My Cure For Twitchy

I have always been twitchy to write. I've had the writing bug as long as I can remember. Journals chronicling my high school angst, college heartbreaks, and should-have-known-better moments are in boxes I've carried from move to move for the last 25 years. They are a connection to different parts of me and are among my prized possessions.

Whenever I get that nostalgic feeling, I go back to check-in with my memory. I usually find myself transported to the past with ease. Although I sometimes surprise myself with reading moments I have long forgotten, I am grateful for each and every event I made the conscience effort to capture. The good. The less-than-stellar. The now-comical. The tragic. Every episode helped get me to the here and now. While your memory is one thing, being able to read, in detail, what you were thinking and feeling in the past is a gift.

Here's the thing...I'm at a point where I don't shy away or grimace at myself when reading my teenage loneliness, my 20-something escapades, or all my 30-something what-the-hell-was-I-thinkings. Because I view them more as a rite of passage; an education, rather than chronicles of regret. My 40-somethings is a great place to be; knowing myself well enough to cut myself some slack, finding the value in not taking myself too seriously, and realizing my future is all about continued learning. These are products of the work that came from all those moments...and their value is priceless. Plus let's get real for a minute...if you haven't figured out by now that we are all carrying a set of demons and need to be kinder to one another (and ourselves), then you're either a narcissist who is afraid of letting others get too close to you to see the real you, or you've been living a sheltered life. Either way, I hope you learn to fully open yourself up to the world to experience everything you can with this one shot you've been given.

But man, oh man; lately I've been extra twitchy. Unsettled. Full of hostility towards the writer's block, ok...emotional block, that had its vice-like grip on my creativity. When I ended my last blog, Sunday Boyfriend, nearly two years ago (I had to end it under less-than-desirable circumstances), I had to set aside the freedom-voice I had for three years without another outlet to replace it. I missed, craved, obsessed finding a new way to express that which had been calling me for so long. So what did I do? Did I jump into what I wanted to do? Did I get started on a replacement project? No. I succumbed to the very easy slippery-slope of busy modern life to keep me occupied, distracted; to keep me from the things that would feed my soul. I chose being busy over doing what I needed to do and it manifested as "twitchy."

Don't get me wrong...I wrote here and there, but not with the same gusto or necessary dedication one needs to put thought to paper (or screens). This is hard for a type-A personality to admit, but it was scud work. Honestly it was. And I knew it. Every night I went to bed and I would think, "Damnit! I didn't write anything I wanted to today. What the hell, Katie?" Frustrating doesn't even begin to cover how this feeling germinates. But throw in a dash of self-doubt on top, and it was easy to find something, anything else to keep my mind off of it. Twitchy. Twitchy. Twitchy.

And then something happened to cause a shift. More than just another moment to capture in the journals; way more than that. It was a life shift that made me see I was more than just frustrated with my inability to write.

Here goes the first part...

Last August I heard the phrase, "We need to rule out cancer." Twice in the matter of two weeks. Yep. Twice. I was cut. Sculpted. Poked. Chipped. Squeezed. Twisted. Huddled over. Bruised and bandaged. All in the name of ruling out that six-letter word. But that wasn't the part that was scary. The scary part was all the noise that hit me after hearing that little word: cancer.

So.
Much.
Noise.

Now I don't mean the deafening kind of noise...like finding yourself in front of 25-foot tall speakers at the exact moment an *NSYNC concert sound check starts. What? That hasn't happened to you? Well, that moment is in my journals...and I will tell you about it later. Just know I was lifted off the ground and heard ringing for weeks. No, the noise I'm talking about is the mad-crazy rush of internal noise that floods your head with so many questions, you quickly learn what it means to drown in thought: 

"What the hell did you just say?"
"No, I heard you, but what the hell did you just say?"
"Cancer?"
"Don't you know I have two kiddos I need to shepherd?"
"Two boys that are so little and have so much ahead of them that I want to see and share?"
"I am only 42 fucking years-old. I eat healthy, work out, and have lived my life (for the most part) by the book...this has to be a joke, right?"
"What if I never get to see everything I want to see?"
"What if I never get to do everything I want to do?"
"What if I never get the chance to do right by my mistakes?"
"Have I jumped into the meaning of living my life?"
"Have I said everything I need to say?"
"What if I don't get the chance to truly live the way I want?"
"Why did I make all those wrong choices?"
"What do I have to do to make this not real?"
"I have too much to do."
"I don't have time for this cancer bullshit..."

Noise.
Fear.
Noise.
Anxiety.
Noise.
Anger.
Noise.
Denial.
Noise.
Bargaining.
Noise.
Noise.
Too.
Much.
Fucking.
Noise.

Here's part two...

While I was swimming in questions, in noise, my significant other broke down. I'll admit he can do many things well, but he has a history of running away from conflict; from the hard stuff, and leaving me to pick up the pieces and figure things out. To be brutally honest, I wasn't surprised he crumbled under the weight of this scary stuff. I used to find myself waiting for his disappearing act at moments of stress. But this time was different. This time I shifted my energy away from waiting for his shoe to drop; away from what he would do. Instead, I took matters into my own hands to focus on taking care of me. When he finally "showed up," I didn't respond with my familiar, grateful tone. No. This time I broke our dysfunctional pattern and frankly, couldn't care less. I rediscovered my confidence and discovered I was strong enough to take of myself....thankyouverymuch. His issues didn't factor into my care giving. I don't mean for this to sound harsh. I'm just being factual. I shifted.

Now let me share a tidbit...this isn't my first time on the cancer-stress rodeo. Twenty-two years earlier I was strapped on the cancer ride with my father's diagnosis and death from prostate cancer. And I can tell you that when you go through an illness once, no matter what side of the illness you are on, the experience never leaves you. It imprints a permanent mark on your perspective. So when the noise hits you, no matter who you are or what situation you are facing, every little thing you had on your plate suddenly doesn't matter. It was true 22 years ago, and today. By the little things I mean:

You were late to a meeting.
The dry cleaners ruined your favorite dress.
Your boss just read you the riot act.
Your dog thought your Jimmy Choos were a chew toy (Although if you love shoes like I do, this is a borderline big deal.)
Your Sunday Boyfriend keeps rescheduling your date.
Your smart phone calendar suddenly disappears.
The restaurant got your order wrong.
It's raining for your planned picnic.
The police officer didn't accept your donut peace offering. (This really happened and is another story for another post.)
Your grocery bag fell apart two steps from your front door.

Yep. All these things, while inconvenient, are little. So when the big stuff and its noise come barreling through your world, all that little stuff, all those inconveniences, vanish. The big stuff overwhelmingly takes over the little stuff and says, "None of you are more important that I am." We tell ourselves all sorts of things to cope with the everyday little stuff when it's really just a mechanism to justify our lack of attention to the big stuff. We let the everyday little stuff rule our lives. Does any of this sound familiar?

"I'm too busy."
"I have too much work to do."
"I have so many emails, voice mails, and texts that I don't have time to deal with anything else."
"There will be time for the big stuff later."
"I was only going to search Instagram for five minutes...I swear!" (We are all guilty of this one!)
"I'm sure the big stuff will happen around the little stuff."
"I'll get to it eventually."

I bet it does.

When you hear that noise, that six-letter word, all bets are off. It doesn't matter who you are; your plate is eventually wiped clean to make room for all the big stuff:

"Am I living the life I want?"
"Am I happy?"
"Why was I so afraid to do the things I always wanted to; to say all the things I wanted to say; to be me?"
"Will I be able to make any of this right?"

Picking up the pieces and figuring out how I would manage all the procedures, let alone all the noise, by myself, was surprisingly cathartic. Seriously, it was. Because I shifted my thinking from, "Why isn't my significant other stepping up to help?" to "I need to focus on what's best for me and my boys." When my plate was holding just the big stuff, it became simple and clear that I needed all my energy to tackle what was head of me.

That's because the big stuff consequences are really cut and dry. You either make the most of it, or you don't. You either jump in and take ownership of your life, or you don't. You realize everything you do (or don't do) starts with making a choice, or you continue to flood your life with the little things. Consequently, my shift made clear my significant other's reasons for not stepping up and helping didn't matter. They were his reasons. Reasons I couldn't control. Reasons that were telling. Reasons, in comparison, that were little. Reasons that would have gotten in the way of me moving forward with the necessary things I needed to face.

And when this shift happened, instead of noise, I became still. I can't explain it any better than that. Once I let go and jumped into the scary big stuff, the answers became crystal clear. By no means am I saying the answers were great. But the answers brought me to a complete understanding of what I needed to do. And it turns out that jump wasn't as scary as I led myself to believe.

By listening more to my stillness, I created a new life goal. I now want to live, everyday, with more joy, creativity, and purpose. To get started on this new path, I forgave my significant other for not being the person I needed and I forgave myself for not being strong enough to do what I need to do for me in the past. A shift. I needed to let go of all the resentment and disappointment I felt during all the times my significant other disappeared, and all the times I didn't speak up, because it had no place in my new life goal. There is no joy when you hold on to anger. There is no creativity when you hold on to fear. There is no purpose if you can't jump in and let go.

No one is perfect. No one. And in my stillness, I realized nothing good comes from a place of holding on to so much anger. It might very well be familiar, and easy, to hold on to anger, but understand anger is really fear. And it was this fear that held me back from realizing what I needed to do for myself in order to get to the place I truly wanted to be; to the life I want to be living; to be happy. Luckily for me, after six months of evaluations and testing, I was given the "all clear" from the six-letter word. I realize not everyone is this lucky and I am grateful beyond measure. Grateful because I do get the chance to answer all the big questions that I need to tackle. I do get the chance to realize what those answers will produce. I do get more chances to make it right.

Simply...I used to let all the little stuff noise take over my being because it was too scary to think about the big stuff. But thanks to the threat of this six-letter word, I was thrust into facing the big-stuff and found stillness. I found answers. I found the cure to much more than just my writing twitchiness. "We have to rule out cancer," became the phrase that saved my life. And I know I am on my way because after sharing where I am on this journey with one of my greatest friends, she said to me, "You seem lighter and I'm proud of you." I'm not sure she realizes just how much I treasure her and what her words mean to me. So to her I say, "Thank you. You are one of the strongest women I know and I love you."

Punching Through The Noise is going to honestly chronicle the conversations and situations that come my way to see if they fit with my goal of living a life with more joy, creativity, and purpose. I've already had some shifting moments that I look forward to sharing and am open and excited for the future. For those of you who remember my Sunday Boyfriend blog, you'll be happy to know that most of the guys (I had to cut a few of them loose...which will be covered in future posts), including some surprise reappearances, are still in my world and will undoubtedly be heard from in this new writing endeavor from time to time.

If you miss hearing about any of my SBs, or have no idea what I'm talking about, here is a link to some of the old Sunday Boyfriend posts on Milwaukee Magazine. Please be aware I will be calling the guys something different than Sunday Boyfriends (part of that whole less-than-desirable circumstances). My East Coast SB comically suggested a huge list of new names like: "Man Candy," "Boys on the Slide," and "Tasty Cakes." He's such a salacious, good sport! Stay tuned for what the new name will be...

Since music is such a big influence for me, I've decided to add a soundtrack to each of my posts. Theses are the songs that inhabited my world during the days/weeks of writing a post. You may be able to sense a theme to what I write when you hear the songs. Plus, what other blog has a soundtrack? Let's make history together! Here is the link to listen to the first Punching Through The Noise soundtrack, 6/21/15: My Cure For Twitchy, on Spotify (listening is free, but you'll have to sign up if you don't already have an account) and here are the songs this week:

Do I Look Worried, Tedeschi Trucks Band
I'm Like A Bird, Nelly Furtado
Dreaming, Blondie
The Warrior, Scandal
Extraordinary, Liz Phair
Dig, Incubus

Here's to six-letter words, noise, shifts, "Boys on the Slide," and taking care of yourself. As always, punch through the noise in your world the best you can and make time to enjoy your own soundtracks.