One Life to Live

      Anyone who says they have only one life to live must not know how to read a book.  ~Author Unknown

Books are the closest thing we have to entering another world, to time travel, or to parallel universes. A great book leaves you tired. Exhausted even. When you put a book down after the conclusion, it takes a split second the reorient yourself to your existence.  Depending on how epic the book is you just finished, you also feel…sad. An odd feeling of depression seems to hang over you once you leave the universe made up of ink, paper, and your mind.

According to my mother, when I was about 3, I grabbed a book, and demanded to be taught how to read. Dick and Jane books were my first novels. The first word I could read? “Look”. When I was about 4 I could “read” (aka recite) the entire book “Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel” to my then infant brother. I remember being about 6 or 7, dad coming home from a long day at work, and he would read some of “The Hobbit” by J.R.R. Tolkien to Sean and me. I remember my little girl imagination getting so wrapped up in the words dad would read and, as only a child could do, get totally lost in them. When dad would stop reading (it was typically bed time), I still remember the feeling of being jolted back to Earth.

                At some yard sale when I was about 10, my mother picked up a Nancy Drew mystery book for $0.25. I remember being so taken with this book, I hid it with my Bible to take to church that weekend. (Yes I did get scolded for reading it in church). This was my first experience of being locked in a world not my own that I could access myself (dad didn’t have to read it to me), and not wanting to leave it. I wanted more. This led me to an entire new experience. The “junior” section of the library! I quickly learned while the library didn’t have a limit on the number of books I could check out, my mother did. ;) Apparently you can’t come home with 40 books at a time when you have chores and homework to do.

                The best way I know how to describe the way I read is I devour books. When I go into a library or bookstore, I am like a starving kid at an all you can eat buffet. I don’t know how to pace myself. During nursing school, my first stop after the conclusion of every semester was the library. I would hide my textbooks, and read pure fiction having NOTHING to do with nursing. Freedom. I am also nostalgic about a physical book made of paper. Book readers (i.e. kindles) have their place, but I feel the need to be able to turn pages. I guess the danger of paper cuts adds to the excitement…

As tacky as this is, this blog was inspired by the fact I recently finished a series that I reminded me why I read. I am oddly sheepish to say that…yes…it was “The Hunger Games”. *ducks for tomatoes* Yes it is for “young adults” and I outgrew the young adult section when I was 16. Yes, my need to read it was brought on by the movie. *cringes again* But I will also admit I have recently not been reading. Work, TV, movies, and yes, the internet have been my distracters. (Oh I have other excuses! I work odd hours and the library isn’t open when I can go. I used to stop by Borders regularly and they are now out of business, etc.)

                My point of this particular rambling? Pick up a book again. Every year I reread all 6 Jane Austen novels and “The Lord of the Rings”. The first quarter of this year is already gone and I haven’t touched anything. *hides in shame*

               Already reading? Go support a local library. Read to a child. Find a book drive for a local school and donate. In this world of virtual worlds and constant stimulation, children, teenagers, and yes…even adults, need reminding what it means to curl up with a book.

The ironic and witty Jane Austen herself says it best:

                 “The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid.” ― Jane Austen

Go and live another life that you will only find in the pages of a book…

If you're Irish and you know it...

                St. Patrick’s Day is upon us! A day to lie about how Irish you are, wear green, and add whiskey to everything.  Many will eat corned beef, cabbage, and of course…potatoes. Some of us will dust off our copy of the old movie “The Quiet Man”, and others will watch clips of Riverdance on youtube.

                As most already know, I have Irish blood flowing through my veins and I am insanely proud of it. I can’t tell you what percentage. I don’t know when my ancestors came over from Ireland. I only know my mother’s maiden name screams Irish, and her fair skin and red hair meets the stereotype. I have never step foot in Ireland, and I know many of my perceptions of Ireland are probably ignorant and stereotypical.  I have tried to educate myself on at least some of the basics. For example:

-Corned beef and cabbage is truly an American invention. The Irish immigrants who came to the U.S.  ate it because it was cheap.

-There are 3 leaves on a shamrock…NOT FOUR.   

Honestly, the $1 green beads you picked up at the grocery store, and the leprechaun hat you bought at walmart is fun, but like most holidays, missing the significance. I am not catholic, and I don’t know anything about Saints days. I do know, however, that I adore looking deeper into a culture and a people that have survived so much hardship. The Irish are a poor people. For a long time they were a suppressed and abused people whose culture was almost stamped out. When they immigrated to the U.S., they fought more prejudice. (Does “No Irish Need Apply” sound familiar?) Forgive me from stealing this quote from Wikipedia but I think it explains it best.

“…the American stigma on domestic work suggested that Irish women were failures who had “about the same intelligence as that of an old grey-headed negro.” This quote illustrates how, in a period of extreme racism towards African Americans, society similarly viewed Irish immigrants as inferior beings”.

The Irish were looked at as dirt.

I love the Irish culture because it tells a story of people that survived. Because of their extreme history, there is no moderation in Irish emotions. The Irish are known for their deep melancholy. (Have you ever heard an Irish lament? By the end you feel like your very soul is weeping). It is a culture that knows what it is to starve to death and be persecuted.

In contrast, when the Irish are happy, it is more like euphoria. (Have you ever heard an Irish jig? If you don’t smile, stomp your foot, and feel like life is good by the end of it you probably don’t have a pulse).  I think the ability to experience joy is proportionate to how much sorrow one has dealt with. The Irish people have certainly suffered, but their ability to celebrate life is infectious. This is not a new idea as evidenced by the following:

 “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling, sure 'tis like a morn in spring.

In the lilt of Irish laughter you can hear the angels sing,

When Irish hearts are happy all the world seems bright and gay,

And When Irish Eyes Are Smiling, sure, they steal your heart away.”

            My overall point is that among the cheap four leaf clovers and the green beer, is a story. A story of strength and the tenacity of the human spirit. It is about people that have experienced hell, and love life all the more because of it. This is a lesson we all should take to heart...

Beannachtaí na Féile Pádraig oraibh! (St. Patrick’s Day Blessing On You!)

Demons, Pet Peeves, and Running...

I love running. Many people think I am insane and ask with a bewildered look on their face “why do you run?”. If you have to ask you don’t get it. Essentially, however, I run to keep my demons at bay. These demons take all sorts of shapes and forms. Now before you call the men in white coats let me describe these demons.

                The first demon I run from is called anxiety. This demon haunts me. It effects everything I do to some degree. I am naturally a control freak in an uncontrollable world. Running fights this demon from taking over my mind. Running gives me mental clarity and keeps me out of the fog of worry.

                I run from the demon of a hospital gown. I work on a cardiac unit, I stand behind the care we give, but I don’t want to be a patient. I am running from diabetes, heart disease, obesity, and overall bad health. I want to live a long and full life, and running helps me do that.

                I run from the demon of passivity. Running is the opposite of being passive. Running requires me to make a conscious decision to move. It requires me to push through pain. It requires that I get off my lazy butt and do something.

                I run from the demon of physical limitations. I love hiking. I love backpacking. I love to move. Without running to prepare me, I am physically restricted. I hate the feeling of watching others more athletic than me climb mountains and do things I can’t. I hate the look of joy on others faces while they get to live life to the fullest, and I am too out of breath to continue.

Now that I have explained to you WHY I run, I want to educate you on some runner’s pet peeves.

1.       A marathon is 26.2 miles. A Half-marathon is 13.1 miles. A 10K is 6.2 miles and a 5K is 3.1 miles. When you sign up for a 5K fun run and say “Oh yeah I ran a marathon this weekend”, it makes us mad and it makes you look stupid. When you say “I ran a marathon that was 6.2 miles”, it shows your ignorance and we laugh at you.

2.       We hate it when you say “Run, Forest! Run!”. It isn't funny. Shut it.

3.       People who can't/won’t control their dogs. Keep them close. If they snarl, step away from the sidewalk. I don’t want dogs coming into my path as I run by. Just cause you love your dog doesn't mean i do too.

4.       Dog poo. What is wrong with you dog owners? Clean up after your pet. No runner wants to dodge dog poo and having to clean it off our shoes makes us livid.

5.       If a race says no dogs, don’t bring your dog to the race. If a race says yes to dogs, and has a special start area, use the start area. Why do you think that the rules don’t apply to you just cause your dog “is really sweet and loves people”? Follow the rules.

6.       People who ask me how my last 5k marathon was. See #1.

7.       When you are running a race, and people yell “you are almost there”! Your idea of almost there is not mine. Shut-it. It isn't helpful.

8.       When you tell someone you run, and they immediately say “oh running is so bad for you.” Running is better for you then that candy bar you just ate. You just wish you could run too.

9.       When you are walking, please be aware of faster people coming up behind you and kindly move.

10.   People at races who line up near the front, then jam things up in the first quarter-mile of the course by walking or running very slowly. Worse: Slow runners who line up near the front, then saunter along with one or more companions, side-by-side, three across. Usually chatting loudly about something stupid.

Can’t run? Walk. A 14 minute mile and 7 minute mile is still a mile. No matter how slow you go, you are still lapping everyone sitting on the couch. Do me a favor, and don't regale me with all the reasons why you don't run or walk.

Running is a mental sport, and we are all insane…

Tis the season...

Tis the season for Felicia to get restless. Edgy. Fidgety. Uneasy. It is the season of planning trips, but not yet getting to enjoy them. It is the season of waiting for rain and snow, and once you get it, dealing with the rain and snow. It is the time of year where the joys and festivities of the holidays are truly over. All of us Christmas lovers have FINALLY packed up ALL the decorations, and tons upon tons of cookies are finally gone.   Valentine’s day puts up a pathetic attempt at something to celebrate, but it truly is the doldrums.

                Some could also call this “cabin fever”. I tend to look longingly at the new summer apparel coming out, and I can’t wait to pull out the flip-flops, tank tops, and shorts. The hiking guidebooks have a tendency of appearing all over the house, and REI goes back to a frequently visited website. I start scouring the web looking for spring/summer road races to plan winter training runs.

                To stay sane, I am the kind of person that needs to be outdoors. The weather has been quite fair in California this winter so far, but I have not really been able to appreciate it. Work has kept me busy, and it is hard to plan a good ole’ camping trip when you expect a winter storm any day. (I do not go winter camping). I can’t wait till spring, but considering we have had little precipitation, spring is going to be quite brown and dry. *sigh*

                I shall deal with this stage of life the way the way I do every year. I shall continue to plan, I will start concentrating on getting myself physically ready for summers challenges, and I will try my best to appreciate every day as it comes. It is amazing how we can’t ever seem to live in the present.

                Is it June yet?

Occupational Hazards

          It was my 3^rd day on the floor of the cardiac unit. I was having some confidence issues to say the least. This lack of confidence was beginning to eat at me, and started to become very apparent. I was starting to feel like I was a total failure. My mentor nurse was a fabulous woman who sat me down and told me something so simple but so profound it has stuck with me since.

“You are not your job.”

In this society, our very identity seems to come from what we do for a living. I suppose this is a logical course of thought considering what we decide to do with a majority of a time can say a lot about us. For instance, park rangers are typically going to be people that like the outdoors…or at least don’t mind it. Law enforcement officers are typically people that don’t mind walking down dark alleys with unsavory people lurking in them. I know there are exceptions to everything, but certain types of people are drawn to certain types of jobs. Stereotypes come from some truth. 

             As someone who recently was in the job hunt, job hunting is depressing. Not having employment takes a huge chunk from your self-esteem. For obvious reasons, being able to provide for yourself is not something to take lightly. Starving can’t be fun. Having said this…

             While a job is vital, your job does not define you. A rude and bitter person is a rude and bitter person whether they sweep floors or perform brain surgery.  A content optimistic person is a content optimistic person whether they fix cars or sit behind a desk all day. Your personality can attract you to a profession, but the profession does not define you.

           We tend to get lost in titles. The longer and more prestigious the title, somehow the more valuable a person is. Essentially, we are nothing but a bunch of imperfect humans dealing with imperfect humans. I think this fact is shown most intensely in healthcare. We expect health professionals to fix us no matter what we have self-inflicted on our fragile bodies. Health professionals feel this expectation, and we do want to fix people. We feel like failures if we can’t…sometimes like we fail as a person.

           The point of all this, is to take pride in good honest work, but realize your work is not your identity. I am sure most people already realize this, but I am learning this now especially as a nurse. In my particular profession, I see people that live and breathe nursing and when they have a bad day they internalize it. I do love nursing, but I want to work to live, not live to work. I want to do the best job I can, but be able to go home and not feel like I failed at life if things don’t go perfect. (And remember that successes at work don't necessarily equal a successful life). Again, this seems to be a trap healthcare professionals especially tend to fall into. (We want to fix when no one but God can truly fix).

           Not sure if any of this makes sense to anyone but me. (This is the RAMBLINGS of Felicia after all). I guess it all goes back to remembering what truly matters in life. Family, friends, and being a decent human no matter what you do. When you die, people are going to remember one thing and it is not how sucessful you were in society or how much money you made. It is kindness.

A Little Slice Of Heaven In 2011?

     This year I did a lot of early morning driving. At 0600 on Talk 650 KFBK, 2 male voices would come over the radio. During their show opening one of them would say “It is (insert date here), and a little slice of heaven in 2011”. (Or something like that). When I heard this at o’dark hundred as I headed to another long day, I had to laugh because nothing could be more opposite. Looking back on 2011, however, there were a few slices of heaven.

        My brother and I reached two huge milestones this year. After being told by those around him multiple times he would never graduate High School, my little brother graduated. The pride I felt for him is immeasurable. The pleasure I felt in him proving all those ignoramuses wrong still glows bright. The lesson? Don’t ever tell anyone they can’t do something because they might prove you wrong and then you are the butthole. Especially someone who has God on their side…

                I myself managed somehow to graduate nursing school. Not only that, a few weeks later I passed the board exam. I don’t think I have ever had a more petrifying experience.  Through God’s grace I was given a job at an area hospital in the exact unit I wanted. For me, 2011 meant entering into adulthood. In some respects, 2011 has been my hardest year yet.

2011 also had wonderful times for me. 2 weeks camping in Yosemite Valley with friends and family was my favorite highlight. Being a volunteer nurse at Leoni Meadows Summer camp was very full circle as well. My family was safe, healthy, and I never missed a meal. My car worked, my bed was soft, I had hot water to shower, and an electric toothbrush with plenty of toothpaste. While this year was challenging, I never went without comforts that others across the globe never have. I don’t know what it means to be in total survival mode. I am truly thankful for that.

For me, 2012 will mean getting familiar with this new world of adulthood. It will mean making the transition from student to professional. It will mean learning to stretch my wings, but also how to handle life in the big bad world. It will mean developing a thicker skin, and learning to deal with people when they are their worst and lashing out. On a global level, 2012 means more uncertainty. The future is unknown, and things we don’t know scare us. I will continue to find peace in family and friends that truly have my back, and a God that already has my ultimate future secured.

Good-bye 2011. Welcome 2012. Let the adventure begin…

Christmas time is here…

During nursing school, I did a rotation on the mother baby unit. I am not a mother, and I had only ever babysat ages 4 months older and up.  I knew that newborn babies were fragile, but until I actually was there the few moments after birth I never realized how delicate they are. We monitor their temperature in a way we don’t dream of in adults. Their tiny little bodies can’t handle any extremes in environment.

Then we read the Christmas story. Christmas bends all human logic. The idea of a supreme being brings images of ultimate power. You look at many other religions and you come across stories of gods who are frightening and selfish. Frankly speaking, when you come across the story of the Christian God, you come across an odd story. An all powerful deity reincarnating as a helpless baby? Crazy. A powerful deity reincarnating as a helpless baby to POOR people? To people that would birth him in a freaking barn? Insane.

I love Christmas. I love the Christmas story. I really do love the lights that you spend hours stringing on wobbly ladders, the carols you hear over and over again, and the 600 calorie Starbucks drinks. My childhood was a great one, and my mom and dad made Christmas magical. Yes, I did believe in Santa. No, I didn’t somehow get scarred for life. I left brownies and hot tea for the man in red, and I did hear sleigh bells in the snow. I have been known to lie myself under a Christmas tree and stare at the lights.

I love Christmas because at its core is hope. It is the reminder that there is peace available to those that want it. It is a time where we can hit the reset button after a long year of stress and remember why it is we are even on this planet. I would like to end this post with a scene from my favorite Christmas movie “A Charlie Brown Christmas”. A movie in which our dear Charlie Brown is surrounded by commercialism, pushed to utter frustration, and finally straightened out by Linus.

 

“ISN’T THERE ANYONE WHO KNOWS WHAT CHRISTMAS IS ALL ABOUT??”

“Sure Charlie Brown, I can tell you what Christmas is all about. *Linus walks out to center stage*    Lights please!

‘And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men!’

That’s what Christmas is all about Charlie Brown”

I truly wish you a Merry Christmas.