A Beautiful Blur

At some point my worlds collided. This "fitness thing" used to be a separate part of my life. I put it into a separate section, a unique category, as a stand-alone event. At some point, I'm not really sure when, this became much more. It's maybe no surprise that at about the same time I started to really notice changes in my body. I'm not a separate me on the treadmill. I'm now simply just me. I still have moments of fear and anxiety. Sometimes, however, I just smile. An inner smile that comes from just breathing in something wonderful. At some point John became more himself to me as well. It's as if life itself has become more real, more vivid.

On Wednesday, on my drive home from Reno, the mountains looked especially colorful and splendid. I looked around and felt connected. I feel loved. I appreciate being able to take the next step

My blog changed too. This is becoming truly me. You will know much more about me if you read this than just what I've eaten.

I've been considering what it is that's left in me when it feels like there is nothing left of me. What is it that is left when true hope feels like it's evaporated. It's an interesting feeling. I used to walk around telling myself to hang on because the next moment might feel better. This past month, that thought hasn't worked so well for me. It feels as if at every turn, I've experienced more sadness, more grief. Even hopelessness. But there is something beneath even the hope that breathes life in me. Survivalism. Consciousness. Connectedness. Even if I know that the next moment might not be better, I hang on. Even if I know that the next moment might hurt, I keep on taking the next step. There is something very powerful in recognizing that even as parts of me feel stripped away, other parts are growing.