ReFLecTioN

One week ago I was packed into a sold out stadium at a concert. It was the most fun I've had in...well, it's been awhile. Sometimes I find myself reflecting. I've come to understand that reflecting is also part of the way I begin to heal. Reflecting inward brings healing to me. Reflecting outward brings healing to others. 

my first T-Swift concert!

So I reflected on what my day looked like one week ago. I was giddy with excitement to go see one of my favorite music artists in concert. I was beyond excited to scream "We are never ever ever getting back together!" along with 49,999 other raving fans. Well, 49,998...my sister isn't a fan of Taylor Swift, but she went (and I'm pretty sure she had a fun time).  I actually felt like a girl, worried about what outfit I was going to wear, putting on my mascara in the car to save time. It was fun. And I remember as the the lights darkened and the color red filled the stage, I looked at my cousin as Taylor Swift appeared from behind a giant curtain and asked, "is this really happening right now?? Seriously?" 

It was. And I had so much fun. Have I already said that?? 

And as I keep reflecting on that night, I just cant get away from the feeling I have. I actually kinda
felt...inspired...? Yes...after a concert...I felt inspired. So over the course of my reflecting, I kept asking myself, "what has got me so worked up about Taylor Swift?!" 

And then I realized it. She is sharing her story. Over and over and over again. Night after night. Sold out, sold out, sold out. I watched a documentary a few nights ago and felt that same nagging inspiration. And it's because of something that she said in a personal interview. She talked about vulnerability. She said it hurts to be vulnerable and most would agree its not safe to be vulnerable. But that she does it anyway and shares her vulnerable stories with millions of people. 

In her song called, "Forever & Always" she addresses a break up that was hurtful & messy. The way she performs it onstage is nothing like I've ever seen before. She does it so...real. It's really her.  Not a singer singing about someone else's heartache...but her own. She drops to her knees after the song progresses from anger to sadness. She puts her head down and stretches a hand out toward the end of the stage and faces her palm up. About half a dozen girls reach for her hand and just hold on. Soon after, Taylor reaches out her other hand, palm up and it's swallowed by more reaches of comfort. The girls just hold her hands and rub her arm with a real vulnerable kind of comfort. Taylor has her head down on the stage the entire time and just let's the guitar play in the background as she just soaks in the comfort of touch. And yes, she DOES throw a chair! (check out the link to the video below, specifically starting at 3:55, but the whole video is good. i do not own this video)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7N_jzH9Y_Zk

The part of her interview comes back up and she shares what she was feeling during that moment with her vulnerability pouring out onstage. She describes it as the touch of their hands being comforting. She was sharing a real time in her life of real hurt with thousands of people. She described that moment as a very personal one, that "holding someone's hand is such a personal thing."

That inspired me...? But why? Maybe bc she doesn't seem so superhuman after all. Taylor Swift is personal. She spends hours before and after shows with fans, visits oncology florors, does special meet and greets before and after shows bc she knows it could all be gone in an instant. She still remembers where she came from. 

Sure shes super famous...but she's also super normal. 

Why am I so inspired? Because she tells her story and she knows it's risky, but she does it anyway.

I'm inspired bc I want to share my story, too. 

Hateful...a week later I'm in a fast-paced, patient-packed ER at work. The EMS wheels a patient into one of the trauma rooms, and shortly after, an alarm starts buzzing loudly. Nurses scurried out of rooms like ants escaping an ant hill and ran past the room I was in and into the trauma room. I've learned in my 2.5 years here at the hospital, that's never a good sign. I heard the secretary whisper, "that's the patient coding."  another nurse comes around the corner and says, "go get the husband. Is the husband here?"  Not good. After about 15 minutes, the nurses that pounded the floor to get to that trauma room emerged, their faces blank. They peeled of gloves and shook their heads. The woman died. They all went back to doing what they were doing before. Like nothing happened. About an hour later, the charge nurse lead the husband, the daughter and another relative to the room. On Mother's Day...someone's mom died. And I watched from 2 rooms away the shock that causes tears to dry up in deep wells of the soul. I almost forgot what I was doing until the young guy I was with sat up and asked, "how much longer until you're done babysitting?" 

It jolted me out of my empathy & I wanted to snap back, "I'm NOT your babysitter." but I didn't, even though the second time hearing it made me want to fly outa my chair and explain that I'm not a babysitter. That it offends me when people call me that. But I just answered somberly, "7am."

I snapped out of my empathetic state and accompanied him to the bathroom, where he spewed vomit all over the floor and walls. 

I shook my head to myself. 

"I can't wait to be done babysitting." 

It was then that I began to reflect on my day/night one week ago. How different it was. How polar opposite my Saturday nights were in the span of just a week. And the word 'reflection' holds tightly to my emotions. It chokes the life out of me sometimes. Reflection. It peels back layers that have since scabbed over and as milestones in life hit, the scab of reflection itches for healing.  

This mothers day I reflect. 12 months ago, instead of packing into a stadium with 50,000 people in it, I was crammed on a couch in a tiny apartment, pouring over old photos. About 14 of us piled over each other in my grandmas tiny apartment laughing and "remembering when." the same thought loomed in all of our minds as we turned pages of sepia-colored memories, worn with age & life. it would be the last mothers day for my grandma. And even though that sick feeling and nagging thought wove thru our minds, we continued to look at pictures, eat bean dip & make fun of the big-haired photos. 

Cancer. I reflect on that. It's what laid the final brutal assault on my otherwise healthy grandma, and stole her life. We remember & reflect on certain days. After 11 months, the scab of death itches & I want to rip it off in anger, but I know it'll hurt