In memory of Sean Cooley, RIP

 It feels strange to come back here, but I have to process this  poignant and devastating (for me) news). I’ll begin with the story of how we met, and how he stepped up for me, when it  could’ve been pretty easy not to.

When I was 22, I was a super senior at UVM, having abandoned my junior year mid semester, to pursue my life passion of working with horses in  England. That was a great adventure, but returning to school a year behind my class, was rough.  Until I discovered that my new major allowed me to study abroad.  In my final semester, winter,2007, I studied abroad (sort-of) in Belize. I’d planned my trip to return 2days before my graduation. 

The night before my graduation, I was passed out from lack of sleep, on a couch, amid my friends party, vaguely aware, a guy I didn’t know was desperate to get my attention.  I was finally in a ‘safe’ place to pass out, because I knew most of the people, and wasn’t on a plane, or chicken bus. I had, at last,  reached somewhere where I didn’t have to be constantly aware of myself, and my belongings. As soon as I sat down, I slumped, and the world fell away. Until some guy began relentlessly tapping my leg with his foot from across the room. I attempted to ignore him, but If continued over the course of a couple of hours (Annoying!). As people started to motivate to hit the bars, I stretched out to sleep on the couch, when I sensed a shadow near me. I opened my eyes to see this relentless guy standing over me, and 2 of my 2 friends observing this interaction from the door. He argued,  somewhat convincingly that this was my last night of college, and I’d always regret having slept it off.  Low and behold, he was right about that.  Though, let’s be real, his offer to give me a piggyback up the Main St. hill was the deciding factor that tipped the scales in his favor.   After going up to campus, I have spotty memories of taking iconic campus pictures, and of meeting him for breakfast the next morning, when he picked me up at another friends house near campus. That breakfast, I spilled coffee on both of us, as it poured through the metal table we sat at. I learned that he’d graduate St. M. Mikes the year before, was passionate about photography, and worked for the Burlington Free Press. Though, if I’m being honest, my real hook was that had a great sense of humour, and plans to go to Europe over the. summer to see the Red Hot Chili Peppers’, my favorite band.  Looking back now, that reads foolishly, but it was a great match for the summer. We had fun, exploring VT, visiting  a winery, going to the fair, hiking Mt. Mansfield.  I met many of his colleagues, and felt really out of place, being an unemployed and vaguely homeless new college graduate. But, I still recall how friendly, and welcoming they all were. He made an impression on everyone he met.

 When I wasn’t with him, I was either working per diem at the hospital, searching for, or interviewing for a real jobs that offered health insurance, or training for my first sprint triathlon. I also, went hiking in the Adirondacks with my friend Ann for 4 days, and had my homecoming and saw my friends and family in Maine. These are my people,and I relished being back with them. 

Around this time,my dad arranged for me to interview with a old neighbor of his, in a previous iteration of his life. I really only knew that she was extremely wealthy (intimidating!) and was looking for a personal assistant, and offering  a 3 figure starting salary. Even if I didn’t like it, I could pay off debt from school in3-4 yrs. Making that choice to leave Sean, a guy I was really starting to care for, as well as the life I knew and loved was gut wrenching.   At 22, love is a totally different animal, than it is as you start to age. Though, the idea of being debt free as soon as possible, won.  I selfishly chose the job, and tried to figure out how to be ok with leaving someone I loved. I was too chicken to say it, anyways, but that gnawing feeling that always reminds you that your choice will hurt you, and whoever you’re with, was there. My plans came together, so I could spend my 23rd birthday in Burlington, with my friends, and move to Texas, for the job, the next day. But that day, never came, at least for me. That night, as we passionately said our goodbyes, yes, exactly what you assume) I stuffed a sudden cardiac arrest, on my 23rd birthday.  Happy literal fucking birthday to me.  Amazingly, he knew CPR, and administered it, while yelling for help from my roommates  to call 9-1-1. I have very few memories of the next year, but Sean, my parents, and my close friends comprise the vast majority of them.  I was in 3 hospitals in 3 different states, an he was a constant fixture, alongside my folks. 

Looking back, he was the main reason I pushed to stay in Vermont to do my outpatient rehabilitation. Had I foreseen his need to move on, I might’ve chosen differently, though Vermont has offered me endless adventures, and the independence I’ve so flagrantly craved, and is now the place I call home. 

When Sean informed me, over the phone one thanksgiving, ofhis plans to attend  Northwestern in the fall, I knew we were over, just was at a loss of how to process that. We went through our motions, and he came to Michigan with me to my mom's parents memorial service. I was grateful to have  him there, though imagine it was an intensely stressful trip for him. First I had a seizure as we were leaving a restaurant, and the next day he went kayaking on Lake Michigan,unawares of a  storm-front brewing and was capsized. As we waited for him to return, it was finally decided that we should call the coast guard. They found him, slightly hypothermic, but ok once he got warmed up. In that moment, it briefly occurred to me how precious life is, and the next day my family gifted us the experience of parasailing. It was epic, in that moment, I was deliriously happy. Though, as soon we got back, he began packing to start his graduate degree at northwestern. The fact that this was goodbye, was not clear to me. I didn’t realize I was losing my  rock, and tried to email with him, but he was starting a new life, and moving on.  After a year of not  really hearing from him I realized he gone, and was full of hurt and anger. I’d guess this was also around the time he lost his father, and I regret adding to that pain. After 4-5 years having intense moments of loathing for him, and blaming him for putting me in this position, as well as abandoning me at a time when he was all I had (which I now see must’ve been awful for him). Though that was not apparent to my mind that early in my recovery. I was very much still in selfish child mode. 

As I started to realize how angry I was, I pushed him out of my mind, and focused on pursuing the activities I loved in life, running, and horses.  Though, when the horse I’d been riding, grew too old ,  amidst my grief of everything I’d lost from my injury, I struggled.  I reached out once for his cooperation with a legal matter, though otherwise forgot he existed, unless he was brought up  in conversation. As time passed, my anger dissipated, and I slowly moved on. 

He was such an awkward, yet truly hilarious guy. Laughing with him was a great joy, few people have ever cracked me up, the way he could. Probably, because he had no shame. The photographs I have with him, are utterly ridiculous, but we’re clearly happy, and amused in all of them.  Even if it was partially a show. , I’ll always be fond of them, and him.  He had a true gift in comedy, and I’m so grateful he saw me through my ‘worst of times.’

May you continue to help us see the joy, and comedy, in our lives, as you live on in our memories. 

For my family and friends, I read that he suffered 2 successive heart attacks, and a subsequent stroke. What killed him obviously hits very close to home, and is something I’m not able to process right now. 

I wish we didn’t have to say goodbye at 38, seems questionably unfair. Thank you for standing by me at the most difficult point in my life, and helping me push through some of the toughest parts. I haven’t seen you in well over a decade, but somehow the world feels less full, knowing that you’re missing from it. 

When did 11 years flash past?

Eep,It's  been ages since I felt the need to chronicle my adventures.  There have been many, from the mundane, and awful, like fracturing my knee cap while walking, I had a sudden neuromuscular twitch on my left side, that threw me down on my left knee, and weeks later, giving myself multiple fractures of the right hand, because I fell on it ,(yes, these are things I do)' or experiencing the horror of nearly losing a loved one, to the extraordinary, like standing by my childhood best friend at her wedding, or taking my off road trike to Acadia National Park with the greatest friends I could ask for, or going to France to visit family.  Yes, life has kept on moving, not always forward, though nonetheless moving.

I I know, it’s been a while...  have wondered what this year would look like for over a decade, now.  One of the memories I've clung to all these years, from my experiences in the rehab hospitals, was being told, that in 10 years, I'd more or less have an accurate assessment of how the rest of my life would look, in terms of the degree of disability, or different abilities I could expect permanently.  In September 2007, I was fully blind, in a wheelchair pushed by others, or bed,  and lacking the abilities to sustain myself in the most basic of ways.  The fact that I was able to recognize minuscule improvements on a daily, or weekly, basis saved me from absorbing the severely, and immensely long rehabilitation stretch ahead.  I just had to keep pushing forward.  It was frustrating, and filled me with anger and grief for all I'd lost.  Though, I was fortunate to know I could not succumb  to the negative energies, and focused on the family, friends, and love that I had in my life.  

The people we surround ourselves with can be powerful motivators, and guides.  My mom, dad, stepdad, and then boyfriend all rallied to be with me whenever possible, leaving home, and work behind.   Friends appeared every weekend, the support was incredible.  I had no idea how fortunate I was to have so many amazing people in my corner.

Upon my release it was made abundantly clear to me, that I couldn't expect to go back to the life I had before, and that I would always require support to some degree. .  If there was a scale to rank people's level of independence,I likely would be a 9.5.  Prior to my injury, I understood self suffiency, almost too well, and losing that was something I never fully let go of.  My brain was learning new things, and I saw myself redeveloping skills, and even more miraculously, my vision ever so slowly began to piece back in. I am still visually impaired due to slow visual processing, and a visual field cut.  Although when you have the experience of losing a sense, 'seeing' it return to any degree, is downright miraculous.

As life moved on, my progress, while continuous, seemed to slow, and loss seemed to seep in.  Loss of my previous self, my relationship, a family member, a childhood friend, a great therapist, and then holding my moms hand through chemo, and seeing her look as if she was fading.  Those few years were rough, and I  remember   wondering why I couldn't really feel any of it.  The most disconcerting piece of my injury early on, was  a complete lack of emotional processing, oh and the blindness, but I'd gotten used to that, and I slowly started noticing gradual improvements.  Though, learning to accept that I will never drive again, is a fact I still struggle with.  Dragging myself through rehabilitation, and striving to relearn old skills is not a miracle, frankly it's a frustrating journey that appears never ending. Never miraculous.  Maybe certain occurrences, but I am not inclined to see any part of my life as miraculous, save some of the extraordinary people that have supported, taught, saved, or treated me over the years. I am so grateful to all those who have. Thank you for helping me find my way to the 11 year mark!

Top 10 life lessons I've learned from my survival experience:

AKA my existential list of quality BS

1. Nothing is finite 

2.  Many things in life are subjective, I.e. my version of a miracle, and yours, or what it means to have been blind, have a voice impediment,or be an athlete. 

3.  We are not as indestructible as our youth allowed us to pretend.

4.  The people you surround yourself with, mirror you, and will often shape your life.

5. Just keep looking forward, looking back is a a trap that's not easy to climb out of.

6.  Sometimes it’s ok to take a nap, (even though I never can).

7. 'Teamwork makes the dream work.'

8. Trust your instincts.

9.  It's hard to realize what is taken for granted until it's lost.

10. I'm so not this person, but love can conquer anything, in the right context.

Life, unedited

I was just going through old notes on my iPad, of which, there are over 100.  Some are things I wanted to research, to do lists, and many unfinished blog posts/writing ideas.  I easily have just as many draft posts on my blogger app.  My problem isn't that I'm not writing, I am, though, they've gotten darker than I ever intended.  Once I go to that darker place in my mind, my writing doesn't recover, to spin it favorably.  There are so many awful thing in life, it's all about balance.  Learning how to deal with, and accept my life now, has not been easy.  Neither is admitting that.  Frankly, I've written this blog to remind myself of all the wonderful things I do have in life.  Although, I find that as more time passes, I'm no longer satisfied with pursuing adaptive recreation, as a chief source of activity.  I'm closing in on 9 years post injury, and find myself facing this ever growing fear that I'll never find my way back.

The crazy thing is, the more time passes, the more understanding I gather of the impact of my injury.  In the early years, I was very much like a young child, being that I wasn't able to understand the gravity or impact this injury would have on my young life.  In the rehab hospital, Sean once asked me I wanted to drive. I did, but I was about 90% blind at that point, which I now realize is something I rarely talk about.  No one could understand me then, and I was never alone, but I still remember the first thing I recognized visually.  My knees, in the bathtub.  My mom was there, but I'm not sure she even understood why I was so ecstatic, in that moment.  Very slowly my world began to piece back in.  I recently had an MRI, on looking. At it with my neurologist, he said, 'See where it's dark?  That's your visual cortex, I'm amazed you see at all, let alone as well as you seem to.'  I've always understood that I'm now visually impaired, but hearing that was really tough to swallow.  I'd gotten so used to steady improvement, in nearly every area, in the first 5 years, that finally having a doctor say something that definitive about my injury, was like a kick in the gut.  The past 8 years, has been, 'I don't know' or 'It's possible...'  Early on, it was miraculous that I survived, but now, this is my life, and I feel as if I'm barely on the edge of understanding it.  More frequently, I have had bizzare realizations, like mow impaired my perception of emotions had been, which, frankly was great.  Or every day things, like how much easier keeping my apartment clean is, if I keep up with it daily, or little social things, like responding to messages in a timely fashion, so I don't forget about them.  That's the  other thing about my vision, my visual memory is now terrible.  I'm usually okay withe things I see, and hear, but just seeing, like faces, pictures, directions, posters, it's all lost on me, as soon as think about something else. It might resurface, but I can't count on it.  Hence all the notes, I then forget to read...

Now that I'm finally beginning to understand my life may look like this, from here on out, maintaining my positive energy, and enthusiasm, has been more of a struggle.  On the upside, I always knew the day would come, where I'd have to learn to understand, and accept my differences.  Now that I've been struggling with that, it's way too easy to give in to the dark, soul wrenching disappointment.

I know life still has its beauty, strength, and motivation, but feeling like Humpty Dumpty, who fell off the wall and shattered into a million pieces, isn't a thought I can shake, now.  Slowly, way too slowly, I'm getting put back together, but the emothion is catching up to me now.  Time to get back on the bike more, keep running, and attempting to stay busy.  Being outside, has always been my way out.

Last year, I applied for accommodations, on the GREs, the entrance exam for most graduate programs.  My ultimate goal is to study public health, work towards changing our countries demented public health care programs.  I wanted to get my graduate degree in public health, as soon as I managed to pay off my undergraduate loans.  Unfortunately my cardiac arrest, and resulting brain injury postponed that goal.  Then, I had hoped to work internationally, and learn about healthcare from a more worldly perspective.  Although now, exploring third world countries, and their healthcare management systems, just seems out of reach, in terms of remaining safe.  Back to the GREs, my accommodations were denied because I didn't have current medical evaluation, outside of 2 doctors letters documenting the scope of my needs.  They wanted definitive testing, which I had get a doctor to prescribe, and later evaluate the testing.  In January, I did that.  The evaluation indicated that accommodations are necessary for me to have a chance of scoring remotely well, but I'm still pretty angry about the expense, and frustration of the whole experience.  I submitted the results a few weeks ago, and have to wait 6-8 weeks to find out if I have fork over another $150 to actually schedule a test date.  When I think about hpthe fact I'll also have to create a way to pay for school, without the help,of federal aid, it almost seems too daunting.  My undergraduate loans were forgiven, due to the severity of my I disability.  Although, there is a clause where one cannot borrow again, without reaqquiring the original debt.  Oh well, one step, at a time.  I can't seem to find employment worthy of a high school grad, let alone a college grad.  I have worked unbelievably hard to be where I am today, though lately, it's been more, and more difficulty of stay positive,  because each time I succeed at one thing, something else kicks me back a few steps.  I want to look at the world, and see all the opportunities again.  I was pretty good at it for quite a while, and then I hit this wall, and my goals began to seem less, and less possible.

I don't enjoy being open, and honest about the crap I face in life.  But, then I remember we each have our own struggles, no matter what our circumstances, and that I really have to thankful for where I am today, because, as slow as rehab is, fate brought me back.  Not exactly how I would've liked. Then again learning about, and participating in adaptive recreation programs, has been a true gift.  Ive had to learn to accept that I can't participate in most our door activities, with out the help, of an able bodied person.  That's been hard to accept, at first, but if it's the difference between participating in something I love, or not.   Because I'm too stubborn to accept help, I had to force myself to accept that my vision will likely be a limiting factor for many of the things I love.  What I see, isn't the problem, it's the delay I have in processing those images.  Sitting writing, is fairly normal, because there's no movement.  Out in the word everything is moving, and the extra second, or two, I need could bedisasterous, and has been if I don't slow down, and be mindful of my environment. On the upside, my hearing has attempted to compensate.  Which is amazing, consideringmy younger selfs enjoyment of hard rock, and some heavy  metal concerts.  So fun:)

In conclusion, I'm still fighting my way towards my goals, despite consistent frustrations.  Although, if it was all easy, reaching our goals wouldn't be such achievements.  And that's my wisdom for today...

Head-Space

Today was my average ho-hum day.  I made veggie soup in the crock pot.  It turned out well, though I can't ever seem to get the cous-cous I add to soften, and take on liquid.  I thought if I put it in first, it would have no choice but to soak up the broth.  Sadly, no, and there are now weird couscous flecks in every other bite.  This is clearly why I am not a chef.  I like to cook, but I often just throw random stuff in a pot because it seems like it would be good.  Over the years, I have learned that recipes are important, because different floods mix, and cook differently. In any case my bean, beet, carrot, couscous soup did eventually become edible.

Yesterday I downloaded the NPR One app, mainly because I'd heard good things, but also because the name of it reminded me of Britains radio one, whose music I generally appreciated when I lived in Sothwest England, working for a professional equestrian.  Music becomes so close to you, when you spend all day interacting with, and caring for horses. At least, speaking for myself, I looked forward go the music, the news segments, and all the other rubbish.  It paced the whole day.

Honestly, there's not a ton of music, unless you configure it to play music based podcasts, but, so far I am appreciating listening to it, more so than the actual radio, even.  Although my lock radio from the90s,mrecently quit, so I no longer poses a functional radio.  I used to only listen to the radio in the car, but losing the ability to drive, from this brain injuries impairment of my visual processing, also curtailed my radio exposure.  

Moving on, I acquired a ride to the Sunday evening meditation group I take part in.  My friend Anna brought me to it three years ago, and the organization that puts it on, Center for Mindful Learning has expanded greatly in that time, however the community sits are still brilliantly informative.  There is no choice but to focus on myself, thoughts, feelings, and emotions.  As someone who intentionally ignored my emotions, in my pre-injury life, learning how to deal with everything I'm now afflicted with in a more positiive, nurturing format has been very helpful.  So has keeping regular appointments with a psychologist, though, in any case, it does take a lot if work to maintain and redevelop a positive headspace. Running, and playing outside is also crucial, but that's more because it was engrained in my being, already.

I rarely reach a moment,me here I experience an epiphany, or any type of lesson, thataligns   directly to my self, in present state of being.  Tonight Soryu, our meditation guide, was talking about a mythological tale from mans very early days.  He repeated the phrase 'hear, see, feel' several times in context.  Some cave woman piece of my brain grabbed that, and began finding the words to a song I'd listened to so often, in college.  I immediately had this hilarious image of my closest friend from college, and her boyfriend rocking out to one his favorite heavy metal band.  He would so often raise his pointer, and pinky fingers, thrust his hand above his head, and shout, 'Heavy Fucking Metal!' as if his gods were speaking through him.  And the lyrics to the song I was thinking of, came to me.  'Hear no, speak no, feel no evil.'  Tonight's meditation was so helpful for me, in that I found another missing fragment of my former self, in the rubble.  My brain is always developing, and creating new connections.  In the first few years, I found random pieces of my former identity, quite often, though clearly there are still outstanding holes, whereas these memories are usually triggered by the people in them, or when someone is taking about it.  These days,I look back on college, as a different lifetime.  I may still live in the same city, and have retained many friends from those days, but life has changed so much.  Clearly, acquiring a brain injury  was not in my life plan, but learning to live with a disability is something we never plan to have to do.  Life happens, and you either learn to pick up, and take it on, or you get crushed in any number of ways.

And this is my headspace, after tonight's practice.  It's not always productive, or direct for me, but who knew my former heavy metal rock appreciation, would still serve me, and in my meditation practice?

Happy Martin Luther King Day!

Happy Martin Luther King Day!  This is one my favourite federal holidays.  Feeling slightly ashamed, because I had completely forgotten today's the day to celebrate diversity, and was in my kitchen making a big mess, also cookies, and a casserole. The mess was rather catastrophic though.  Some days my mobility is terrible, today was one of those days, where I'm unsure of my motions, and because I don't mentally trust myself to have any physical competency, some days, my muscle spasticity is all the more debilitating. Idecided to make cookies first, and while foraging for the necessary ingredients, in realized I had the casserole ingredients as well.  So exciting...

My roommate helped me use the oven,as I was so shaky.   Although when the casserole was done, I pulled it out, and promptly dropped it.  Earlier, I had spilled coconut oil on the floor, and now green bean casserole. It was. A bad day for the kitchen floor.  At the end of the day, I feel more like I was bitch-slapped by my diversity, than able to celebrate it, but that's okay, because tomorrow is another day.  I hope that others were able to have more fulfilling holidays than mine was.  I also wish that the symbolism behind this holiday was more widespread.  A couple years ago, I went to a community event where people came together on a variety of volunteer projects for the local community.  Seeing people come together for the United good of their community, was so moving, and have this holiday  true meaning for me.  Until then, I had never really understood the symbolism of the holiday before.  Bringing people together to contribute to greater good of a community should be a WAY more central idea.  Go Vermont.

Happy Martin Luther King day, all!

Testing! 1, 2, 3

Neurological psychology testing!  What is that, what does it mean?  It's a standardized method of testing, designed to measure changes in the cognitive brain.  Its also an indicator for areas where I may be in need of assistance.  I went to Dartmouth-Hitchcock medical Center, 6 years ago, for the same testing.  Today, it was not a necessity, though it does offer a method to track my progression over thee years.  I had requested this testing last November, after being charged $100 for a rejection of academic accommodations to give myself a fair shot at the GRE,ma standardized test required by 90% of graduate programs in the country.  I always had wanted to return to school, to study public health, and policy.  Over my years in rehabilitation I've made an effort to take assorted classes, and take board seats within orgazations that picqued my interest, and could help me try to stay current.  Being denied accommodations last year, threw me into a tail spin.  Getting it all together to submit, had been a trying effort, and it never occurred to me,my request for extra time and a touch screen keyboard would be denied.  Apparently the clinicians letters were too vague, and I needed supporting evidence to validate my my injury.  This was when my psychologist suggested a means of current testing, among the suggestion of finding a program at UVM, so I wouldn't have to deal with it.  I asked my neurologist for a referral, and found myself in 'The memory clinic' today, for 6 solid hours of trivial testing.

I walked in, stack of paper work in hand, and found myself in a nearly empty waiting room.  I took enjoyment from the variety of unique phone calls, the receptionists took.  I counted 3 different calls for cancellations in the ten minutes I waited.  Only then did it occur to me how difficult it is to admit to a mental difficulty.  I'm forced to wear it like a badge, all I have to do, is speak to anyone, or walk around.  The only time it's less apparent is in my writing.  Although, the fact that my blog pertains to my experiences adapting life with an anoxic brain injury, is a dead give-away.  For others, whose families, or medical practitioners have set up an evaluation at a place called 'The Memory Center' I suppose I can envision why voluntarily coming in could be frightening.  Any kind of memory related diagnosis is unbelievably frightening as it requires one to deal with it, and accept that life has forever changed.  They really should rename the office, was my final conclusion.

Upon Bering called in, I sat down with a friendly doctor who asked me all about my life, the people in it, how satisfied I am, if I have enough emotional support, all fun conversation topics to discuss with a new doctor.  Eventually we got into the first portion of the testing.  Much of it related to listening to paragraphs, and responding to questions within the stories offered.  I if remember that I'd found the test somewhat demeaning in 2009.  After stating that, I'd told that this was a standardized test, meant for me greatest marorority of the population.  I still have unpleasant remarks about this, but I'll keep,them to myself.  I even said that to the woman interviewing me, which I immediately regretted.  Sometimes I'll hear myself being rude, and wonder if I've developed a problem filtering rude comments.  Then again, I also wonder if it's a horrifying norm, I'm adapting to, without notice.

I was sincerely grateful for the lunch break.  I could hear my stomach growling in the quiet office, and took out my meager snack lunch.  I felt very underprepared for my day, though I had believed I would have enough time to walk to the othe building, and buy food.  In 20 minutes, I'd barely have time to walk there, let alone eat the food I got, and walk back.  So, that did not work out well for me, but at least I had some food with me.

The second battery of tests focused more on recalling lists, mathematical  word problems,  and a visual  memory test of various deigns.  I know I have a visual memory problem, so that felt very confusing.  The idea of the math problems concerned me, but they were quite simple.  I also had to organize tiles to match a paper diagram.  That felt difficult and tense in the moment, but wasn't as problematic as I'd anticipated.

At the end, there was more paperwork to do, concerning my mood, anxiety, and depression.  It seemed like a horrible questionnaire to send people home on.  In my opinion, it should be given first, so that if you are experiencing depression, you don't have to go home and stew over it.  

When I finally left, I needed groceries.  I don't like to grocery shop when I'm hungry.  This never works out well for my budget.  Before I checked out, I want through my cart, and easily put back 1/3 of the cart.  This is why I don't like buy food on an empty stomach.  Although, I'm sure the grocers encourage this.

Super Sunday

It never ceases to amaze me, how my productivity varies day to day.  At first, my day had seemed throughly wasted, probably because I never made an effort leave my apartment.  I'd planned to go to the gym,and take myself to see the new Star Wars movie.  Instead I unpacked, and organized my living space.  I am always stupefied by the amount time this takes me.  No wonder I detest organization, it's inconceivably time consuming. Oh well, such is life.

Today, I'd actively searched for a ride to Shelburne to a place called All Souls Intwefaith Gathering, for a New Years service, and Kirtan gathering.  I rarely write about faith, because we all subscribe to different beliefs.  I often reserve Sunday evenings for guided meditation, which serves as my path for a belief system.  I love the stories that are offered within different faiths, although, the idea of subscribing to one omnipotent being has never been in my personal realm of plausibility.  We're all different, and for me, having the opportunity to understand and develop a system of beliefs that I want. To subscribe to, has been instrumental in allowing me to work towards my goals in the presence of people who have faith, but are not compelled to tell me how, or why I was saved.  My feelings are lets keep,our Faith's to ourselves, unless sharing a designated space for practice.  It's taken much of my lifetime to approach the topic of fath, but finding spaces where kindness, morality, benevolence, sand reason can intersect, has been an amazing piece of my journey.

I had never been to this location before, but had adopted Kirtan into my spectrum.  A buddy from college brought me to a different group 3-4 years back.  I'd found a generous neighbor willing to bring me, regularly..  Over the years, the group has transformed and been rebuilt several times over, although the community aligns common faces I've gotten to know over the years.  I

 had posted my request for a ride, and was losing hope that the community would come through for me until my friend Matthew called to offer a ride.  We had recently talking about his yoga therapy practice, so I was not expecting him to offer me a ride.  I love it when people surprise me with commonalities I hadn't expected.

In showing up I got to chant, which I've learned to love over the years, because can raise my voice, and not be stared at with a blank look of, 'I have no idea what you just said.'  Everyone chants, and there is no judgement over anyone, or anything.  Except where concepts of poor moral conduct are concerned, then it's like any other group of people.  If you misconduct yourself, you'll be banned, and if you consort with the banned party, you're likely to be ostracized, until they get over it.  It never ceases to amaze how terrible anyone can be, if they think they're doing something for the greater good. My previous inability to understand the intricacies within this group, made me give up on them for a short period, although once I was able to understand varying points of view, I returned, albeit somewhat gaurded.  As the group hanged hands, and brought an influx of new faces, I relaxed, and came to appreciate the collective group again.

Finding faith is precious to all.  For much of my life, I swept the concept aside, because I'd always encountered bad people, who used their religion as a sheld to protect their own interests. In the years since acquiring a new identity, with different abilities, I have been blessed by countries strangers, with  their kindness, generosity, and gratitude, as well as by their own faith(s).  

I was just so,overjoyed to return to a sacred space, among so many friends, who were present for the spiritual chanting ceremony, and blessing of the new year.  After the hour long ceremony of call and response singing, the larger group adjourned, and a smaller group remained.  At this point, chants I'd grown familiar with, were offered, and the energy shifted from what felt like tentative, to joyous.  At the end of the day, I really am unsure where I personally stand among these souls, and the variety of beliefs that have acquiesced there, it just doesn't seem important.  

Bumps in the road

I think a big piece of why I stopped writing was insecurity, and well, just lack of ambition.  Finding fulfillment has been a relentless effort.  I  know of a lot of people, friends, family, acquaintances, colleagues, et cetera, all have needs from their relationships with others.  At 23, when my heart stopped, and I acquired this brain injury from lack of oxygen. I had to start over, on my end, with virtually everyone I'd known.  Every day in the hospital, it seemed people were compelled  to ask if I could remember them.  Usually, the only people I couldn't remember were the hospital staff, and friends I'd made in the past year,who were all new to my life.  To be fair, I needed  clues for a lot of people who were new to my life.  I also wasn't able to recall recent events, or where I was, or what had happened, early on.

It has taken me a long time to identify with 'trauma' in traumatic brain injury.  To me, trauma implies physical injury, or blood, and guts.  My injury was devastating, but also quite passive, on the scale of being particularly gruesome.  I've had no viable way to gauge my injury, or really my progress over the years.  Clearly I've made tremendous strides, but, as they say, EVERY brain injury is different, as is every brain.  Needles to say, the time and energy to relearn your life, physically, and emotionally is overwhelming.  At first, it was relatively simple, and genuinely didn't seem to be that massive a task.  Life had generally taught me that if you work hard enough at something, you will realize your goal, within reason, of course.  So, it made sense to me that the same should hold true for a brain injury.  I could retrain my neuronal pathways to overcome my 'disability'.  Learning to accept a new identity as a handicapped, or disabled person is not the easiest task.  To be honest, I still don't look at myself with those words.  I'll say differently abled, special needs,,accessible, and/or unique needs.  I find the term disability somewhat alienating, most because people who don't identify with the label are afraid of it, in my experience, anyway.  Afraid in the sense that they cant relate, and are unwilling to try.  Obviously, all people are different, though I allow myself one rash over-generalization per week.  So, it's like feeling as if everything is nearby, but just out of reach.  To be clear, I have continued to grow, learn, improvise, and Chang in the years since.  Just not always in the ways I'd envisioned, or hoped.  To be alive is to be in motion, whether physically, mentally, or both.  We are all working towards things, whether it be the Nobel peace prize in astrophysics, or obtaining our next meal, is all about the perspectives each of us take. My point is, everyday is vastly different from the one previous.  Some days I am inspired to share the vivid details of the unique life I've acquired, and created, with your help, whist other days it feels there is very little reason for life.  I was always a logical thinker, I liked science, and non-fiction literature. It's just the space I occupy, and appreciate.

Having an acquired disability will always be a curious lot in life, although learning to appreciate the differences in those around us, seems like the first of many steps in the right direction.

One-a-day~ Bringing it back!

I have let myself fall off the wagon, with respect to writing.  When I left the TBI rehabilitation program a ways back, I stopped making myself write.  This life is so full I now feel not documenting the details was a mistake.  So, here it is 1/1/16, a new year, brimming with possibilities, and new experiences.

Cheers, love, and gratitude to all of you who've stood by, to not only for the big events, or strange traumas, but also for the little everyday stuf, and of course, the big adventuresf.  No doubt about it, life is a long, strange journey, full of ups  and downs.  Though, through all of it, we have each other, our perseverance, and our beliefs to hold onto.  I am looking forward to the continued rebuilding of this life, and all it has to offer.  I hope we all can make light of the opportunities life brings this year!

Memory Lane

Writing feels impossible these days. I once looked forward to processing my day's events, no matter how obscure, by writing about them.  Although, up until recently, i lacked the self doubt part of processing things.  I hate admitting that,  and doesn't mean I'm unwilling to do things, it just means that instead of stark nothing, where my mind was once blank,, I think, 'I probably can't do that.'  That sounds negative, but it's a great surprise to me when I can actually can do something I was not sure if I could.    It's also unbelievably variable, because my physical and mental abilities differ day to day.  The closest relatable experience I have,  is to say it's like growing up again, although, this time I already understand the process, and seem to be overly sensitive to my mistakes.  

On the upside, I've finally begun reading again.  Audiobook are a great substitute, but nothing is quite as pleasing, as holing a book, marking the pages with notes, or folding the page, to mark the place I left off.  I read a lot growing up, and I appreciate the physical experience of reading, the way the paper smells, turning the pages.  I read on the kindle too, but the act of swiping my finger across the screen, to turn the page, just isn't the same. Now, I just found  Senator Elizabeth Warrens biography, and can't put it down.  My reading is still frustratingly slow, but it's leaps and bounds ahead of where it was a year or two ago.  This recovery is a day by day thing, one day at a time.  I have to look for the small accomplishments, and pretend that's enough, because right now, that's all I have.  

I recently abandoned my cane.  It had 4 tiny feet, or prongs, for greater stability, and it helped me attain more confidence in my mobility, as I would use it to catch myself, or on steps, and curbs.  Although, this spring I started tripping on it, because I failed to pay enough attention to where I had it, or it would touch my leg, as I walked, and I'd jump, and fall on it.    I recently decided to try not carrying it.  My shoulder pain is better, and my confidence in my stability grows everyday.  I still fall from time to time, but that's my reality to face, and now I'm no longer falling on the cane, it left some very bizarre bruises. On the subject of bruises, I've revently had 2 very awkward domestic abuse conversations.  At the end of April we had a very warm week, and I got my shorts out, forgetting about the 6" black and blue mark on my thigh.  I'd fallen somehow landing on the cane.  When I put on my shorts, I saw it, and thought about changing, but didn't because these are my scars, I'm not willing to be embarrassed by the fact that I trip myself, a lot.  Although, it never crossed my mind that people might think someone else had beaten me. Oops.  Note  to self, 'I'm now too old to proudly display my 'battle scars.'

At some point, almost every day, I find myself envious of my peers, but then I realize everyone struggles, just in different capacities.  Relearning life at 23 certainly isn't an enviable predicament, but here I am, 7 years in, still trying to get a handle on it.  I'm happy to have the opportunity to rebuild, as long as it takes, one day at a time.  Summer is here again, and this time I no longer need my cane. It's all about perspective, I may not know where I'm going in this life, but the way I see it, it can only get better, I just have to keep moving forward.

Last night my friend called to preemptively  apologize for being out of touch for the next month, and I realized in that moment, what a thoughtful action that was, because that would never occur to me to reach out and notify friends, I'd be out of touch for a time.  It was a unique realization to me, in that I now seem to be processing others actions and reactions, whereas, it all used to float by, the good, the bad, the indifferent. I had no ide about how to react to things, or process them.  It's like when you're a kid you do what you're told, unless, some ridiculous idea flys in, and you do that, and then pay the price, for not doing as were instructed. It's as if someone flipped a  switch in my head, and my ability to process and empathize is more my own now. Looking back, it reminds me of playing 'follow the leader.'  It just takes time to deal with, and process all the  new, again experiences.  I remember back in the hospital, people would often ask what the last thing I remembered from my previous life was, and I'd say, 'Belize'. That was about 5-7 months prior, so not great, but not terrible either.    No one ever pressed me me for more information, but really I only remembered that I had been there, at that point, I didn't know why I'd been there, who I was with, or what I'd been doing there.   Fortunately many friends, and classmates filled me in, and the more I heard, the more visual images came into my memory, and the more I was able to remember.  I had this incredible boyfriend who stuck by me throughout my 7 month hospital and rehabilitation tour.  At first I couldn't remember him, at all, but as I continued with rehab, the more he filled me in, and the more I remembered.  I knew we were close, but I had no idea how we had met.   early on if you told me anything I'd forget it ever happened within the hour.  My mom would tell me who'd be visiting that weekend, and I'd be in dumbstruck shock when they arrived 2 days later. Funny, that I remember all this now, it's strange to look back on that time.  At that time, I was fully blind, although,I did recognize voices of family and friends.  When I think about my stays in the hospitals, I barely remember any of the. doctors and nurses.  That seems seems weird  to me.  I remember the first time they stood me upright, in some kind of walking simulator, at Spaulding in Boston, and the endless hallways of Crotched Mountain rehabilitation, where I painstakingly learned to walk again, with a walker.  I actually do remember a lot more than I thought, it just takes time to pull it out of hiding.

Moving forward, these are all pieces that I've had to process mentally, within the past year or two, because I wasn't fully there earlier.   I had no way of realizing it then, but I feel so fortunate to have the ability to more fully recall the earlier aspects of my journey. Of course it's been difficult for all involved, and I want to say thank you to all who've been there, and helped me along this path!  

Some days...

Writing so difficult lately.  Since acquiring this injury, my emotions have felt stunted, I recognized the basic things, such as love, and hate.  But, outside of the big stuff, I've had to slowly piece it all back together.  One the hardest parts of telling my stories, suddenly became even more confusing, as I began realize I could process more complex emotions.  I had lived in a judgement-free world, because I did not have the ability to look at others, and think about how I would act in that situation.  That's more-or-less how I perceive judgement, putting your own views on others.  Sometimes this is profoundly ugly on people, sometimes it's just annoying.  And rarely, it provides me with a teachable moment, for myself.

Yesterday, I was walking down church st in Burlington, to catch the bus down to the waterfront, nearby where I do physical therapy.  I was moving fast, and realized it, so while I'm complimenting myself in thought, on being able to move so quickly, my foot catches on an uneven brick, and I go gown.  Hard. Is that Murphys Law?  Anyways, it was really painful, and I immediately began to cry.  I then put my focus into getting up, before people approached, but it was too late.  When I fall, concern arises.  Unfortunately for me, I despise attention when I've fallen.  I feel like road-kill, where people see something, that has obviously caused pain, and injury, but are inwardly thankful, to not be in that compromised situation.  I often take a spill on a weekly basis, although recently, it's been more frequent. I'm used to falling, from lack of balance, or the unforseeable muscle tremors I occassionallyendure, that throw me down.  I understand those, and frequently move more slowly, when I feel less confident in my motor function.

Like I said, I was proud to finally feel more confident in my motor function, and was cruising along.  What got me, is a deficit I rarely take into consideration anymore, my visual field.  I tripped on something I hadn't seen.  I feel like I need some kind of training that helps remember to look more closely  where I'm walking.  Over the weekend I fell in a parking lot, because my foot hit a 2ft high cement pylon, that I hadn't seen.  More tears, though more from schock, and enbarrasent, than physical pain.  My balance has improved so much, that I seem to forget there are other reasons I need to slow down.  

Back to Curch Street, a knd young woman offered me a tissue, and a hand up, once I was able.  The resounding ache in my right hand, concerned me, but I had appointments to go to.  It looked like a sausage, and was immobile.  After physical therapy, I decided to go to urgent care, to be sure it wasn't broken.  I wound up being sent to the emergency room.  A decision I fully regret, because of its profound expense, and the minority of my injury.   I'm already fully pissed at the American healthcare system.  The expense is profound, yet urgent care I difficult to acess as a non-driver, especially when you're in pain.  I'd called my support person, but no answer.  Surprisingly, they called me after about10 minutes.  I was registered, and brought to private area to wait for x-Rays.  It wasn't broken, thankfully, so they taped my fingers together, to support the sprained one.  I left, feeling idiotic for visiting the ER with such a minor injury, but my right hand is the only one I can depend on, so, I wanted to be sure it was alright, but suddenly those hard won feeling accomplishment, are gone, as quickly as they had appeared.

April fools!?

Personally,I'm so glad that we, as the American culture, have a recognized day to celebrate playing ridiculous pranks on each other.  Personally, I've never had much opportunity to take it to heart, although I do love the cleverness, and the level of cospiration involved.  

Congratulations to all who were clever enough to pull off a joke.  I did not have such an opportunity, although, I must admit the calibre of pranks seems to have risen.  Yesterday, I read an article which outlined 10 different pranks.  Some tried, and true, others delightfully clever.  However, all in all, largely despicable.  T favorite was to Saran Wrap the shower head, so the water became redirected, at the person reaching in to turn it on.  Tonight at dinner, an auto mechanic tecounted a seriously dirty (in more ways than one) story of greasing everything. In the shop with tire lube.  The take-away point was the extreme slipperiness of the stuff,  while the story was hilarious, it ultimately reminded me that the line between funny, and cruel is not all that distinct.  

As I happen to so spend so much time piecing a manageable life back together, these realizations  occasionally blindside me.  Sometimes I lose it, and breakdown.    Others, I just remain stoic, and attempt not to process the implications of having lost so much, that I still have no idea, as to the ultimate extent of my injury.  Anoxia is still the great unknown.

  Like pranks that inflict pain, or emotional harm, where is the hilarity in the creation of anothers  suffering?  It often appears that our society feeds on this negative energy.  I now find it necessary to occasionally stop, center myself, and remember that I don't have to/can't let all of it in.  I'm often forced to filter the world piece by piece, as orchestrating all movement, thought processes, and all othe life functions can't simply overload my abilities.  In this case, I stop, or freeze until my brain mangages to process, even one detail, and I can go on in my world.  Every survivor lives with different struggles, although, I d like to imagine that the struggle of Putting  your broken world back together, can be triumphantly universal.

The glory of the White Mountains

Every year around Christmas, my step-dad Marty, gives me a weekend of adaptive snowboarding, at his local mountain.  Cannon, in the white mountains of New Hampshire.this mountain rage still has a similar grandeur to it, as it did when I was a kid.  I love working with adaptive program there as well.  They all make an effort to provide me with  the same instructor, each year, I love that continuity, plus it's like seeing old friends, upon returning.

Marty picks me up in Burlington, and shuttles me, my gear, and his dog, back to the white mountains.  Henry, the dog, is a recent addition to the mix.  He seems very skeptical, and uneasy about me.  Sometimes, even animals need more time to figure me out.  My movement patterns are absolutely unique, which often invites curiosity, or occasionally uneasiness.  Henry largely avoided me the whole weekend, unless I was sitting.  The White mountain range always strikes me as far more dramatic than the Green mountain range, in Vermont.  Not sure why, they looming, and create a sense of grandeur.  I've lived in Vermont for 11 years, and have yet to find that same feeling.  The Green Mountains are a different nail to me, I find myself unable to describe why.  Perhaps because I'm soo familiar with them now.

I look forward to riding at Cannon every year, mainly because of the continuity.  I work with the same guy every time.  It's always fun to work with someone you know, and appreciate working with.  The conversation is easier, because you already know some things.  It's also extremely helpful for me, as he has a gage of how my mobility improves/changes year to year, which is extremely helpful.  The person who works with Ben, to support us, handle the extra gear I may need, or help out with the ridiculous process of getting me safely on a chairlift.  This visit that was Dave, a newer volunteer.  After our first run, we atteptd to sit 3 across, on the chairlift.  That went rather badly, and we had a fantastic wipeout.  Ben caught me as the chairlift took me by surprise, and somehow managed to recover, and continue riding the lift.  Things didn't work out well for Dave, who was carrying our boards.  I have to walk on the lifts at Cannon.  Not sure why, it's just how adaptive seems to do it there.  Actually, it's probably because of the challenging landing, getting off the lift.  It's quite steep.  Actually we slide down this brief embankment, on our heels.  Ben tells me I get to practice my skiing as well, there.  I originally fell in love with snowboarding for the sense of freedom it gave me.  I grew up skiing intermittently skiing.  At 19, I bought my first snowboard, because concept of having both my feet attached to the same moving object, seemed more stable.  The learning curve was slow, and I remained consistently bruised, from every venture.  Months before I acquired my injury, I bought myself new gear from Burtons tent sale,  after my injury, they had me in adaptive programs while I was still on inpatient recovery.  As I progressed, I decided to stick with it.  I quickly learned that sit skiing gave me a very cold bum, and that my left arm was not able to support my turns.  Therefore, I still snowboard.  I miss freedom, and indepence in nearly all of my physical ventures, though I'm certainly not alone there.

On Saturday ,ourday ended early, due to thi instructors being needed for a promotional film clip shoot. Marty had disappeared,mand coulnt be reached.  Eventually I found him, napping in the car.  That evening we had a delicious dinner at a fantastic flat bread pizza, combination brewery.  Such a divine mix of 2 wonderful things.  I'd been looking forward to their pizza.  Schillings has become a favored eatery for me.  Upon returning to the house, I called in an early night.

The next morning, I got up, and washed up.  The sink is a rather unique design, where the water shoots up, before gravity pulls it back down.  That morning it was perturbed with me, and there must've been some air in the pipes, because the water shot at me, not up, including its usual fashion.  Awkward.  I had to put a different shirt, but considering how much water had randomly exploded from the sink, I'd done well, to not be completely soaked.  I did what little I could to dry things off,found a dry shirt, and went downstairs to find oatmeal ready, and waiting.  After that, we piled back into the truck, for the quick jaunt over to the mountain.  

We picked up where we had left off the day before.  The first run often feels ridiculous and awkward, as my brain slowly figures out how I need to move.  One great thing is that this year, I've e  noticed how much less I feel the need told onto my instructors with a white knuckle death grip.  My hands say a lot, for me, and in the past 2 years, I've noticed tem relaxing more, in new, or different situations.  When I'm nervous, or frightened, with regard to my mobility, my left hand involuntarily freezes into a clenched fist.  Snowboarding challenges so much my motor difficulties, balance, visual processing, and coordination.  As with anything, the more I do it, the easier, and more natural the movements become. Prac, practice,, practice, oh, and more practice.  Welcome to the single most frustrating, yet unbelievably amazing part of my brain injury world.  Retraing, my adult self to move, and attempt to function.  It has been a blessing, and cuse to have retained certan skills, and memories, only to not be able to execute them, as I remember.  Back in inpatient rehab all those years ago, we had to work everyday, at training my arms and legs to move, on command.  I had lots of spastic movement, but little to no control.  I have to think about how to move, before I do, sometimes.  Although that can be a slippery slope, and frighten myself into being unable to move, occasionally.  Every day, is really a new day, as I have to orient my frame of mind to my ability to move, that day.  The inconsistency is a bitch.  There's just no other way to succinctly describe how frustrating it can be, to not be free to trust in your physical ability to complete a task.

Sunday morning, the conditions were somewhat miserable.  It was 15-20 degrees cooler than the day before, the snow was fast, hard, and crunchy, where it had been sticky pow,  the day before.  We took faster runs, and harerd falls.  Ben made a game of weaving through some cones, on a section of the hill, and we ended up dominating it, but only after  a couple epic/ridiculous falls.  After luch we decided to call it a day, and ride tram to take in the views of Franconia Notch State Park/ Cannon Mountain ski area.  What an incredible view! Mi always forget that Cannon has a tram.  I swore I'd never  known about the tram, yet as soon asistepped onto the platform, I had this flashback memory of riding the tram with Marty's family, when I was in college.  So bizarre how old memories sneak up, and surprise me like that.

That afternoon, I packed up my gear, and we hit the road, back to Vermont.  I am so grateful to have this opportunity each year, the White Mountain lifestyle has always been so inviting, not to mention I always enjoy making connections to my life, pre-injury.  I feel it's important to be able to draw connections.

Sorry there are no photos this time, they refuse to load.

Oh, the irony.

Through the last several years of blogging, I've come to take more pride in my expression of the written word.  Editing pieces takes considerable time, though I feel it's important to document my experiences, despite my sometimes, obvious editing misgivings.  Unfortunately, today I just learned, my lack of attention to editing, has screwed me out of a job I desperately wanted.  The day before we left for  Iceland, I scrambled to create a cover letter, and grab my resume, as well as a writing sample, for a job I'd been very excited about, with Local Motion.  Unfortunately in my haste,I failed to check my writing sample.  It turns out I submitted the mangled draft of an assignment from last semester, and lost any consideration for the position because of my writing sample.  It's not that I even thought I had a real shot at the position, but to learn that I screwed myself out of consideration because of my writing ability, is just plain, old,devastating.

That is all for today, I feel humiliated, and have to find other jobs to apply for, whilst not wallowing in my own idiocy.

Also, never fear, my Iceland post will go up soon.  I have to download some photos from my camera, and non Apple technology continues to baffles me...

Nordic Travel Adventures

This evening I'm sitting in the international departures terminal at Bostons Logan Irport, in elated disbelief that my dream of visiting Iceland is being realized.  11 years ago, I found myself seriously unhappy with my choices and direction (or lack thereof) in my life, so, I dragged my sorry self to classes, and peer activities, but in my free time, I scoured the Internet for international jobs working with horses.  One October day, I found a job that called to me.  I immeadiately fired off an email, inquiring about logistics and job details.  Within a week, I booked a flight to London, had formally become a college dropout, and had never been more sure that this was the right decision, for me, at that time.   There is such a sense of freedom, when you find a way to pursue your passions.  The following year, I'd booked a return flight that happened to have a layover in Rejykavik, Iceland.  One of my coworkers had gone on, and on about its beauty, from a tour she had been on there, flying in, I remember being captivated by the essentially black ground, amidst shrubbery, and sparse fields.  Very curious.  I decided then, I would return, to learn more of this land.

I now realize that so many of us allow our fears to stop us from pursuing our passions.  Myself included.  Last year, I was thinking about this, while reminiscing about some of the sights and differing perspectives I once had the opportunity to glimpse. One of the many, supposedly common brain injury characteristics is impulsive decision making.  Whether it was my overwhelming fear of being swallowed whole by federal aid programs, or a compulsive behavior that I'm not prone to, I cannot be sure.  The moment I saw a travel excursion to Iceland, on Living Social, all of these memories poured in.  Before I knew it, I had a flight and hotel in Iceland.

Once I gathered the strength to tell my dad, I was surprised when he wanted to come.  Soon we were both booked to go to Iceland.  It's my opinion that Iceland has a quite hospitable weather climate during the winter.  Although, I sincerely believe New England winters are particularly adverse.  Iceland had projected temperatures for above freezing, so I was immediately excited.  Temps in Vermont have been hovering between 0 and 10 degrees Farenheit.  Temps in Iceland were projected to be around 40 degrees midday.

Flying in!

As we finally boarded our overnight flight, 2 hours late, it settled in that I was actually going to visit a new (to me) land.  Honestly, for me, the adventure, and thrill of new place, and experiences is what I crave, always have.  I love meeting new people, learning new customs, heritage, and taking in new landscapes.  The 'red-eye' flight passed quickly, even though I was too excited to sleep.

Landing in Reykjavik Monday morning, the airport seemed as welcoming, if not more than it had 10 years before, on a layover from London.  We easily found our way to the bus terminal, and boarded a Reykjavik  bound bus.  This country has tourism facilitation down to a science.  Although, we learned of a growing fear/concern, that because almost all of the countries GDP (gross domestic product) relates to tourism, their national economy could shut down if any kind of tourism decline occurs.  One of the guides informed us that the country receives 6-10 million visitors/year, while the countries population is fewer than 650,000.  Tricky business.  Although, the tourism industry appears to be coordinated quite seamlessly.  Everything we saw, and experienced was handled extremely well, even when tours were cancelled due to foul weathe conditions.

The bus dropped us off at the hotel where we were booked, Plaza Centre.  Unbelievably, they were quite accommodating with early check in.  We had to wait 2 hours for the others to checkout, and for them to clean it, so we ventured forth, to find a meal.  We walked maybe 2 blocks, and discovered a somewhat French themed cafe.  Breakfast foods are my favorite of the day, and I got French toast, and an interesting chai latte.  Curious combination, I like them both as their own things, but together was strange, in my opinion.

 Inside the church'attrium

 Curious brand name, in the grocery

Monday evening, we had scheduled a trip to the blue lagoon, one of the 25 wonders of the world.  Truthfully it's a man made mistake, from extraction and mining difficulties, that formally created this wonder, however it is absolutely magical.  We boarded the somewhat empty tourbus, and took in the sights, through an ever strengthening snowstorm.  As the bus slid all over the road, though still climbing the steep incline, we all collectively wondered about a) the ever decreasing possibility the blue lagoon would even be open, and b) surviving the bus ride.  Soon, the driver anounced that upon our arrival, the bus would remain on site, until the road reopened.  There was a brief uproar from all the unhappy tourists, although, upon arrival,we could go into the parking, and booking Center to use the facilities.  Back on the bus, we befriended a Blue Lagoon employee, Erla.  She had a true gift for keeping people at ease.  She shared many interesting tidbits about local culture, and we learned more about local customs, as well as stories about her family.  After 2 hours passed, the road was reopened, and we were allowed to return to Reyjavik.  Although we missed the oppottunity to relax in the healing waters of the blue lagoon, our tickets remained valid for another visit, and we had the opportunity to converse with so many different people.

Iceland has a very group centered approach to tourism.  The tourism industry herds everyone, 'en masse', into packed tour buses, where a guide talks about points of interest, and tells fun facts along the way.  I was worried about my dads response to this type of tourism, although we both did remarkably well, being on a bus, with intermittent stops for waterfalls, the black sand beach, a museum tour, a lunch break, and a visit to what's referred to as a glacier tongue. This is where a glaciers is attached to a land mass.)  That was such a mesmerizing day, as there was so much to take in.  This trip was so short, and gave such a brief introduction to the multitude of majestic natural wonders this land has to offer.

Ice on volcanic matter

Skogafoss

Countryside in motion!

Traditional Viking craft restored in a museum

Skogarfoss-almost the same name, however, Yet an even more grand waterfall!

As it was such a quick trip, we found ourselves constantly torn, with regard to choosing tourism ventures throughout the country, and blazing our own path around Reykjavik.  Wednesday, I was very excited to go on a tour, referred to as the golden circle tour, When 2 English ladies recognized us from the day before, and gave rave reviews of the local public bathhouses.  We had already heard great reviews Monday, as well, and the idea of hot tubs, and a sauna, combined with more more movement seemed far more appealing than another 11 hour bus tour.  Deciding between volcanoes, and glaciers, or the public bath-houses seems like a no brainer, I admit.  However, given our need to stay moving, it made sense to learn more about the local culture by hitting the pools, and hot tubs, and then checking out a nearby market, where I stocked up on a couple of my dietary staples, (bananas, chococolate milk, yogurt, and teas to bring home.  The final 'piece de resistance' was the the Saga museum, where their cultures history as it has been handed down through story-telling (sagas) , and is shared in audio format, via headsets, as you wander through various scenes of the ages.  I have no adequate means to describe how captivating this museum experience was.  We basically walked around looking at depictions, and scenes, while listening to an audio guide tell stories about each charachter, on a headset.  Yet, the stories were so captivating.  Sometimes you just need a classical experience of foreign culture to tie everything together, or at least I did.  That evening we had our classic debate over food choices, although, in the end the food was  still great.

Friday was our last morning, and we were rebooked at the Blue Lagoon, as it was en route to the airport.  Rising that morning, I felt somewhat forlorn, and disappointed to have say good-bye, before I was ready.  The night before, I had needed some time to myself, and had responded to emails, and orgaznized travel notes.  When I was 20, I traveled the U.K. And Fance alone.  Mostly to meet friends, where they were living while studying abroad.  Sitting there watching the groups of people, I got lost in reminiscing about my former freedoms.  Although, it made me glad I had those earlier experiences, as they had provoked my Iceland fascination, and now I truly understand why I'm so passionate about visiting new places.

After our final breakfast at the hotel, we loaded our things, and headed back to the Blue Lagoon.  This experience was so different than Monday's.  Whe could see stark black and white contrast of the hardened lava fields, bathed in the sun-sparkling snow.  Amongst this contrast were small pools of baby blue water.  Reminded me of a blueberry freeze-pop, and the funky color they turned your toungue when I was a little kid. Putting on my bathing suit seemed counter intutive in this climate.  Ice water plunges? are one thing, but it didn't seem possible to get into 80-100degrees Fahrenheit water, surrounded by snow, and ice.  You leave your bathrobe on a rack, before stepping outside, and descending into the blue lagoon.  The lagoon is much larger than it first appears, accommodating over 600 people t one time.  We did one full loop. Stopping at the bar for smoothies, continuing on through surprising water temperature differences, inspecting caves, observing the many different nationalities, experiencing a steam room,and playing in a waterfall.  They had given me swim noodle, to use for stability, as I've lost the ability to swim.  I had to resist the compelling urge to smack the water with it, and splash passer-bus.  Juvenile amusements never cease, altogether...  

Surrealism at the Blue Lagoon!

They are currently preparing to build a luxury resort on the property, as well.  Hearing this, I grew extremely grateful that we had visited before that was built.  Resorts often change the existing serenity amongst such grandeur.  I'm sure it will still be worthy of its heralding as a wonder of the world, the commercialization will just reach new heights.  After 3 hours in the Lagoon, I was ready to get out, However, not ready to leave.  We said our goodbyes to Erla, and were so grateful for her accomdation.  , Then it was time to board a bus to the airport.  We had a good 4 hours before our flight, so we ate our final Iclandic meal, paninis, and salad, and then went shopping.  Part of the airport, is literally a shopping mall.  I am much happier walking around looking at new things, than I am sitting around waiting for time to pass.  My dad views shopping differently, and wasn't quite as excited as I was, though he was a good sport.  The only disappointment was the ridiculously high prices.  I found a coat I loved, it was $350 for a light wool coat, if I made any income that could be a consideration, although it still struck me as ridiculous for a coat I might wear 4 times in a year.  Still, it felt difficult to walk away from.  In the blue lagoon souvenir shop there were cosmetic testers, and tons of trinkets with the Blue Lgoon logo.  As we walked back to our gate, we passed a gigantic liquor store, and beyond that, 4 bars, a Brookstone store, and a newsstand.  We were still unforgivably early, so I went on a coffee hunt.  I had my decaf mocha latte, and returned to the gate area, to hunt for an outlet, to give my tablet more life.  Eventually, they made the boarding call, and we bid adieu to this grand land of wonder, and beauty.  On the flight home, I savored every last sip of Icelandic spring water, and tried to surmise a list of the top 3 moments, of the trip, with my dad.  It was a great idea, but I couldn't favor any one experience, over another. Im alreadysaving my  pennies to return, and go horseback riding, and glacier hiking.  I wonder if it's compable to walking on a frozen lake, except there's more comfort in knowing you cannot fall through the ice...

The flight back returns over incredible views of Greenland.(which is, ironically, more icy than Iceland)