My Health & These Damn Boobs | chapter II

~ Courage is being scared to death... and saddling up anyway ~

-John Wayne-

The moment that I cut and pasted the link for my first chapter of this adventure into Facebook, I gave myself an anxiety attack. Fear is like that I suppose.. or maybe its that I am experimenting with vulnerability for the first time in my life. Or maybe it was the worry that my words wouldn't be taken the way I intend. That instead of seeing this public sharing of my story for what it is; a way to share this story, in whole and in complete honesty, with the hopes that someone else going through a similar experience can know more about what they can expect, but also to know that they are not alone. I also wanted a way to share what I am going through with my friends and family without having to repeat myself in a thousand single conversations. I was afraid, almost paralyzed, that it would instead be seen as some sort of attention seeking act.

Fear like this is nothing I am a stranger to. In fact, fear is very much a part of my life. I am kind of a chicken shit when it comes to a lot of things (the dark, heights, tight spaces, flying etc). It is almost a game to see how well I can push through the fears, mostly because my main fear, fear of missing out on things, usually overrules whatever other fear is coming up in that moment. That is exactly the reality I am living in this present moment, right now, 12 hours from surgery. No matter how deep the fear, if I am not proactive now, I will miss out in the future. So just like the fear I had standing on the rim of the Grand Canyon, almost exactly a year ago, I will move through this all one step at a time.

In the days since posting my first chapter I have gone through an intense rollercoaster of emotions. Forcing myself to really go beyond my comfort zone to let people in. And maybe more importantly, going beyond my comfort zone to reach out for help. I was very lucky to have a student/friend that has gone through an elective hysterectomy and bilateral mastectomy after testing positive for all the BRCA mutations. It was in a moment of complete and total overwhelm that I reached out and asked her to lunch. Leading up to this lunch (confession) I have torturing myself by reading countless threads in support chat rooms for women going through this procedure as a result of cancer, or BRCA. Every night for days, when everyone in the house was asleep, under the cover of darkness, I would read all these women's stories. Story after story of how incredibly horrible the pain of the surgery is, how crippling the expanders are, the body identity issues, problems with surgery and on and on. Effectively making me neurotic and riddled with anxiety. 

The day that we met for lunch was a beautiful fall afternoon in Boulder and my friends sunny perspective and support matched the backdrop. During our two hour lunch on the patio, she shared her story with a smile. There was no talk - other than my rapid fire questions - about pain or the agony of it all. Instead, she shared all the wonderful things about making the decision to be a 'previvor' instead of hoping to one day be a survivor. When I would ask about pain she would respond by saying things like "its surgery, you've had surgery before, you know how it goes" or "I don't remember pain, it was uncomfortable, sure - but not painful". Following up with "I am so glad you are doing this to take care of your health" and "you will be fine". But finally it really was her telling me that after having a mother and sister that had cancer, she had spent her life thinking about when it would be her time, her turn. That since the surgery she no longer thinks about cancer or her body turning on her with no warning. Fear was no longer a fixture in her mind.

Shit was profound! It was like my mind did a solid 180 from that conversation. It was such a different take and perspective, someone that was sharing with a smiling and didn't regret her decision one bit. Even with that foundation shift it didn't fully sink in until my pre-op appointment with a very robotic nurse (zero bedside manner) who chose to hound me about my choice to move forward with surgery and shrug off my questions and concerns. My mom finally interrupted her weirdness to tell her that I have been dealing with these masses and biopsies and surgeries for 18 years. Wait...18 years. 18 years of every lump, bump, weird sensation being a reason to worry. A cause for more debt and bills. 18 years of wondering if this was the time it all changes. I got it, in that moment, the essence of what my friend was trying to tell me about her experience. That this choice of pro-activeness is far more than the preservation of the physical body, it is a great step towards the cultivating of mental health & wellbeing. 

While I am still experiencing fear about this whole thing and what my new normal will be. I am really excited about the thought of no more biopsies or mammograms. I stopped reading the chat rooms, in part because of my realization after my visit with my friend, but also because I started to really think about how we, as human creatures, process unfamiliar things. Usually its as pain. And maybe, by posting these blogs, by being really honest about what this whole process will be for me, that maybe it will empower others going through it to reach out as well to take care of their mental health the same way they are taking care of their physical health. I hope that someone reads these words and lets go of some of the stigma of not having any reproductive organs or their (original) breasts and talks about this all. The highs, the lows, the good, the bad... the horrible and the wonderful. I have done my best to not let my very, overly active, creative imagination run amuck. I stopped worrying about what bra I was going to need for after, if people will show up (working on my trust issues) to help me, if there will be pain, if I can handle this... and on and on - see... overly active. Instead I am trying to find my faith and move through my fear, because I know in my heart the land of thriving is on the other side of fear.

So tonight I say thanks to my girls for all the times they have enriched my life! For all the times I didn't need a fake id as a teenager and all the tickets I should have been written, I say cheers to you boobies! And for all the times I have been poked and prodded, cut and biopsied, and subjected to the mental warfare of waiting and uncertainty, I say peace out titties! You're no longer welcome here, you are being replaced and upgraded. Ok, I am ready, lets get this show on the road. 

My Health & These Damn Boobs | chapter I

~ In a world where death is the hunter, my friend, there is no time for regrets or doubts. There is only time for decisions" ~ 

-Carlos Castaneda-

Before I really get into why I am writing this post, I want to remind you - my lovely reader - why it is that I started my little verbal outlet. I named this blog Just Faking It because we are all faking it. None of us know what the hell we are doing. None of us know what kind of curve ball life is just waiting to lob at us when we are distracted and paying attention to something else. There is no manual on how to adult. We simply don't know when, or how, our lives will evolve or change. Like it or not, we are all just along for the ride and really don't have control over a whole hell of a lot in this life, save for how we react to it. It is in the reaction, we have a choice. Buckle up kids.. this is going to be a long one.

My health has always been one of my biggest practices in patience, impermanence and non-attachment. I have, throughout my life, been dealt confusing hands when it comes to my overall health and well being. In my mind, I like to think I have handled it all pretty well; in truth - and in clear reflection - I have not coped with anything, I have tucked it all away in my mind palace. Hoarding my emotions, not talking about my experiences, making a choice to just keep on moving forward. One foot in front of the other. But this time is different. I am older, wiser <insert laughter> and generally more open to evolving and growing into the healthiest strongest person I can be. In that vain, I am sharing my current chapter.

A brief back story... My body likes to make tumors. So far, I have been very lucky in that none of them have come back as malignant. The first masses were removed when I was 18, one week before my 19th birthday. Back then I was told the masses were pre-cancerous and needed to be removed to make sure they didn't grow into something nefarious. Turns out, science later proved that the type of mass will not turn into cancer, but the lumps were already gone and the scars on each breast already healed. My 20's and 30's have been marked by the standard ups and down but also peppered with, "we need to biopsy this mass"and then seasoned with "this mass needs to be removed". I honestly could not tell you the exact number of biopsies I have had performed on my breasts up to this point, but I know it is more than 15.

After moving back to Colorado in 2013 I got very sick. The doctors were confused (as they often are with me and my health) and at first thought it was chronic altitude sickness, that my body wasn't making enough red blood cells to adapt back to the Colorado altitude. After 6 months of fainting and imaging they discovered an orange sized mass in my uterus and one on an ovary. The gave me a choice on how to deal with what they had found... scary ass drugs with side effects that would shock you or a hysterectomy. I chose the hysterectomy. Around this time my medical mantra became "solutions not treatment of symptoms". The surgery and healing was about what I expected. However, the mental healing is still an on-going project. I learned a very valuable lesson through this, I suck at reaching out and asking for help. I also learned that most woman that go through similar issues never, ever, talk about it. We endure, one foot in front of the other.

So when this new round of nonsense started I fell back into my old patterns. Remember... we are all just faking it and sometimes life is a practice.

At the end of May I went in for a yearly physical. I had blown off my regular screening last year because I was enjoying life and figured I was fine. I felt fine. Hell,  I had backpacked from one rim of the Grand Canyon to the other. It had been two years since I had been screened. During the physical my GP asked me if I had anything I was concerned about, so I casually mentioned the lump I had been feeling in my right breast for a few months. I knew the drill, mammogram and then ultrasound. Always the same. I got scheduled for the following week for the mammo. That was June 6th. I went in and chatted up the nurses and radiologists, honestly not taking much seriously at this point. It wasn't until the 4th time I was called back into the mammo screening room (during this first appointment) that I felt like something might be up. That something might be different this time.They sent me over to the ultrasound room because they needed to do that now too. Immediately. Again, not surprised but my intuition was definitely working overtime.

The nurse got me set and the Radiologist came in. She did the screening, grabbed a chair, rolled to me and grabbed my hand. "Jen, this doesn't look good and you should prepare yourself". Well, shit. Then, "are you available tomorrow at 1pm for a biopsy". I was, and got scheduled. After that first biopsy of this round, the Doctor decided I also needed an MRI to get some very clear imaging while we waited for the biopsy results to come back. The MRI was done Friday (of the same week). Again, totally 'routine' feeling. Went and had the images taken and went back to work. I received a call 5 hours after informing me that they found 5 more masses. 6 total now, 3 in each breast. I guess anything worth doing.. am I right?? <-- humor...

Through the following weeks I went through a total of 8 biopsies, 3 MRI's and honestly lost count of all the imaging. The results came back either a type of fibroid or as a complex sclerosing lesion. But no cancer. I am sure you can guess the mental toll this is all taking. I limited the people that knew about what was going on, looping in a few friends, my parents & my partner. It was just too hard to talk about, yet it was all consuming. From the 6th to the 26th my boobs took a beating. They looked like they had lost a knife fight.

After I finally got through all the 'diagnostic' I was set up to meet with the Breast Surgeon. He is the same one that operated on me in 2015 when the last lumps were removed. He is wonderful, and we had a very long appointment talking about my situation and options. In the appointment he told me that he didn't know how I found the mass that started this whole adventure because of the density of my tissue. He shared that with my health history to date that he had no idea what the 'right' plan would be and asked my permission to have my case presented to the breast cancer board at the hospital where everything would be discussed, and they would come up with treatment plans. I both felt relieved and really, really worried. The doctors on the panel, many of whom had seen me during June diagnostics, came back with a recommendation for me to test for BRCA mutations and schedule to remove the two most concerning masses. One of which they were pretty sure was a complex sclerosing lesion, and while it is not cancerous, it can hide cancer cells. The other they were not sure what it was. Then regroup and make a new plan when the pathology comes back.

Now we are into July. I had surgery to remove the two masses. Immediately following the surgery the Doc went out and spoke to my partner to let him know how things went. He shared that he had to cut through many cysts and fibroids to even get to the stuff he was trying to take out. Once he got in there he wanted to help me by cleaning it up but couldn't because of how much he would have to take out to make it "clean" in there.

It took a week to get results. I physically heal quickly, I don't use chemical pain medication and swear by cannabis for pain and inflammation. My body rebounded. My mind.. not so much. Waiting a week is bad, bad, bad stuff for a creative mind. The results came back that they were both complex sclerosing lesions and no cancer found. Relieved and so frustrated. At the advice of the board - whom I refer to as the meeting of the 'ologists' - I went and had the BRCA test done. My results were negative. Relieved but frustrated. I just want answers, a plan and some peace when it comes to my health. I wanted, needed, something to do battle against. Not the ghost I was fighting. 

The board met again to review my case now that we had all the testing, imaging, biopsying, pathology (etc.) reports. At the beginning of August I got the phone call from the care coordinator that they had met and came up with my choices and a statement. The statement: "you are high risk and un-screenable"... the choices: I can have an MRI and mammogram every 6 months from now until the last breath I take or I can move ahead with "additional surgery" that they deem as preventative treatment (medicine).

In that moment I had only one thought, if I have no uterus or ovaries and then have a bilateral mastectomy will I still be a woman? Even typing those words here, now, it makes me cry. Even thinking those words makes me cry. The wonderful care coordinator suggested that I scheduled with the plastic surgeon so I could get all the information I would need to make a choice. 

So I did what everyone does to start their research, I started Googling. Leading up to the appointment I searched every key word I could think of that related to my situation - no BRCA, no Cancer but high risk & un-screenable - as well as the actual surgery. I found stories of people that were sorta the same, or at least had some similarities. But nothing that was the same as me. When I would watch videos about mastectomy and reconstruction they would use the word cancer 20 or 30 times. But that wasn't me. They would talk about BRCA diagnosis or their mother or sister dying. That wasn't me either. While I do have a family history, its not a first degree one. I wanted to be educated enough that when I met with the surgeon I could ask questions to help me in deciding. Problem was, the more I researched the more questions I have and the less I felt sure of what the right choice would be. If there even was a 'right' choice.

After meeting with my rockstar surgeon, both my partner and I felt much more comfortable with what now seemed inevitable.  So I scheduled it. My boobs have been voted off the island. While I am fully aware that nothing in life is a certainty,  I have a profound hope that this will give me my best shot at longevity and health. 

On 10/4 I will be checking into the hospital for the first of two surgeries to remove my breast tissue and then reconstruction them into boobs 2.0. (I thought it was pretty funny that I kept wanting a sign that I was making the right choice and got scheduled on 10/4.. the universe must be saying, yes, right?) Even when I am rolling into the operating room I don't know that I will be 100% that I am making the 'right' decision, but it is the decision that will hopefully provide me with the most peace and the greatest shot at health. The first surgery will be hard, recovery the first 3 months even harder. But nothing good came without a bit of work to earn it.

So if you have made it this far let me bring you into the current, present, moment. I am writing this today because I wanted a way to share with my extended friends and family what has been going on, without having to have the same conversation over and over and over again. I am writing this so it is Google-able, so that others going through this might have a shot of finding it and knowing that they are not alone, that just because it isn't cancer doesn't make it awesome, or easy, or any less scary when your body turns on you. That you can be really pissed off about your situation and that it is ok. I am writing this because while I am healing I am going to need a whole lot of help.

For the first 2 weeks I will not be able to use my arms at all until the drains are removed. I will be needing help with literally everything. From weeks 2 until 6-8 I will have t-rex arms to do a small amount of things but not cooking or anything that requires use of the upper body. Driving will be out for 4 to 6 weeks. Maybe longer. My partner and parents will be taking on a lot and I am putting it out there here and now that I am accepting any help offered. Whether sitting with me and binge watching something (also taking advice on things to occupy my eyes), going for walks once I can be up and moving around, help driving me, grocery store runs, meals, walking Jax... pretty much, you name it and I will need a spotter. My Mom is organizing Meal Train to help too. This asking for help thing is probably one of the hardest parts of this whole shit show adventure I am finding myself on. But, its all a practice right..? And, we are all just faking it anyway.

I plan on blogging my way through this and have the hope that someone out there will find it and it will help them. If you are reading this and you want to talk or ask me questions please feel free to reach out. No matter how many years after this is published.

There is a lot of good to be found while going through this experience. I am very, very, very - I really can't say it enough - very lucky and grateful for the amazing nurses, doctors, schedulers, care coordinators, friends, family, employer and random strangers that have been such a support through all this. They are all amazing and without their support (and humor) I am sure I would be much more of a mess.

So here I am, a few weeks out from a year of upheaval and change, and some really hard-core faking it... here we go...

Ahimsa & The Practice of Not Being a Dick

"Feel the feeling but don't become the emotion. Witness it. Allow it. Release it." - unknown

For those of you not in the 'know', Ahimsa is one of the Yamas & Niyamas. The ethical practices of the science of Yoga. In the most basic terms, the practice of Ahimsa is the practice of non-violence. Now some peoples perspective of this practice translates on the big scale - not eating meat, no leather, pacifism to the extreme; while others, including myself, view this practice on the small scale - that this practice starts and is mostly about how we communicate and interact with ourselves. This whole concept/theory/philosophy is the foundation and base for the other Yamas & Niyamas - this is the stance of right relationship with others and with yourself. It is a relationship that is neither self sacrifice or self abuse. Basically, don't be a dick to yourself or anyone else.

It is one of my favorite things to introduce when I teach yoga classes because it is possibly one of my biggest practices (challenges, flaws, issues - pick a descriptive word). I am absurdly, shockingly, hard on myself. Probably borderline abusive in some situations. Each time I teach this ethical practice, it is a reminder to stop being such a dick to myself. I had one teacher tell me that this all starts with the ability to not say destructive things to ourselves. In any context. Because, after all, our bodies will always follow our minds. We store our garbage in our bodies and eventually it effects our perspective on life and on ourselves. So each time that we look at ourselves in any form of reflection and immediately pass judgement on our hair, makeup, face, arms, nose, legs, waist, etc., etc., etc., we are committing acts of violence. When we think of these things over and over again we create thought pathways in our brains that then reinforce these views to the point and end that our perspective is so far skewed that it begins to reflect outward onto others. Thus creating violence against others.

I starting thinking about all this again recently after not only my numerous health issues but then with 4 people in my life having major surgery in the last few weeks. Their bodies betraying them through chronic illness and disease. They are all at different levels of awakening, but the one common thread is that we all have spent considerable time and energy committing acts of violence against ourselves. To be clear, I am not saying - at all, even the tiniest bit - that we some how bring these things on us. More that, like it or not, our habits, thoughts, behaviors and actions all have an effect on this meat suit we were each assigned at the beginning of this life.

As I descend further down the rabbit hole pondering all this, I realize that one theme for me is that I really have never grieved for anything or anyone. Truthfully,  I don't know what it means to actually grieve. When the shit goes down I have always powered through. Head down, shoulder into the wind, one foot in front of the other. I can't help but wonder if all the things that I internalized and never dealt with lead to the numerous lumps and growths that have been removed from my body. The physical incarnation of every time I pushed my feelings, wants, needs, to the deepest part of myself. That through this compartmentalizing of my emotions and feelings I am causing violence against myself, simply not allowing myself to move through and past these life bumps in the road.

So I have been working on paying attention to my thoughts, and what happens to them throughout the day. Observing and realizing... I am a huge dick to myself. It was a bit shocking how often I hold myself to  standards that are completely unrealistic and then when I fail to meet those completely unrealistic standards I am even worse to myself. And round and round the violence goes. Hello, my name is Jen and I am an emotional cutter.

Then I started to really listen to my friends and the words that they choose when they speak about themselves, their relationships, their trials and tribulations and noticed all the same behavior patterns. Why are we such dicks to ourselves? I guess you could argue that woman are wired to be caregivers and so its harder to put yourself first when other people are counting on you. But can't we be good caregivers and still prioritize our own mental (and physical) well being as the most important?

I started writing this post months ago, in the fall, as a large chapter of my life was coming to an end while dealing with my own health issues. Now on the other side of those things, and my divorce, I am finally able to say that I have worked to grieve and be able to put the past where it belongs. Behind me. Through this work, the emotional cutting has taken on a new incarnation, while I am much kinder about the physical aspects of my being, the emotional side is still a great work in progress. During a conversation this very morning I blurted out "I don't think I know how to just accept being happy. To accept that it is OK to be happy because the bottom always falls out". To be honest here, I was a bit shocked to hear those words come out. So overthinking, as I have a junkie like habit of doing, I realized I was totally right. And completely fucking terrified.

When I think about the practice of Ahimsa I have never contextualized it to be tied to happiness, at least directly. Talk about sabotaging a persons ability to be healthy, never give yourself permission to be happy. So how do we change that? Fuck if I know. For now, I am just going to keep asking the people around me to call me out when they see me going down that dark hole. I am going to keep teaching about these ethical practices, to remind me and those around me of our potential to be happy. I will keep working to be conscious of my thought patterns and how often I make up stories in my mind that ultimately act like a giant wall, blocking me from the happiness on the other side.

The reality is, I am happy, I am content. Sure everything always has the potential to be better, and we should always - every damn day - make an effort to have today be better than yesterday. A practice to accept and welcome true happiness and health into my life, not tomorrow, today, in this moment, in this breath... in this second. That is my practice of Ahimsa, what will yours be?

Unfu*kwithable (n)

About 6 months ago a read a wonderful blog post where the author was describing major changes in her life and how she "butchered" her life and found her authenticity. Like a lot of the bloggers that I follow, it was if the words reverberated through my cells - marinating in my grey matter. I mean, why wouldn't it? I was right in the eye of the storm - the middle of the butcher shop - when I read it.

Through the last two years I have found myself frequently challenged by life while also being immersed in gratitude and hope. A duality that is challenging and often maddening. Learning to balance and just simply be in all my emotions. That it is ok to be incredibly sad about some things and incredibly happy about others. A hard core, in-your-face, crash course in vulnerability and being totally present. Forcing me to reach out when I feel like the world is imploding on me and I can't help but hold my breath for fear of drowning. No matter how horribly uncomfortable it was to reach out.

So today I write this post to put out to the ether, to all those doing their best to hold their broken pieces together, that you are not alone. That I, am not alone. I write this because for the last few days I have spent a large amount of time trying to determine what it is that I, just me, want out of this gift of life. Not just in my personal life but professional life and in my relationship with myself. I find that when you do fall back onto your faith, and you are present enough to see it - the universe (God, whatever) will give you signs. Little things to help you on your way and to let you know you are on the right path.

The first sign was this:

And damn it if this isn't the truth. Fear... the root cause of my ability to be fucked with. It is in fear that we forget the blessings and gratitude. It is in fear that we surrender our own power and grace and drop to our knees allowing life to just happen to us. Fear cages our own strength. Worse of all, "fear causes hesitation and hesitation causes your worst fears to come true" (Bodhi Point Break). I realized through a conversation with an amazing human, that fear has infected me like a disease. Holding me in a pattern of being that not only does not serve me or those in my circle of trust, but that dirty bitch fear has also caused me to forget that I am a powerful goddess that has the energy, strength and fire to do whatever I damn well please in this life. 

The second sign was this: 

This is my goal ^. I have been to the land of unfuckwithableness (c) a long, long time ago... it is a magical place and I feel like I am finding my way back there the more I am willing to accept that I am perfect in all my imperfection. This sign came to me at a moment of questioning how I will know when I am healed from the trauma, stress and sadness of the last few years (this year in particular). I actually laughed out loud when I read it. Because not only is it awesome (you know it is) - but it is also about as yoga as a person can get. Boom! This sign, this stupid internet meme, brought me back to my mat after months away. An immediate light bulb that illuminated my way back to my practice. 

The last sign:

This came to me today... it was in a blog post on Elephant Journal by a woman named Caitlin Oriel titled 103 Words of the Best Advice Ever. So being the sarcastic, doubting, shit that I can be - I thought "well hell, I have to read this..." All I can say, mind blown! She spoke to her own changes and challenges and the darkness she found herself in and the remembering of her awesome grandmother and a poem she used to recite even into the dark years of Alzheimer disease. 

This poem:

Invictus

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

~ William Ernest Henley

I admit. I cried. It actually made me cry. In public, cried. It hit me so deeply to remind me that I am in charge of my own destiny and have only myself to hold responsible if I don't like my surroundings and adventures. 

So I hereby add to my blog vows, to not only act with and in the same love that my beautiful dog Mia embraced every day- but also now to remember that I am the captain of my soul and the master of my fate. That as a goddess with power and fire burning in my soul, that I am truly unfuckwithable. But only when I remember that as the waves crash over me (as they will in this life adventure), that I must remember,  as long as I meet that water with water - to truly be the water and not the rock - that I will be amazing. That I will rise up again as I shed the weight of fear. 

I am unfuckwithable. 

Will you travel with me so that we might make love to the world?

I want to travel the world.

I have wanted to travel the world for as long as I can possibly remember. When I was a child, I kept a globe next to my bed. I remember spinning the globe as fast as I could and then dragging my finger against the slight raises to the surface of each countries landscape until it came to rest on some foreign location. I would fantasize about what it would be like to visit these places. How it would smell, taste and feel. When I would read about these places I would vanish to them, imagining going there and the incredible adventures that I would have. I could see it, in my minds eye.. I knew that in this life I had to travel... I had to find adventure and unexpectedness on this amazingly sexy and seductive planet.

There is no doubt in my mind that gypsy blood pumps through my veins, I guess I have always know that it was there, lurking just below the surface. At times buried deeply so as to not distract me from what a thought I ‘should’ be doing at any given time. Endlessly telling myself that you need money, the right circumstances, extra luck…whatever… before I could even begin to think about indulging my inner gypsy.

My gypsy blood whispers to me in those sweet silent, still, moments right before sleep wins, and in the twilight of the morning as the sleep fades from my mind. It whispers when I am most vulnerable. It calls to me to remind me that it is there in the most true and authentic parts of my heart and soul, in the cells of my being. It is as if the Kundalini energy that flows and pumps through my spine is infected with wanderlust, and the deeper I listen, the more I connect, the more awakened to it I become.  I know now that I need to find out its power over me – I must embrace it – I must dance with this beautiful devil in the pale moonlight.

I am surrendering to my wanderlust. But even deeper than that, as I have tuned into my wanderlust infection, I have surrendered to the reality that along with that is the longing that I must share this passion and adventure with another soul; a soul that wants to run wild with me across this planet with abandon from any inhibitions that might hold us back.

I have traveled and adventured (to some minor extent) with many beautiful souls so far this lifetime, but not with a twin soul. For I believe, without a doubt, that wanderlust is best experienced with another soul that holds a similar fire within. A burning that will force both souls to really reach beyond the comfort of the known into the deeply intense unknown.

When two fires meet, an inferno, a firestorm is created. It is all engulfing. When this happens, we come alive with so much energy everything changes. All the senses are heightened and become bionically hyper aware. When like souls find each other, time ceases to have relevance. Everyone and everything else, simply falls away. Where every touch is, well… its just simply electric.

That is the soul I want to make love to the world with. I want to taste the sunrise against our lips after a long night of fun, I want to feel the sunset drift away from our warm skin after a long and lazy day of exploring. I want to slip my tired body into the waters of the world with you after we have hiked to places only seen by few.

I want to sit in the fire with my twin soul as we eat scary foreign food gallivanting all over this big green and blue rock.  I long to lie in a field at the top of a mountain under the light of the moon and stars, nuzzled blissfully. I want to make love to the world in all that we will see and do together.

When like recognizes like, it brings out the very best that each soul has to offer in the most organic way. The fire burns away everything that just simply doesn’t matter and helps to allow us to be our most authentic selves and open to it all – the good, the bad, the ugly and the just plane messy and yet, to be at complete ease, together.  

What I used to see as reasons to keep me from travel seem now to be wildly insignificant and easily overcame. What used to seem unattainable now seems right within my reach, just a little bit further to go. I want to make love to this world in such a way that not only do I, we, burn a mark into the sands of time – but that it also leaves its mark on us, forever adding to the awesomeness of this adventure called life. To live so completely that I will eventually slide into my last days of consciousness with a thoroughly used up body and full and blissful heart.

What better way to travel through this life and across this amazing and sexy planet, than with a twin soul? So I ask you… will you travel with me so that we might make love to the world? 

(c) 2015 Jen Marcussen

Mia & Calling Bullshit On Myself

***Warning... Adult Language***

Months back I came up with the idea for this blog and a path/direction for my writing to go. To remind myself and others that there are no rules and that we need to all lighten the fuck up. So I posted a few safe pieces of my writing, stuff good enough that I wanted to share but still not fully digging in deep... just not the right time yet. Need to wait a little longer... I don't want to piss anyone off.

After these last few years there is one thing that I am damn certain about, tomorrow is a myth. We only have today. That thought led to the gut check that I am being a pussy. I have things to say, want and need to say. Things that maybe in some way, at some point, might actually help someone else get through their own life.

My, few, dear readers, I apologize... my bad... I was not honoring my highest truth nor was I honoring my goals to be a writer. Advice I received recently- if you want to be a writer then you have got to write. So from this moment forth, I pinky swear that I will only bring the realness - my realness - dirty and messy and my own flavor of crazy perspective. Take it or leave it. But I hope you at least read it.

In the words of Kurt Cobain "I would rather be hated for who I am, than loved for who I am not"... buckle up kiddies...


Today (October 16th) I say good bye to another furry child. One month ago I said goodbye to Chewee after a long slow decline after 15 years of beautiful companionship. 4 weeks and 6 days later I noticed a lump on Mia, within a few days it had quadrupled in size. Denial is an interesting, fickle, bitch. It allowed me to mentally run away (temporarily) to a happy place where something like this couldn't possibly equal the end for a beast that had survived so much in her 16 years. The vet didn't even need to do anything other than see the lump to tell us this was it. She is in pain, it will not get better and there is nothing we can do.

I ask you... what kind of fucked up universe allows so much pain for a creature that is pure unconditional love? More so than any other creature that I have encountered, she has the ability to just love regardless of what life is doing to her. Her biggest lesson to me, what unconditional love actually means.

I struggle with how to balance the totally out of fucks to give mentality, with the knowledge that I have so much good in my life. That even in that millisecond recognition of all the good I still feel so very dark. Loosing two creatures within 5 weeks of each other, creatures that by all means were the life lines to my soul for a very long time. Has caused me to feel incredibly ungrounded. Grasping for any of the things that have brought me joy and balance. Grasping for things that feel just out of my reach no matter how much I feel I want it. I am not saying that I was not on some levels anticipating the loss of my creatures, and probably in quick succession. Just that as a piece in a larger puzzle, I was ill prepared for the overall impact on my general being.

Feeling so many endings while simultaneously experiencing so many beautiful beginnings has led me to work to be completely present as much as I can. Moment to moment, totally present. And yes, yes I am fucking pissed at a universe too. I need someone to explain to me the logic behind a universe that can cause the amount of pain I saw today to a creature that had nothing but love for everyone and everything. A pure sunshine for to all. Happy every morning, and even happy to the very last breath she drew - she was trying to be happy for us all. How does a person balance all these things, at once?

For those that are in the know, 2015 has pushed me to the edge of my ability to cope. Between the reality that Dan and I love each other but no longer work as a partnership to my parents divorce after 40+ years of marriage, to the loss of my dogs... there are some moments I grasp for the smallest things to help me cope. There are no rule books. I know that. No right or wrong way to cope with these things that happen to us all. But right now, in the thick of it - all i know, through all the bullshit - drama - sadness - hope - happiness - excitement and sorrow... is that gratitude will bring me through. I will remember Mia not only in thoughts, stories and pictures but also in how I will chose to live. To show all that are around me that same happiness and joy. That same gratitude to just be awake for another day. To most certainly wag more, bark less and lick everything - just to make sure I taste every little piece of life.

Mia, you have challenged me to be a better person through everything you ever did. I love you and I know Chewee will be waiting on the other side. Keep true to what you have shown everyone you have ever come in contact with - do no harm, but take no shit. Love you Fats.

Losing Faith in Faith

-Jen Marcussen

Thoroughly stuck at a mid life fork in the road, or as I prefer to think about it, balls deep in a massive, whole life, re-prioritization, it has become clear to me that somewhere I seem to have misplaced my faith.

I didn’t realize it at first. Or second or even third. A near and dear friend brought it to my attention during an intense conversation about the current state of my life and the giant dose of reality I am being force-fed. When I asked her how she maintains her faith through it all, and for the record – this particular amazing woman has been dealt one of the biggest possible shit sandwiches life can cook up. She told me that her faith is what gets her through it all, the knowledge that something is bigger than her. She followed it up with a statement that surprised me; she shared with me that she does not believe in a ‘greater plan’ or the all too common adage ‘everything happens for a reason’. Foundation shaken. 

Every time my life has been put into a blender that is the exact quote I have leaned on more times than I could possibly count. I never even once considered it to not be true or solid ground to stand on. But now that the seed had been planted it lead me to realize that I have, somewhere in the madness of day-to-day life, lost my faith in faith. Granted, I think we all struggle throughout adult life with faith and how to maintain it. But literally up until the moment of this particular conversation I would have told anyone who asked, that I do have faith in the universe. Full honesty here, I do have some ‘faith’ still; faith that no matter what happens I know I have a tribe of amazing humans that will have my back through it all. I have faith that I will always be able to provide for myself in one manner of hustle or another. I have faith that even when life sucks really, really, fucking badly, that eventually the light at the end of the tunnel will prove not to be an oncoming train. 

Where I am realizing I am struggling is big picture faith. Having multiple health scares over the past handful of years, and watching as close family members (of rather young ages) have been diagnosed with horribleness; my faith that there is something above and beyond this life has all but evaporated. This bi-polar turn of events is perplexing to me seeing as for a while, going through 2-200 hour yoga RYT programs, I had developed a system of faith that worked for me. I knew there was something bigger than me out there. I had belief that this physical body is merely the mode of transportation for our souls during this life adventure. The concept of reincarnation and multiple lives resonated deeply with me. The crazy thing is I have no idea when these ideals abandoned me. 

When I reflect on it, I think it was a slow but subtle shift. I slowly have drifted away from my yoga practice, both on and off the mat. Short of taking some deep breaths to keep me from blowing when I am in the midst of an anger flash – I haven’t meditated at all in months. I have slowly drifted away from the things that provide joy to me like reading, writing & dedication to regular lifting/gym time. Hell, I went from devouring books so quickly that I would often be frustrated to find the next great read, to reading one book now for like 8 months. Yup, 8 months, for one sub-par Dan Brown novel.

A crisis of faith is at hand. Overwhelmed is the theme. And lost is the prevailing feeling that no matter what is going on, sits right below the surface. So I sit here and ponder how to get the faith back. When I asked my friend ‘please tell me how to cultivate that faith’ she looked at me with tears in her eyes and said: “I don’t know my friend, that is your path”. I both wanted to hug her and slap her.  I am now questioning everything that I believe to be true. Overwhelmed in the possibly gigantic amount of work that is going to be required to right this shit… I mean ship. 

So my dear reader, I have no solutions. But what I do have is the knowledge that the clear and true first step is to make sure my cup is empty. I am ready to do the dirty work, to acknowledge my monsters so that I can start to make peace. I know that the road back is not paved with a full list of all the things I want to change immediately (read as: I will go to the gym 4-6 days a week, practice yoga in some way every day, meditate every day, write, eat well, cry, let go of my anger and find more kindness for everyone, etc., etc., etc.,), but instead with simple kindnesses to myself. That the more I learn to just basically love myself, or even more simple… like myself… that the rest will probably fall into place. I have faith that the rest will fall into place. 

“To have faith is to trust yourself to the water. When you swim you don’t grab hold of the water, because if you do you will sink and drown. Instead you relax, and float. But the attitude of faith is to let go, and become open to truth, whatever it might turn out to be.”

― Alan Watts

Photos Copyright 2015: Galen Stilgebauer