What Running a Business Has Taught Me About Life (And Why I Think I Do a Good Job)

When I first moved to Georgia, I knew next to nothing about (a) living away from home and (b) running a business. These last 4 years have been a massive learning experience, and life has certainly had its ups and downs of learning along the way.

I'll never forget the first time I went to the grocery store to buy laundry detergent. 

And my incredulation when I learned that laundry detergent cost... $15.00?? 

Needless to say, I had a lot to learn about life. Including do laundry at other people's places whenever they offer you the chance. 

Looking at the future now, I never would have guessed at how things would turn out, and where life would take me. Do we ever, really? I moved to Macon under a single pretense when choosing to start doing birthday party and event entertainment: It wouldn't be a serious thing, and it would bring in an extra $200 every here and there. I never could have imagined where God would take me along this journey and how it would change me. 

Some background on this: My mother runs a party entertainment business in my hometown of Orlando. We do moonwalks, costumes, face paint, balloons, princess parties, clowns, you name it. Ever since I was little, I was that kid that wanted to be a princess - forget having one at my party. I saw my mother going off the do princess parties - she looked so beautiful, her blonde hair whisped up into a bun above her head, dressed in yards and yards of shining, shimmering Cinderella blue. For years and years I waited, until finally (when my braces were off), 14 years old and still awkward, it was my turn to wear the Cinderella gown, to try my hand at face painting - the result of which was messy, sloppy but at least I could get my paint consistency right. It was a start, albeit a messy one. How did I raise my voice? How did I corral kids to play games with me or make them listen? How did I pose for pictures? And why did people keep trusting me to hold their babies? By the time I graduated high school, I had a good 4 years under my belt. I was still learning, but I had a good foundation, and most importantly the courage to try my hand at booking my own parties in what would be my new home. 

I still had a lot to learn. I started an advertisement on an entertainment site (https://www.gigmasters.com/face-painting/lacyball) and went from there, awkwardly responding to requests the summer I moved to Georgia, and trying to learn to buck up the courage to call clients on the phone, learn to talk to them, and convince them that I was the best entertainer to go with. Entertainment can be a highly competitive market. Face painters are a dime a dozen. The key is finding a way to set yourself apart, find a marketable quality about what you have to offer that sets you apart. I had yet to find it, but fall of my first of three years at Wesleyan, I started to book parties, starting at maybe 2 or 3 gigs over the summer, going to sometimes 1 a weekend, then two, and soon I was booking sometimes 2 a day, and 1 on Sunday, or a party on Friday's. 

I learned to travel. It didn't take me long to figure out that a lot of the parties were in Atlanta - not Macon - so I learned to widen my clientele base, even though traveling an hour and a half commute in a Ford F-150 was pretty much a drag. Some people would question the decision to travel as far as I did, but for me this technique worked. I was willing to travel, and also willing to keep my prices more competitively low, setting a threshold for what my income should be per party (no less than $75 after expenses). 

Early on, this technique served me well. It helped me to begin getting my name out there, not only in Macon, but in Columbus, Atlanta and Warner Robins (the surrounding areas). I always made a profit, even if there was a little more hassle. It's how I started to get my foot in the ground. And what's more, it taught me to be more confident about what I did. Mom wasn't there to book parties for me or guide me anymore. It was all me - buy supplies, get directions to parties, call my clients, make invoices, learn to deal with people. 

And a few months in, that's when I learned what my marketable quality was: in the most non-narcissistic way, it was me. The way I originally started to form my business wouldn't necessarily work for everyone or be worth it to everyone, I realize that. But the way I started to learn that I was set apart from others was a combination of many things that made me, me. I would work with clients, be flexible, if clients needed me to stay a little longer and I could, I would, I wouldn't be a stickler about every dollar. Settling for a haggled rate is sometimes better than sitting around on a weekend making no money at all. Paying attention to every child, treating everyone with kindness, being patient with everyone I met. I learned to go to all kinds of places in Georgia, rich or poor, and deal with all kinds of cultures. And perhaps the most important: passion. I always tell people I'm not "just" a girl in a costume. I run a business for profit, but I am passionate about it, too. My heart is so joyful when I bring smiles and laughter to other people's faces. It gives me energy, gives me life, gives me the taste of humanity that I need to feel compassionate and in love with the world around me. I love the children and adults I meet alike. I love the traveling, the excitement, the rush, the feeling of a job well done at the end of the day. I love the causes I sometimes work for, no matter how big or how small. No matter how bad my life might be at the time, going to parties is therapy and always cheers me up. The smiles and laughter you see on my face are genuine, even though I used to be the naturally shy, introverted teenager who couldn't dance with kids or paint more than a flower or two. I have grown, and and I truly have loved it. I remember my first time at an Indian party (and learning that trying Indian food for the first time sometimes does not agree with you). I stumbled through asking children what they wanted painted on their faces in broken spanish (Mariposa? Gato?) and learned about how loyal the Korean community can be if you treat them with respect and give them your honest time. I learned to be honest with people and listen to them. I learned to always keep a commitment - even if I was sick, which I found myself some mornings, I'd pop a Zofran, sit up from the bathroom floor and drag myself to work with a smile on my face. It takes sacrifice. I've foregone plans and social functions, given up sleeping in on the weekends or finding the opportunity to catch up on schoolwork. All without complaint, just one party at a time, treating each event as important as the one before it.

Business isn't about you, and that's the important thing. Yeah - money is great. As I began to pick up the pace of my parties and begin booking several a weekend, the cash flow for a college student was phenomenal. I was able to save money, and soon it was something I didn't even have to worry about. Going out was no problem, and if I wanted to buy something, I could. And it felt good - because I'd done that. And sometimes I'll admit it: I took the money flow too seriously, and that is something I needed to learn, too. Money is just money, and sometimes, I repeat, I emphasize: There are things more important than booking gigs and making money. Your bank account is a mere number. At first and for a long time I forgot that. I had to learn to let it go and not idolize making money. I learned to take my business as a blessing but also remember to realize where my priorities lie. And that's something I'm still learning, but I'm better at it. Taking a weekend off is not the end of the world. Is it still hard to do? Yes, yes it is. Am I still bad at taking off time for me? Absolutely. But remember that that is important too, always. God provides, but don't get carried away. You have to take care of yourself and do things good for your soul too, sometimes.

So in short, tangent aside, again, it's NOT about you. Working a gig is a promise, a spoken and unspoken contract made by me to my client. I WILL provide you with good and honest service. I WILL treat you and ALL of your guests with respect. I WILL stay until the job is done, and I won't be all about the money. I WILL work with you to meet your unique needs. I will leave my personal problems at the door. (And this has been a huge and agonizing learning experience.) I have done gigs after getting in car accidents, after breakups, when it feels like my heart is being ripped apart at the seams. I have done gigs straight-up depressed when it's hard to even force myself out of bed. I have done gigs without a car and had to rely on the good graces of my friends to drive me with only a day's notice, or less. I have done gigs when my blood sugar is making me feel awful, or I've had two hours of sleep the night before. I still suffer through lows, sweaty and shaky, and hardly have a skip in my step as I pop 4 glucose tabs and push through the debilitating weakness. I have done 5 gigs in one day and finished the last party with a smile on my face and spring in my step, regardless of my exhaustion. I will turn around, take my balloon bag out of my already loaded car to re-make a balloon for a child who is crying because they just popped theirs. 

This is life, and this is the human experience. It's worth it, every time.

This November, I came home on a Saturday night and went to the garage to do laundry 2 hours later. My tire was flat and I had a gig 2 hours away in Alabama the next day. Car places are closed on Sunday, and my car apparently had a spare but no jack. Sunday morning I called the only open car place I could find, drove on my flat to the gas station right across the street, filled the tire, stopped two more times along the 20 minute trip to refill my tire, and made it to the car place to change my tire and get to my gig on time with 15 minutes to spare. In the whole span of my event career, the only time I have ever had to cancel an event is when I learned that I had been granted a last-minute opportunity to interview for the Mercer Physical Therapy problem.

I put my clients before myself, and I feel that it makes all the difference, because while yes, I'm in business to make money, I am here for you, and I will give you GREAT service. That is a promise and always will be.

In short, starting my business has been an amazing experience. It was taught me time management. I can't procrastinate on schoolwork - I don't have the opportunity. I have to get most of my work done during the week, because weekends aren't a guarantee. I have learned about all different cultures - Chinese, Korean, Bosnian, Russian, Israeli, Spanish, African American, American, Indian... and learned to love and adore each one. I have done parties in the worst neighborhoods and I have done parties in mansions, all in the same day. I have learned that dealing honestly with people and giving them your true time will build a clientele base with loyalty that will last you years. That word of mouth and good reviews speak miles for you - and to this day, I pride myself on the fact that I have never gotten a single bad review. Business has taught me never to judge, and to think on my toes. I have done parties for thousands of beautiful human beings. Learned how to adjust games to accommodate birthday girls in wheelchairs or a party with several sweet, deaf children, deal with 40 children all pestering me for a balloon at once, to be patient even though I haven't had a chance to eat and I don't get a single break. I have learned the merit of working hard and how good it feels to provide for myself. I have learned to speak to others with confidence, to take charge of a situation and to problem solve sticky situations.

Am I young? Very. But I feel that despite my age, I can carry myself better than people older than me.  I still have a lot to learn, but I am on my way. I can talk on the phone, I can be professional, I can be an extrovert when I need to be and I can hold things together even when everything else in my life is falling apart. I can save money and play it smart, I can be business savvy, and I have learned such beautiful lessons about respect and love for others that my heart swells with pride when I think about what I do, even if it is something as seemingly unimportant as entertainment. 

My parents haven't always been able to help me the most financially, but what I got instead was something infinitely more important, I realize. I learned to take a skill, devote myself to improving continuously, and provide and make do for myself. I realize it doesn't work this way for everyone and I have been incredibly blessed in the opportunities God has granted me. My mother for teaching me, my grandfather for giving me my first car. I couldn't have started without them, and I am thankful that their help has enabled me to go so far.

God had big plans for me when I moved to Georgia - plans I never even realized possible. God has seen me through thick and thin, God has taught me numerous lessons and I am unendingly grateful for it all. For my friendships with families as a result, for my involvement with Central Georgia Autism and their beautiful cause, for my travels to all of the stunningly raw and beautiful places this state has to offer. I have learned incredible love for others and incredible self love, and confidence in what I am capable of, no matter my age, no matter the obstacles.

And it has been one of the best things about my life thus far.

Diabetes? I'm Ok With That.

Nearly 4 years ago, I was a bitter, resentful and terrified 17 year old sitting in a sunny room with both of my parents sitting in the room beside me. The fact that both of my parents were in the same room together merits enough rarity in and of itself to indicate that this situation was one out of the ordinary. An orange and a syringe sat on the table, and a dietitian and an endocrinologist in the chairs across from us. "Will it be harder?" I asked the two of them. "To live life?"
All I could think about then was my dreams, the things I could achieve, my life going right out the window. Frustrated, I couldn't imagine life, difficult and busy as it was now, having to get compressed even more together to make room for an unwelcome autoimmune disease. These words I write about here often, and forever echo in my head:
"Diabetes will never stop you or limit you. Will it makes things harder? Yes. But you can still do anything."

And time dictates clarity. In truth, they lied. Diabetes does limit me. But you have to see that everyone in life does have some limits. We can't do everything we want to, all the time. We have commitments, school, job. And when I look at Diabetes in that respect - as something I have to balance with the rest of my life - well, suddenly the outlook is a lot better than if I see it as impending doom constantly hovering over me. It doesn't have to be a sentence. Is it something I have to carefully manage, day in and day out, the the same as I do for finances or eating healthy or planning study time? Yes. All day, every day, and sometimes, like some commitments, it has to take the forefront when I don't want it to. There are some things I can't do. I can't join the army, or fly a commercial plane or bus.
But that's alright, because I still maintain this: Diabetes may be a part of me, but it will never or stop or limit me. I have to work with it, and when I work with it because it is a part of me, my goals can work with it, too.

And from that respect, limited as it may seem at times, I can do anything. I am doing anything. I am living in a city greater than I ever imagined, with endless opportunities and fulfilling my dream of training for a profession, not just a job.

When I return to Atlanta after a trip away, especially at night, I gaze at the city lights with a quiet sense of pride, of belonging. I reflect on my future with excitement, not fear. I love the present now just as much as the fond memories of the past or the longing for my future.

Just 6 short months ago, I left my life behind in Macon to live in Atlanta. I still can't believe it's been so long. I feel that I belong here now. Life is hectic amidst an 8-5 schedule of classes, constant studying to stay afloat the flood of information, and working birthday parties on the weekend. Basic activities have to be budgeted for time-wise, such as doing laundry and going grocery shopping, but I have no shortage of friends or things to do. I feel as though the studying has purpose when it all comes together. When I can help patients in the clinic, or give some sort of education to someone, or actually start feeling the muscle fibers, tension and tightness underneath the skin when I'm palpating individuals.
I know places here. I know people! I have favourite restaraunts, favourite places to grab a drink and favourite areas of the park. I know the fastest way to school without hitting too much traffic, know that the creamer is always in the fridge off to the side in my favourite coffee store, and which Kroger to not go to. I go swing dancing on Mondays and it's the coolest thing I've ever started to learn to do. I'm still a pretty bad driver, but at least Atlanta traffic no longer fazes me the way I'm used to.
And it's all at my fingertips - Atlanta, this glittering city, this place of light and shadow, this city where no matter how well I know it or think I know it, it will always hold endless mysteries for me.

And it is the kind of adventure in life that I've always hoped for.
All my life, I feel I've been waiting to leave home and experience new things, be on my own, support myself and truly become the person I'm supposed to be. I feel blessed all the time that I have gotten the opportunity to do that, starting during my time at Wesleyan and leading up to now. School is harder than I ever could have imagined, but I wake up every day with a sense of purpose, of feeling capable, and proud to be able to work all those long tired night of studying, the hectic back and forth - what I have to show for myself are the things I have worked hard for, and despite it having its unglamorous side (and several espresso-fueled days) well, there's merit in that.

Ringing in this new year has been bittersweet for me. It's another year, just another holiday, but in my head I'm always trying to think of how I can do better, how I can improve, how I can manage my time better, speak to others better, get to know more people and do new things.

So. Here I am, 2 semesters in to PT school, never well rested enough, and completely exhilarated to be living the life I currently am. Busy but so happy with the things I spend my 24 hours a day on.

And I can't help but look back on that day so long ago now (almost 4 years!) when I sat in the office at my first endocrinologist appointment, scared and alone and frustrated and utterly angry. And how right it does turn out my endo and dietician were. Diabetes never limited me. I've had - and have, my bad days, and my long days, and days where I'm totally sweaty, exasperated and mad that Diabetes is interfering in my life. Matter of fact, as I write this I can feel a low coming on right now, and that feeling is as unsettling now as it has ever been.
But I've done it. I've achieved. I've overcome. And I'm doing it every day. And even though I live with this disease, it's taught me what I can overcome each and every day that I fight - not against it, as much as it feels like it so much of the time, but with it. Like it or not, Diabetes is a part of me, and while it doesn't limit me, while it isn't me, it will change me, and has changed me.

And for the first time in a long time, I'm starting to realize I'm ok with that.

Graffiti.

The Atlanta graffiti is some kind of gorgeous. As a child, I guess you're taught to see graffiti as a bad thing. Derelict. Run down. Crime. Disrespectful.

But in Atlanta, it's treated as anything but. Hell, the artists advertise underneath their graffiti - websites of artwork, photos of their graffiti all over the city, for the world to see. It's something to be proud of, and if I had that much talent with a spray can, I sure would be, too. Advertisements for events are given in places such as the Krog Street bridge. The way that Atlanta treats graffiti is some kind of wonderful, and different than anywhere else I've ever lived, and I'm right on board with it. 

Day by day driving through the city, I am stunned by gorgeous designs - cloud breathing dragons, foxes flying on the wind... even an entire rainbow tunnel that is one of the most lovely things I've yet seen. All graffiti.

Bad?

Sometimes, it just takes a little perspective to turn things around.

As I drove down Edgewood downtown last night, I stared at the graffiti and thought,

people are kind of like that.

Graffiti colours our lives. Our experiences, our heartbreak, our joy, our memories, our flashes of experience and hot and cold and beautiful sad lovely and wonderful things in between - are like splashes of graffiti, covering up the blank grey walls that life surrounds us in. 

People tell you to cover up graffiti, paint over it, but what if you did just the opposite? What if you embraced it?

You'd see a world that is beautiful from a whole new perspective, perhaps.

Unlike anything you'd ever seen, and not in a bad way.

My whole life is made up of those splashes of colour. My vibrant mistakes, my emotions, run ragged through life and love, loss and gain - my Diabetes, the pinpricks and bruises that cover this physical and finite body of mine. You think people judge you for your graffiti, but maybe actually, they can see just how beautiful it is, too. 

Because it is. Together, it makes art. Together, it is a beautiful display of colour, originality to the eyes. Something different than the ordinary, something special. It makes you like nothing else on Earth. We spend too much time trying to cover up our mistakes with regret and remorse, too much time worrying what others think. Maybe we shouldn't do that. Maybe we should let our experiences colour us, one by one, for the world, or you, or just a few, to see. 

And I, for one, am happy for my graffiti. I'm happy for the experiences that have shaped and changed my life, and I'm grateful for every day that I get to have new ones. Good or bad, just living life is such a blessing, such an opportunity to find new passion, to realize new things. To embrace yourself while constantly using your experiences to strive for even better is to love life. 

There is so, so much to love.

We all have graffiti. We can't avoid it, and if we try to erase it, there will only be more of it tomorrow. And maybe, if we all embraced it just a little bit more, we'd see ourselves for who we truly are. Past our mistakes, past our scars and pinpricks, past our hurt, our loss, our painful memories:

Beautiful, in our own way.

The Conclusion of That "Pesky Car-Accident Stuff" That Was Supposed to Be Taken Care of Ages Ago

My friends are incredible.
This week is our last week of break before PT school, and I have to say, it has been literally the most blissful, relaxing, busy, wonderful, worthwhile break I have had in a long time. I have had the opportunity to enjoy so many wonderful experiences, parties with friends, visits with families, worthwhile conversations, painting, and not nearly enough reading for my heart's content.
This week has been a beautiful blur of terrarium making, swing dancing, painting, Netflix binging, and experimental cooking, as well as finishing last minute errands before being "shut in" for school for the next few months. I have shamelessly stayed up until 3 a.m. all week and played Munchkins with my friends until the morning light. I have had enlightening conversations and gone on lovely walks and I never want it to end. Sadly it will, but at least now I feel like I am more prepared. It's going to be a rough semester, and hard, but I know what to expect now and I'll make it through, some how.

My friends Robert and Chelsea have been especially good to me this week. It feels like we have spent literally every waking moment together this week, tag teaming for group dinners (and Munchkin playing) and making fun of each other, taking blackmail pictures and singing old emo songs from High School. I literally love those two people to death. Tuesday I was baking banana bread for them and put in Splenda instead of sugar, trying to experiment with making more "healthy" banana bread. "Don't feel too bad for eating so much for it," I told them. "It's sugar free!"
"But it's not carb free," Robert commented. "That's correct," I said.
I felt super proud of him for saying that. Most people don't know the difference. I am delighted that my friends and I have gotten to know each other so well. I feel so blessed to be able to go through PT school with the two of them. God really knew what he was doing when he gave me friends like them.

Yesterday, I had to go run an errand in Macon that has, unfortunately, been plaguing me a long time.
Last year after my car accident, (read about it here if you haven't already), a very unfortunate turn of events left me with a $7000 hospital bill from my 2 hour stay there. After a year of unexpected bargaining, pleading and trying to apply for charity, as well as trying to get either Florida Medicaid or Geico to cover the costs, I was entirely unsuccessful. Geico told me that they wouldn't cover me because they don't offer Personal Injury Protection in Georgia (PIP), even though I was a FL resident with a Florida car at the time. FL Medicaid doesn't cover out of state costs. Robert and Chels had mentioned going to Macon to visit what we fondly call "the mothership", aka Mercer's home campus in Macon. Having attended Wesleyan for 3 years, I was well familiar with our "mothership". In other words, it was the reason why the Atlanta campus seems so scant and small to me! I asked them if they wanted to come with me to Macon on my errand to the hospital, and we could sightsee Macon in the meantime. Not the most amazing place to sightsee, but I thought it might be a fun day nonetheless. We agreed, and by 11 am we had all met up at my place and were set to go. We started off our trip by walking around my Alma Mater Wesleyan, and then went to lunch at my favourite restaraunt there, The Rookery, where we were attended to by a waiter whose mustache was totally curly and movie-quality.
Next up was Northside Colisum Hospital, where I approached the registration office and explained my situation as nicely as I could to the woman at the front desk. Trying to hide the upset in my voice over the bill, I was shortly called to the back by a nice woman, who I repeated my situation to. She was extremely friendly, but also, unfortunately, unable to help me. "The most I could do is 20% off if you pay in cash today," she said. That still left me with a bill over $5000, and I was desperate not to pay that much. The bill seemed obscene for how much time I had spent at the hospital, and I will still maintain that it was. I tried asking every other option I could. Tears poured down my face a little even though I kept talking, and she sympathetically handed me a tissue box. I blotted at my eyes. "It'll be alright, hun," she said. "I'm so sorry I can't do more, but it'll work out."
I thanked her and left, clutching a number for the billing office in my hand. "Try calling them," she told me. "They might be able to work with you."
I walked out of the office red eyed and sniffly. I shook my head at Rob and Chels defeatedly. They hugged me encouragingly and we walked out into the cold January air back to the car together. I knew it would be alright, but it was still frustrating. But this was yet another bump in the road, and as much as I hated it, things would have to be sorted out. This was part of being an adult, albeit the part that I totally hated. I called billing over the bluetooth in the car as we drove down Vineville towards Mercer.
After a frustrating ten minutes of putting in social security numbers and account numbers we finally had a man on the phone. I explained my situation, again. "Now, what are you able to do for me?" I asked him. "What can you offer me as far as discounts?"

"Well, we don't have any discounts available for you. I'll need to formally state this," he said. My heart sunk a little. "Ok," I said. He asked, "Can you pay the full balance of $6,866 today?" he asked. "No," I said. "What about two payments?" "No." "What about in three?" "No." "Four?" "No." "Five?" "... I'm a student, no."
I cut him off at 24 payments. "No, I can't make 24 payments of $286," I said. "What will you offer me if I pay the balance today?" I'd already told him the hospital had offered me 20% off and it wasn't enough. "What about a one-time offer of 15%?" He asked. ".... No. I'm looking for somewhere along the the lines of 40% off," I said. "I don't know if that's possible...." he said. "What about 20-" "No, I cut him off. "25%?" "30%", I said. "I might be able to do that..." he said. I pushed farther, as Robert egged me on from the front seat and Chels in the back. "What about 35% if I pay in full today?"
"If I pay in full, will you give me 40?%"
"We might be able to go 40%. I have to get approval from my supervisor."
"If I pay today, will you go 50%?" I bargained.I was worried I was pushing too far, but I was desperate. I didn't think I'd get my bill reduced to the $2000 I was going for, but at this point anything was better than $5000.
"No, I know he won't approve 50%", he said.
"Okay, 45. Give me 45% off and I will pay the full balance today. Ask your supervisor."
He did, and about 3 minutes later the man was back on the phone. "We have approved 45% off. Your new balance is $3866" dollars. That would hurt my bank account for sure, but I agreed to the total after consulting my mom on Chelsea's phone. If that's what it took to take care of it and keep the bill off my credit, so be it.
"Haggling at its finest," I remarked to Chels and Robert.

I paid the amount and requested a written statement mailed to me, and that was that. At least the last bill from the accident last year was over and I could finally go on with my life and leave the event in the past where it belongs. Now, if I could get the $400 endocrinologist bill that was supposed to be covered by Florida Medicaid, and is running into issues, off my back, that would be great.
This adulthood thing sucks, it's true. But I guess I've gotten better over the years, and if there is anything I've learned, it's that you can't fixate on the things that pop up in life to bother you. You have to be smart, push on, and take it all as it comes.
If this is adulthood, I don't really care for it - so much responsibility has fallen on my shoulders since starting college as a wide-eyed, bushy-tailed Wesleyanne so long ago and beginning my adventures in Georgia. I have learned so much though, and slowly but surely I have grown before my very eyes.

I have to pay for my past mistakes, but we learn and we get smarter. And I am learning everyday - learning, pushing on, and loving life for all of the good - and bad - that pops up along the way.

Meeting the very expensive "The Bear" statue at Mercer in Macon - we are perfect in a totally, perfectly retarded way. We also can't take proper pictures because Robert is like 14 feet tall and towers over us when he holds the camera.

Time.

Whew! I haven't had a chance to write nearly as much as I'd like over break. I've had the joy of being able to spend valuable time painting, watching movies, sleeping in, having lazy days, catching up with old friends, enjoying time with family and loved ones, going to parties, and reading. I'm in love with break and haven't been bored for a moment.
In fact, if there's anything about life I have learned outside of PT this semester, it's something I was reminded of while chatting with an old friend:

Time is our most valuable asset.

And it is. No matter what I own, nothing beats the freedom of having time to my own. The ability to hike in the mountains or escape for a day, or take a walk in the park, or get drinks with friends. The ability to spend 8 hours straight painting away, or reading a book of my choice. Walking through town just to explore new places. My freedom and my time are so valuable to  me, and so I can't imagine ever being bored, when I have the luxury of time on my hands (which never comes often enough). Maybe that's the reason why I love it so much and can never get enough of it - maybe it's just my nature. It doesn't matter whether it's a day, or a week, or a month of Winter break, or a whole summer - there never seems to be enough time. I live it to the fullest and revel in the breath of each free day as though it is the last one in existence. Every day, chance for a new adventure or new experience or new person to meet, new knowledge to learn. I love having that love for life, that need to feel as though each day is an opportunity to work closer to a goal or better myself in some small way, even if it's just taking a "mental health day" to help myself be more productive tomorrow.

When I was diagnosed with Diabetes, I felt very upset originally because I felt as though this illness was an encroachment upon my personal freedom. And in many ways, more than one, it is - it is so much more than a name, a label, a number on a glucometer screen. Diabetes does a lot of things to you, and I'll say it over and over again - at least half of those things are mental. I wouldn't care half so much about those numbers on the screen or how thirsty and irritable a high made me feel if I didn't also have the worry of potential complications someday - the guilt of "I could have done better" - the conscious worry of conserving my test strips and insulin. Diabetes takes away your ability to be carefree, it's true. I'll never be truly carefree. I have to think twice about traveling and how I will provide medicine for myself and how I take care of my body and how often. So it took a long time to stop feeling as though Diabetes was stealing time and freedom from me, especially in moments when my body is crying "take care of me!", be it a low or I forgot to grab a new insulin pen so I have to leave wherever I'm at to go get a new one from home - and it has to come at the forefront of everything.

You have to shift your mindset - for me, taking care of myself is a price I pay to have my time and freedom, now. Now, as an adult, you realize there are certain needs you have to take care of, be it bodily or bills or making sure you have enough emergency savings in the bank or setting time aside for studying - these eat away at your "freedom", but in order to buy yourself the freedom to use your time as you wish, these are the things you must do.

And you'll find you start valuing your time all the more, then. It is precious. You paid for it. And you can't retrieve it once it's gone. So you must make the most of it - you owe that to no one but yourself. You answer to you at the end of the day -

"Did I spend my time to the best of my ability?" And if not - what can you change?

It makes you a busybody, but it's a happy way to live, and I find that regardless of feeling sad sometimes, my love for staying busy and industrious can always pull me through in the long run. This reminds me to count my blessings, and be grateful for each day as best I can. It's the best kind of therapy I could ask for.

How Frail, the Human Heart Must Be!

I thought that I could not be hurt;
I thought that I must surely be
impervious to suffering-
immune to pain
or agony.

My world was warm with April sun
my thoughts were spangled green and gold;
my soul filled up with joy, yet
felt the sharp, sweet pain that only joy
can hold.

My spirit soared above the gulls
that, swooping breathlessly so high
o'erhead, now seem to to brush their whir-
ring wings against the blue roof of
the sky.

(How frail the human heart must be-
a throbbing pulse, a trembling thing-
a fragile, shining instrument
of crystal, which can either weep,
or sing.)

Then, suddenly my world turned gray,
and darkness wiped aside my joy.
A dull and aching void was left
where careless hands had reached out to
destroy

my silver web of happiness.
The hands then stopped in wonderment,
for, loving me, they wept to see
the tattered ruins of my firma-
ment

(How frail the human heart must be-
a mirrored pool of thought. So deep
and tremulous an instrument
of glass that it can either sing,
or weep).

Syvlia Plath, I Thought That I Could Not Be Hurt

12/9/2014

I am sad again. I am sad, I am morose, and it is hard for me to be alone with my somber, melancholy thoughts. Life is hard and complicated, and it simply overwhelms me sometimes with the sheer weight of it all - the sheer weight of what is put on the small shoulders of small people like you and I.

And I am happy, but the sadness is there, bleeding into the frayed, grey edges of my tired heart. It takes the colour of life and makes it that less vibrant.

I am tired, I am tired, and still my heart beats on, still it does, and still it will, no matter what life throws at me and what happens.

I want to be happy, but there is so many things right now that prevent that, that weigh on my and burden me, trouble my thoughts and make it hard to sleep at night. I am a ghost in my own head - an occupant, haunted by the troubled thoughts that rule it and are there.

Maybe I should take more walks. I know I should pray more. God is there, and he is waiting for me. Sometimes I just get frustrated, I don't feel like he has any answers for me, and there is no one to tell me what to do. So I push everything away, and live in the echoing, vast space that is my head - my own worst enemy, sometimes.

Sadness and I are not strangers. No one is a stranger to sadness, I think, nor can they be. We all have different ways of dealing with it. I relish in my freedom - in productivity - in staying busy, and doing all I can with my mind and hands and body. I value the ability to do those things highly. I wished that it worked all of the time, but sometimes I simply feel dull and drowned. Can I beat this? Oh, I'm sure, I can. I will be fine again in a few days. I have learned myself well enough over the years to know that sometimes we just have sad days. And you need a day or two - or three or four - to mope and wet your eyes a little and then wake up one morning and find that things are OK again. Not perfect, but okay. Okay. You cling to that word inside your head, and pull yourself upright again. The world is happy again. This is the wax and wane of life, the give and take, the way you cope with the broken and beautiful little and big things.
(Or you're just mad, and go ricocheting in between - )
This is how I cope, anyways. Sometimes I hate sharing things like this because I feel very vulnerable - but writing is also a sense of catharsis for me, and I need it to vent and open up, and get things off my chest. Sometimes, vulnerability is a good thing. Who knows. Maybe you find you identify?

When Diabetes Calls.

Last night I checked my blood sugar before going to bed, and it was 90.
Normally, this is a little low, and in the past I would have eaten something so as to not sleep below 130. However, it was midnight, I had a final in the morning, and I was tired. I didn't care, quite frankly.
Diabetes is a pain sometimes, and you just don't want to deal. So I went to sleep.

Going to sleep itself was difficult, but when I did, I woke up in a drenching sweat at 2 a.m. and immediately knew what it meant.

low.low.low.dangerous. My body hummed. Sweat dripped down my face and made the bedsheets damp and my hair was wet. It beaded at the curve of my back. Holy mother of God, this was a bad one. The depth of how incapacitating it was floored me. I stumbled to the bathroom and turned on the light, knowing I needed to - go downstairs to get something, right?
In my delirium, I couldn't remember that I always kept a granola bar in my nightstand.

The good tasting ones are downstairs.... my sleepy, low self mumbled. If I'm going to be low and I"m hungry, I might as well eat something good.

Instead I stumbled back to the bed, laid on my back and closed by eyes, bathroom light still on. In a second... I mumbled. Will...go down... in a second. When I feel better.
I was so sweaty, so incapacitated, so unutterably weak I felt I might fall down the stairs and not make it at all if I tried to go down now. I'd feel better in a few minutes, right?
In and out of sleep I fell for about 10 minutes, until I came back to consciousness again. I didn't feel any better, I was still shaking, and my mind shifted back into the right state that it was supposed to be in.

Ugh, God, what am I doing? I sat up slowly. I can't wait to treat, I'm just going to get more low. And there's a granola bar in my purse. Why would I think I need to go downstairs?
Just feeling myself, I estimated that I was so low - almost the lowest I've ever been - that I was probably in the high 20's/low 30 mgdL's. I felt positively awful. My purse was lying on the floor against my bag, and I rolled over and grabbed it, fishing around until my fingers grasped the granola bar. I unwrapped it, stumbled back to my pillow and ate it laying down. I just laid there then, still feeling completely like shit - low, sweaty, shaky, not in control.
After about 10 or 15 minutes I still felt terrible. I tested. 40 mg/dL.
I sighed and slinked down the stairs, grasping the rail for balance as I made my way into the kitchen. The light above the oven was on, so in the dark, I slid down to the floor, onto the cool wood. I started looking for Peanut Butter and remembered we didn't have any, so I made some homemade popcorn, stumbling around the counter above me for the popcorn oil and kernels, then putting them into a pot and waiting until they were popped - I poured them into a Tupperware and crawled back upstairs, eating the popcorn until I felt ok again. Sleep was shot for the night - final in the morning, whatever, looks like I'd be sleep deprived all week. So much for that.

When Diabetes calls, even in your sleep, it doesn't matter. You answer.