A Perfect Adventure

Saturday was an absolutely perfect day.
These kinds of days are so rare and so blissful, that it's important to me to document, so as to cite it later when they skies are a little grayer.  And so....

I started it off at friend’s place, because of course all great adventures start after a sleepover with your best friend.  From there I got coffee with someone the Universe has placed into my coven — as in I met her by chance and have run into her accidentally a few times since.  Finally we are connecting with out cosmic aid, and it was an hour and a half of pet photos, stories of travels, and comforting each other about frustrations that we thought we were facing alone.

Next up was the Drama Book Shop, where I bought a play for the acting class I’ve been taking — oh right, I’m taking an acting class — and I discovered after years of being a patron of their business, they have a shop dog.  His name is Chester.  So obviously that was ideal.

Then I went somewhere to buy a present for my best friend, which I will not describe as she has yet to receive said present.

Next to a cheap pharmacy for lipstick and lemonade; then etsy to quickly snag yet another mug from the wonderful Allison Fretheim Ceramics (they sell out within minutes of being released), and then I made my way to a doctor.  As always I resent how necessary it is for me to go to one (and by one I mean at least five types on a regular basis with copays of $50 per visit), but I did so, spoke up about some issues I’ve just been enduring, and scheduled two follow ups.  Adulting.

As a reward for said adulting, I headed to a showroom for treats I’ve been eyeing for years.  On the train there, I saw two people signing.  After smiling at them and trying not to seem creepy, I signaled for their attention the way one should towards someone who is deaf, and said “hello I know a little sign and this is making me very happy.”  They brought me into their conversation, and we were happily signing all the way into Brooklyn.  I got off at their stop…needing to head back into Manhattan; but the whimsy, the kismet, and the bliss of communicating with someone in another language made the trip into Brooklyn well worth it.
They also told me about an Sign Language Center that offers classes, which I plan on taking.

In this happy whirlwind, I finally made it to Glossier, the showroom extraordinaire, and bought the gems that had caught my eye.  I then waited way too long in front of what I thought was the bathroom, and actually may have just been a door to a stockroom.

A photographer, a small and sweet young woman, saw me waiting and asked if she could take my photo in a mirror nearby with flowers.  I said sure and so we did an impromptu photoshoot.  It was delightful and flattering.

From there, I went home, got a tad lost, FaceTimed with my best friend as she finally dyed her hair, and then headed to a friend’s place for dinner.

I thrive in this weather; this day of not quite heat, but still a break from the air hurting your face.  I thrive with my friends; the delightful souls who’ve accepted all my weird little quirks and lengthy backstory and let me love them as much as I do.  I thrive on following chance paths that remind me that days like this are possible.

I face a lot physically.  There are days like today where I have to spend $100 on meds to breathe.  Just breathe.  I pay to live.  And so it's incredible when I have a perfect day, a residual of all the work I've put into getting this far, a dividend of the life I've been investing in.  I document it so as to remember, to have something to look back on when the weight of the fight feels too much to bare, so as to remember how lucky I still am.  Every day may not be this kind of adventure, but these days are well worth the wait and the work it takes to get there.

(the beginning of the journey; this one and the next)

For the Love of Words: Fragile

I am learning to love myself through words.
I've loved words since I found my free will, and have since wielded them to reaffirm, confront, comprehend, or escape my emotions; yet I've yet to seek self-love through their hums and vibrations.

I recently received a package.  It contained a beautiful mug made by Allison Fretheim Ceramics.  I found her work via a witchy subscription box, another effort to reconnect with myself and beliefs.  I missed my first opportunity to own a piece of her art, but waited for the next series, and collected my handmade vessel.  It has moons, and dots as constellations surrounding it.  It will hold all my "potions" and potions, and each sip from it will help me find me.

I mention it, however, not just to share a beautiful piece of art, nor my love of the moon and all things celestial, but because of the box it came in.  You see, she puts care into all that she assembles, even the packaging.  The mug was snug and even wrapped with twine and flowers, like something only fitting of Amélie.  My name was written on the box, and the sides were stamped with a moon...and the word "fragile."

Fragile.

I have stared at this word for the last week.  I couldn't bring myself to toss the box in with the rest of my recycling.  There was something about the word...

I am fragile.  My joints ache and degrade like an elderly person.  Most of my body attacks itself and my remedy is to kill my white blood cells, which reversely makes it easier for me to get and stay sick.  I should've died when I was twelve.  Every day since has been sustained solely by modern medicine and my stubborn tenacity to live.  I know that I am strong; a word I once hated because it mostly means endurance...yet I've learned to wear "strong" as a badge of honor...but fragile...

Fragile I've seen as weak.  My sensitivity I've learned as a flaw.  The hardest part being that it wasn't a choice.  Fragile is a state.  This mug, my joints, even my emotions, are fragile by nature; but what I've realized this week, staring at this stamped word, is that their fragility doesn't make them any less powerful.

This mug may be fragile, but it literally helps nourish me.  It makes me feel connected, even just to those who have seen and admire the art sculpted into it.
Being fragile is not something I need to feel ashamed of.   It may limit me physically, but it doesn't diminish who I am and the light I wish to bring to this world.

Just as this mug, with its unique grooves and textures wouldn't compare if were it made of plastic or something more durable, I wouldn't be me without that which makes me fragile.  It doesn't make me weak, nor inadequate.  It is just part of my reflection.  And just as when I look into the mirror and I see my curly hair or how my smile touches my eyes, I will see this word and remember that it is a trait of the self that I love.

[the mug, the flowers and the word]