthed this diatribe of honesty. Sorry, I am not sorry.

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Beautiful

Yesterday, I saw the latest Dove campaign that is promoting body positivity. There were two doors, one marked beautiful, and the other was marked average. The women who walked through the beautiful door had a big smile on their face. The women who walked through the average door had a look of resignation.

The part that made me cry was all the women who said that if they had the chance to do it over, would choose the beautiful door next time. Is it a crime to feel good about yourself?

Why are we so hard on ourselves?

Girls are taught that self-confidence is attractive, and they are also taught that airbrushed supermodels are the ideal we should strive for. We are taught that we should want to lose 10 pounds (or more!), finding a man is paramount for happiness, and that this lipstick will make us look more desirable. Don’t even get me started on the sex tips that so-called women’s magazines tout as helpful life tools.

We are bombarded with images that are not real all day long every day. Wear this magic bra, and Prince Charming will come knocking on your door… I’m sorry, but, what??? Some guy is going to fall in love with me because my breasts look amazing? This makes no sense at all to me. Wear this skin smoothing foundation, and you will look years younger. This will get him to notice me! 

Who on earth is this elusive life partner that is combing the world looking for a girl exactly like me? I mean, who on earth would think that I have something to offer? I am loud, awkward, and a little difficult. I like to say I am strong willed. Where do you meet a man when your favorite activity is going to the movie alone? Or worse, curled up on the couch with a good book?

Even Cinderella required a magic fairy godmother to make her catch the eye of her prince. I don’t have a fairy godmother. I am not interested in internet dating, and I am not an easy girl to fix up. Oh, I had an odd encounter on twitter, where a dude wanted to suck my toes… (that was so uncomfortable.)

Seriously, I like to think that I am interesting, smart, and yes- I think I am a cute girl. I need to lose weight, but that is something I am working on. Does admitting that I would like to find a man make me desperate? The constant editorial running through my head confirms the desperation.

We are told that the fat girl is the sidekick. It is okay to be smart or funny. Don’t kid yourself though, the leading man is never looking for you. He is looking for someone with the whole package. Not the girl who failed to take care of herself. So, are you supposed to wait until you manage to figure out how to wrangle your body into perfection?

Which brings me to another issue.

My body is never going to be perfect. (Turns out that no one has the perfect body, there is always something that they want to change.) My goals have changed from wanting to look a certain way, to wanting to be able to accomplish certain things. This has been the healthiest switch in attitude for me. When I see “AMAZING WEIGHT LOSS TRANSFORMATIONS” I am a little sad. Why do we pretend as a society that life automatically gets wonderful if we lose weight?

I like to believe that I have already started the transformation, and that it is not wise for me to wait until I am “done” to feel confident. Seems to be a mindset thing.

So, here is the point. I am not certain what makes a person beautiful. I know that I am going to treat myself like I am. I am choosing that door.

 

Mirror, Mirror

Who decides what is attractive? Who decides what is pretty?

I am in the process of growing out my hair. Let’s be honest, most of the time it ends up in a ponytail, except for those days that I feel like making an effort. Some people make an effort to please others, I am not one of those people. I make an effort for me.

There is so much pressure to impress the rest of the world, and really that seems to be an act of futility. It is difficult enough to just make myself happy. Eyeliner, mascara, and that sparkly stuff that you smear on your face. Are we trying to hide, or accentuate our features? Don’t even get me started on hair color, manicures, and Spanx. High heels, skinny jeans, and plunging necklines.

Do all the accessories and paint make us pretty?

Probably not.

For me, the mascara and eyeliner give me a sense of confidence. I do not know why. This is the first time I have ever really thought about it. But, I have heard that confidence is sexy on a woman. So, bring on the eyeliner.

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No makeup, dirty, sweaty, gross. I think I look great! Nose wrinkle and all.

It’s funny, my most recent FB profile pictures have been me, without makeup. Pictures taken after I have been working out. (Or doing a TM- which left me looking pitiful, but I felt accomplished.)

So, is it personality that makes people attractive? Should we just try to let our personality shine through?

Maybe it is confidence. Or happiness.

I really do not think it is external stuff at all. Maybe it is just liking who we are and then other people like it too. The power of suggestion is strong.

But, let’s be serious. The magnifying mirror is not our friend. Examining our flaws, and looking for imperfections is not the way to feel pretty.

So, I ask again… who decides what is pretty?

Maybe it is up to me. Maybe I have to like what I am doing, and then I will like the results. I have been fighting a terrible cough, which is finally getting better, so I need to get back to the gym. I felt prettiest then. I felt strong and capable.

The gym is another thing that I do not do for other people. No one cares if I work out. I am the only person that benefits. I am ready. I am ready to embrace strong and healthy.

Those Family Ties

Yesterday was Easter.

Time for a family get-together.

I love my family, they crack me up. My nephews are two of my favorite people in the whole world. I know that no matter what, they are going to be good for some cuddles, and a few laughs. We “watched” The Lego Movie. (Okay, that is not exactly true, we had it on really loud in the living room, and did not pay much attention to it at all.) I stole a bunny from Squishy’s easter basket, and Harley (Mamaw’s dog) tried to get it from me.

The best part? Making them laugh with my highly out of tune, scratchy voice screeching “Every thing is AWESOME!” Yep, I love listening to them laugh.

Our munchkins grow up too fast. My son is about to turn 16. I am so thrilled to see who these little men are growing in to.

My littlest brother, he is super sweet. He is always the first one to run out to the car and give me a hug. It’s pretty awesome. My little army of boys.

So, at dinner, I lived up to my usual klutzy ways: I spilled an entire glass of ice tea all over me and the table.

Let me be honest, it was cold and I was embarrassed. I really don’t think anyone else was surprised. It is not a family get together without a minor disaster.

Love my family. Love my boys.

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Getting some love from my Squishy!
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I stole a bunny. Don’t worry- I gave it back.
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I love that KyKy still lets me take selfies with him. Oh! I love that he read to me! Makes me so proud.

Every thing is Awesome.

My family is the best. They let me be myself. I never have to pretend to be someone else. I do not have to self-edit or worry that they will not like me.

I am so proud of my family. We have a little army of boys (they are all boy.)

I hope that as they grow up, they always know that I am here for them, and that I love them for who they are. This is the gift my family gave me, and I will give it to them. That is my job. That is why they are my family. I promise to love them, no matter what. Even if they grow up to dump ice tea all over the table. That is why we are family. Celebrating the quirks makes us family. I am a lucky girl.

Every thing is Awesome. Every thing is Cool.

The Danger of Caring

Medical Professionals are an interesting breed of folk. We are not immune from tragedy striking in our personal lives, and some of us are subjected to a constant bombardment of reminders when we go to work.

I love what I do. I get to hang out with the most eclectic crazy group of people almost every day, which allows me to cope with the sadness that comes along with my job. We develop coping skills over time, and eventually we learn how to watch other people suffering with an objective eye. We would not be able to return day after day if we could not keep everything in perspective.

For many of us, laughter is indeed the best medicine. We are full of inappropriate humor, and while it may seem insensitive to some, it is actually just our way of processing the horrors of ICU, and remaining sane. We develop little rituals and we have a plethora of superstitions. (You never say the Q word, observe how slow the unit is, or mention that frequent flyers name.) We trade war stories, and we collect memories that we can use for a quick laugh.

When our loved ones are patients in our hospital, or worse in our unit, the nice little boundaries get blurred. The personal and professional worlds collide, putting us at risk in every area of our lives. It is imperative to remember that we are only human, and it is okay to feel powerless, and to acknowledge our fears. We do not have to be the professional when we are indeed- the family.

I have had this experience a few times throughout my career, and I will remain forever grateful for my coworkers who allowed me the space to be a family member instead of a nurse or nurse practitioner. It helps.

My One Regret: Tough Mudder- Mesa

IMG_7972I just finished reading The Blogger’s account of the end of Tough Mudder. Those of you who know anything at all about it, know that it always ends with a trip up Everest and a dash through electricity.

I knew all along that Everest is not something I feel like I need to do. It just seems rather careless with a marginal knee. So, I never intended to do it. I did not expect to do what I did though.

I went and sat off to the side alone. I was not watching my teammates crushing this obstacle. I missed Amazing Daniel giving back to his team, one person at a time. You see, Daniel was paralyzed in a work accident. He still came and crushed every single obstacle Tough Mudder had to throw at him. Then, at the end, after he traversed a human ladder to the top of Everest, he stayed at the top and caught the hands of every member of our team to help them to the summit. I missed it.

I forgot about my team. I was frustrated, sore, tired, hungry, and irritable. More than anything, I was ashamed that I had stopped training for TM. I knew that I had brought all that pain and misery on myself. I hated feeling so weak and dependent on that course. I felt like the anchor that threatened to drag down the ship. I felt like I did not belong. I felt like they would have been better off without me.

Letting myself entertain those thoughts was a dangerous game to play. It sucked all my motivation out the door. It is unfortunate that I threw those dice three months before TM. I gave in to negativity. I stopped believing that I was worth fighting for. I unlearned all the lessons I thought I had learned. It is a slippery slope. Negativity only breeds more negativity. I knew that. I did it anyway.

Now, let’s keep in mind my team is awesome. They had supported me the entire time. No one made me feel this way. I did. I let the noise inside my head crowd out reality. The worst part about this whole journey to a healthier lifestyle is the way I talk to myself. I constantly undermine my successes and sabotage all that is good. I do that. No one does it to me. So, I am responsible for changing it.

Yes, TM was awesome.

Yes, TM was HARD.

Yes, I walked across the finish line- and celebrated with my team.

Yes, I hated a lot of it.

Yes, my life changed.

Yes, I made some new life long friends.

Yes, I changed my mind about some people.

I am planning to do two more Tough Mudders this year. Dallas and then I will rejoin the SDLHC in Philly. I have a lot of things that I want to do over.

  1. No crying about climbing over walls.
  2. No going off and ignoring my friends, just so I can entertain my own negativity.
  3. I will more prepared physically for the challenge.
  4. I won’t let my head do all the thinking.
  5. I will buy a waterproof camera and take a ton of pictures.
  6. I will share this experience with my son (In Philly)
  7. I will not shut out my best friend this time.
  8. I will remember that being quiet and ignoring the group, hurts people’s feelings.
  9. I will not lose my bib.
  10. I will figure out how to avoid blisters.
  11. I will get different underwear.
  12. I will laugh more.
  13. I will wear a damn TIARA. You know why? Because I am a damn Princess.

So, yeah. My biggest regret is that I missed Everest. It was a selfish move. I will not be making that mistake again.

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I really underestimated how much this would change my life.
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Nope- look at the bottom. I was terrified at that point. I swear, it is so much higher than it looks here.
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Nose wrinkle and all. I guess I did not care what I looked like. Maybe I stepped out of my head for a minute, and let my heart take over.

 

This is me. I am not starting over. I am continuing this quest. I may make mistakes, and I may have some regrets. That does not diminish what this experience was for me. Remember- in my new tribe, we have a saying:

We totally got this.

 

Diamonds are a girl’s best friend. What about the rough?

1367350149_coal_diamondOkay. Want a blast from the past?

When I was around 20, I worked as a customer service representative for a major cellular network. I had an area manager who once described me as a “diamond in the rough.” Now, I misunderstood. I thought she was saying I was the only shiny thing among all the unkept grass.

Now, I have been called the following:

  • Real
  • Raw
  • Authentic
  • Honest
  • Spontaneous
  • Crass
  • Rude
  • Silly
  • Funny
  • Vulnerable
  • Humble

And many other words.

Not quite sure what to make of all this. Not sure how it makes me feel. Not sure that it matters.

Here is the thing. I do not seek to be polished and refined. I am not looking for perfection.

I am looking for my own personal truth.

I am looking to be my best self.

I am looking for people who appreciate me for who I am, and who like who I am. As far as the rest goes… What you see is what you get. I am not full of surprises. I promise you don’t have to wonder where you stand with me. Just ask me. I’ll let you know.

Good Riddance.

Ok, thanks for that Buzzfeed. You gave me yet another totally inappropriate idea for a blog post. (Mom, you probably will not like this one.) But, I have some plans for my funeral. No, I do not anticipate it is going to happen anytime soon; but, one can never be too prepared. Not that it really matters: I am not even going to actually be there. I want my friends and family to have a good time though.

Okay, let’s get the messy stuff out of the way first. Do not bury me. Seems like a waste of space. I would like to be cremated. AFTER you donate anything at all usable to whatever tissue, eye, or organ bank wants me. This is important to me. Organ donation is not always possible for everyone who dies… but, in the situations where it is- I feel it is the only way to go. If I am not a viable candidate that is okay.

Oh, wait. I forgot- this is supposed to be funny. Let’s skip anymore organ talk. Just know I am a registered donor. Now, what to do with my ashes? You can scatter a few of them here and there. Maybe save a small box of them to throw into the air at birthday parties or something? (Is that weird? I want to still BE there!) But, I really want to be turned into something. Maybe a diamond. Can they make them pink? Let me go look. Be right back.

Skip ahead about 6 weeks. I got distracted while I was researching the whole diamond thing. Turns out they are blue. It has to do with Carbon or something.

Okay, now for the fun part. It’s really a shame I am not going to be there. I am imagining a huge party full of my friends and family (hoping they are all ancient because we lived so long.)

Hey. You know what? Planning my funeral does not sound as interesting as I thought it was six weeks ago. (Who does that?) Apparently, I do.

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Stock photo of stars. http://fc00.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2012/194/5/b/stars_stock_by_euderion-d572x76.jpg

Seriously though, I work in a hard profession. We see a lot of death. This may be part of my preoccupation with it. It’s kinda funny, I have scrapbook upstairs in my office from when I was a kid. There is an unusual number of death notices and obituaries in it. So, maybe I have always been preoccupied with death.

One of my biggest concerns is that something will happen to me, and I will have left something important unsaid. I do not want anyone to wonder how much I loved them, or what an impact they had on my life.

I don’t believe in an afterlife. So, that means that I have to make every day count. I do not want to be filled with regret in my life moments of life. I want to know that I lived.

There is a part of me that wants to know that I made a meaningful difference on the world while I was here. I know, that sounds rather self-important. I do not mean for it to. I just want to help people. It is not fame or money that I seek… (although- some money would be nice.) I just want to look back on my life and to know that I did the best I could with what I had, and that I used my particular skills and gifts for good. So, maybe I want to be a superhero. I wonder what my superpower would be.

To sum it up. When I die, please do not do all that embarrassing funeral stuff. Go to a bar- ask for a whiskey on ice. Top shelf- not that cheap crap. Listen to Green Day’s Good Riddance- and sing along with all your heart, because I promise you- when I was with you, I had the time of my life. Take care of my family and friends. Please, please, please- make inappropriate jokes and make everyone laugh uncomfortably.

I promise, I will do everything I can to live a long and productive life. I will live without regret. I will seek adventure every day. I will love with all my heart.

*** now, for those of you who think this is all macabre and sick- understand- I believe people only fear death because they have not fully lived. I intend to live life fully.