Being the Change

Mile Marker 6825:

Really November?  It's been 8 years.  How about cutting me a break?

Um, that's a "No."

As in NOvember... No matter how ready I am, November rattles me just by showing up.

I realize it's 2018, not 2010.  But in November, each day reminds me of another one.  BEFORE.  It's like struggling to stay balanced in a jolting time machine.

This is the month when everything changed:  too much, too fast, and too out of control.

Eight years later, there are traces left behind.  I'm distracted.  Anxious.  Frustrated.  Overwhelmed.  Impatient with myself.  It's been 8 years.  Shouldn't I be over this by now?

I wake up angry.  Can't decide what to wear.  Spill my coffee, twice.  Lose my SeptaKey card in the rain.

I keep walking, but I trip on the sidewalk more than usual.  My leg aches.  I re-fit my prosthesis again and again, but it doesn't fix anything.  This pain -- it comes from INSIDE.

It comes from digging in my heels, bracing for the anniversary ahead.

You'd think 8 years would change things, but trauma still sneaks up on me.

Mile Marker 6835:

When the going gets tough, the tough bake cookies.

Remember Angry Cookies way back at Mile 89?   6,000 miles later, cookies are still my go-to.  But at this point, they're not angry.  They're ANGSTY.

Fortunately, I have an angsty (teenage) baking partner this year!

It's become a ritual, kicking off November with a bake-a-thon.  On this year's cookie menu:  Dark Chocolate Chip Coconut, Oatmeal Heath Bar, and Chocolate Chip Nutella.  My feet grow tired from standing so long, but when my hands are busy, my mind stays out of dark places (except for dark chocolate chips!).

Baking keeps me grounded, and it's a process of change too.  At 375 degrees, chaos transforms into something delicious.

Treats for the Trauma Team!

Mile Marker 6848:

It's the eve of November 9.  Finally.

As I drive up Washington Avenue, the sun sinks below the horizon of rowhomes, leaving a trail of clouds scattered across the sky.

Nothing like a South Philly sunset
to settle my nerves.

In the fading light, I take in the golds and greens of Jefferson Square Park, the basketball court where two teens play one-on-one, and the taco truck, parked in the same spot for more than 8 years.

As I walk past the box-shaped houses, I notice unexpected flowers, still in bloom, on their tiny lawns.

Like always, I stop at the corner of 5th Street.  My gaze lands between the two manhole covers, on the scarred stretch of blacktop I consider my own.

You'd think this would rattle me more, but it doesn't.

The air on my face.  The cars, and bikes, and traffic lights.  The sound of trucks and sirens in the distance.  The glow of the sky.

In this place that changed everything, I feel centered.  My pieces come back together.

From the pocket of my jacket, I pull out 8 seashells -- delicate and whole -- one for each year.  I set them down gently in a row under the lamppost.  Another ritual to mark another November.

Like always, I wonder who will find them,
and if they will remember.

When I straighten up, something else on the lamppost catches my eye.  A white flyer set against an unlikely backdrop -- a mural of the Ben Franklin Bridge.  Election Day has passed, but someone has scrawled a message across the bottom of the flyer.

Do you see it?

This street corner is from my life BEFORE, but that bridge is from my life AFTER.  If I'm searching for a sign of remembrance, some link, some signal to help me move forward, I think I've found it:

BE THE CHANGE.

I can do that.

I take a deep breath.  Change direction.  Put the sunset behind me.

And take my first steps toward Year 8.


For more about the long-term effects of trauma and trauma-based anxiety, check out this article.  Thanks to my friend Esha for sharing it.  It really hit home this week!