a moment

If there is any likeness between my life and a run through a washing machine, I am currently fully immersed in the Agitator cycle.

The events of the past few weeks have upended my comfortable life and catapulted me into new, exciting, and uncharted territories.

• I am leaving a job I have been with for more than five years and moving into an amazing new role within the same company--all the while attempting to document and transition responsibilities as best I can to make life easier for the team I'm leaving. I'll be moving away from my full-time home office status to a split between corporate offices and my home office.


• I started reffing soccer games for the co-ed recreational league in which I play (and while that may not sound like a big deal, you should try running around a field for an hour having 15 people question, challenge, and refute every word that comes out of your mouth--quick way to realize the ol' skin needs some toughening up--and FAST).


• My parents sold their place in Florida and are slowly transitioning to full-time Iowa residency--a move that has resulted in a handful of wonderful heirloom furnishings for my home (some cleaning, re-arranging, and donating of old pieces is definitely in order).


• The unseasonably warm temps of spring in the midwest appear to be sticking around, and I have a window full of rapidly growing plants--with little more than an idea of where to put a garden and a list of physical "to do's" to get them moved outside.


• My inability to say "no" to any of the fun soccer teams I play with has me gearing up to be on the field 5 fun-filled days per week.


• My dogs constantly remind me that just because my routines are changing doesn't mean I can neglect them in the process.

These events--large and small, exciting and at times a little scary--have me traversing chaos, hurtling fast-forward through time, squeezing every last minute out of each day to stay on top of things without letting anything fall. In the end, the changes are all positive, but the undercurrent of change is shifting me from one who was knowledgeable and confident in what I was doing to one who has much to learn.

Tonight was the first night in weeks that I have had time to sit back, wash a few dishes, dust the growing mounds of dirt off a few surfaces, and try to restore some sense of order in my home. In the process, I sorted through a stack of mail on my counter from a few days ago. In the middle of the stack I found an issue of the publication my local MS Society chapter puts out. I flipped through the first pages of the magazine, and skimmed summaries of local events and support groups for people living with MS. And suddenly, with no warning... the floodgates opened, my throat tightened, and tears streamed down my face.

I'm pretty sure the outburst can be written off as a not-so-gentle reminder that I could use to catch up on some sleep and let go of some of the thoughts and worries I'm allowing to stress me out. But a tiny little rumbling of ice-cold fear in my belly thinks the tears were a result of a jarring realization. This crazy, mysterious phenomenon that is happening in my body has not hindered my ability to navigate the changes I'm working through today. But it could. It so easily could. All it would take is a tiny little strategically placed lesion--very much within the realm of possibility--to crumble my delicate reality into a pile of scraps and dust, vulnerable to the slightest breeze. A time bomb in my system ticking quietly, waiting for the right moment to explode. A reality I understand much more clearly after my relapse a few months ago.

I guess occasional collisions with these types of fear are expected when you live with MS. These fears are eloquently described in an amazing post on Wheelchair Kamakaze's blog, and tonight's temporary shift in perspective seemed like the perfect opportunity to share it.