Day 2 of a Chronic-Fatigue-As-Caused-By-Antihistone-Markers bout. I’m EXHAUSTED. I’m also wildly frustrated. Given the well, chronic, nature of autoimmune symptoms, it’s really hard to build momentum, and I feel like I never make any progress.

Progress on what, you ask? Well anything, really: work/rebuilding my business, cleaning, furniture hunting/decorating (good LORD, that’s a topic of its own), etc. Not exactly Lin-Manuel Miranda levels of creative output, but important nonetheless.

This made me feel better.

I realized that even though I know most celebrities have teams of people handling their business, I always think of Lin as a one-man band. Oh, a collaborator to be sure, but someone who handles all of his projects, travels, writing, etc., by himself. One more way he’s separated from the rest of us. How reassuring to know that in order to create all of that magic, he might need more than a Google Calendar reminder!

LMM looms large in my mind of late because we’ve just had 6 weeks of what I refer to as a “Hamilton Intensive,” as my daughter chose Eliza Schuyler Hamilton for her Famous Americans Project. Several weeks of study, prep and presentation, all while listening to the “Hamilton” soundtrack, was capped by finally seeing the show in Tampa. More than once during these weeks, it’s occurred to me that Lin is only a year older than me.

It’s not a comfortable thought.

Look what he’s accomplished! (No, seriously, look. Unbelievable.) Meanwhile, I successfully responded to a few texts and emails today. I used to write historical fiction while getting straight A’s, playing sports and nurturing a script project I called “Dodson’s Creek,” named after my best guy friend (on whom, for the record, I did not have a crush by that point). I was a smart, overachieving emphath! What happened?!

No, don’t worry. I’m not really weighing myself against a once-in-a-generation talent. But we do compare ourselves to others’ successes. It comes up briefly, a fleeting comparison that asks, “Why couldn’t I have done that?”

Reminders, like LMM’s tweet, that there’s always more behind the scenes, are balms to that itch of comparison. No, no one does it all on their own. No one has it all together. Everyone makes mistakes. Everyone needs help. We know all of that. But when someone shows the work, the process, the team, the anxieties experienced – that’s where it really connects.

Some things, like shared anxieties, can affect all of us at any point and make us feel like we, too, can overcome! Others, like a full team working with/behind you, don’t come until you’ve reached a certain level of business or financial success. But that’s still helpful to know because you’re not paralyzed by chasing unrealistic expectations of what one person can accomplish.

I’m no less exhausted as I reach the end of this post, but I have reached the end of writing a post! I’d call that progress, and all thanks to a tweet-behind-the-curtain.

As a PR pro who’s had to comb through editorial calendars for client opportunities over the years, one of the most reliable issues to plan for in almost any publication is January: “New Year, New You!”

It’s not just lifestyle/beauty publications (but don’t get me started on the body image witchcraft and gross expectations that many of those sell!). Tech, general business, sports, education, insurance. They’re all going to feature some type of article on resolutions or “best practices” to set something up for success in the new year.

No surprise there. We all talk about New Year’s resolutions: who makes them, who doesn’t, who keeps them, who resolves NOT to make them… I typically fall into the latter category, mostly because I would never intentionally set myself up for failure! Last year I made the mistake of resolving to try using a written planner, rather than just relying on my Google Calendar. And well… I should probably give that its own post as it’s a great way to understand your host’s personality! So we’ll save that for another time.

But 2018 has been one of the bleakest and most painful that I have experienced. Judging by my Twitter & Facebook feeds, many people would agree right off the bat, but for me it has nothing to do with “the world on fire,” tragic news stories, the continued descent of our politicians into power-hungry gridlock or the general sense that humanity would like to rip its collective heart out.

For me, “Peak 2018” is diagnosis after diagnosis of debilitating chronic illnesses. A categorization of being a “7 on a scale of 1 to 10 in terms of disability,” with only a “hope” of someday getting daily life to a “3.”

A friend told me how skinny I looked, as a compliment, and asked what I was doing. “Well I’m taking an anti-lupus drug with a side effect of maybe having detached retinas and going blind someday, but it also causes you to lose pesky pounds! And I can pretty safely travel to any malaria-prone country because it treats that, too!”

Image: Leonardo DiCaprio in “The Great Gatsby” (2012), Village Roadshow Productions

And yet…

The homily at Mass today reminded me of that giant concept: PERSPECTIVE. The priest shared a story of how a family from his former parish had sent a mass text to all of their friends and family a few weeks ago to joyfully announce the birth of their son. They had discovered – and shared during the pregnancy – that their son had a chromosomal disorder, one which carries a devastatingly short life expectancy.

But the parents’ text on the birth of their son was as joyous as any parents’. They encouraged all of their friends and family to visit them and their son as often as they could while he was alive, and to do so joyously. This child was a gift, they said, and they wanted him to be celebrated as any child would. Perspective!

When I say “perspective,” I don’t mean thinking of how people have it worse off than I  do. I’m perhaps overly empathetic, so understanding that perspective usually isn’t far out of my mind.

I don’t even think I’m talking about counting my blessings, though I do and will.

I’m talking about finding a perspective of joy. Living the joy of life even through pain,  suffering and uncertainty. I don’t know what that looks like for me yet. I’m still processing it. And yes, the other perspective will probably help shape it. I’m living with chronic illnesses, not wondering when my child will die or watching my child battle osteosarcoma, as a friend currently is. (I do worry that my daughters will inherit this someday but that’s nowhere near on the same level.)

My understanding of my own faith will play a huge role.

But I am resolved to look for and find the joy. This is one New Year’s Resolution on which I may falter, but will not fail. I’ll update you on my progress throughout the year in different ways.

On December 31, 2019, I intend to report that I kept this resolution.

But it’s still 2018, so if you’ll permit me, I’ll say goodbye to this year with the sage words of Beyonce.

Image: “Sorry” by Beyonce. Rights and general gloriousness owned by Queen Bey.

 

 

 

 

No, not the color, (though I’m often in a navy state of dress), but as in the United States Navy.

I’m writing as I watch College Game Day ahead of the Army-Navy game, with all of the inspiring spots and stories of integrity, grit, honor and duty. And this after a week of mourning but celebrating the life of naval aviator, 41st President and exemplary gentleman, George H.W. Bush.

But it’s also the day after Pearl Harbor Day, which calls to mind my grandfather, “Pop,” Eugene Simmons, a survivor of the bombing of the U.S.S. Arizona. It’s so long ago, and obviously our family is not unique in having a loved one be part of a seminal moment in history.

But the older I get and the more I understand, the more overwhelming it is to think of him in that battle.

When I was 23, I was lamenting having to be at work by 8:30 a.m. My grandfather, President Bush and millions of other young men had chosen a far more difficult path in service of their country.

That Sunday morning in 1941, Pop was running back onto the USS Arizona when the bomb dropped into the engine room, where he normally would have been stationed. He had gone to early Mass that morning, something that didn’t necessarily always happen when he was 23 and in the Navy! He was blown off the ship into the water, left in a coma and declared MIA for 3 weeks until they could identify him. Thankfully, he survived and while I’ll listen to your arguments that there was ever a better grandfather than my Pop, I won’t believe them.

Giving thanks to God today for Pop, and remembering the sacrifice of all those who served at Pearl Harbor and in the years of war to follow.

Anchors Aweigh!

Always by the sea: Jeannie and “Pop,” Ocean House Hotel at Bass Rocks, Gloucester, Mass., July 1998