Dec. 1: I find myself not having/not making time to write. More the former, less the latter but it’s all rolled up together. Life balance is at a minimal these last few weeks, and I find myself acutely aware of the need to find a hobby. So this week as I sit in a leadership conference the conversation turns to how crucial it is to focus on caring for self particularly when you feel you can’t “fit that in”. So we all started talking about our hobbies sharing how we recharge. I’ve known for quite some time I don’t have a hobby (something I do repetitively and find relaxation and enjoyment during and after completion.) I have always been lacking in this area. Always. As people go around the room speaking of deer hunting, time with their children at museums, scrapbooking, photography, running and such my heart rate acutely rises to fear of and then acceptance of I have nothing to share. Laundry? Cooking dinner? I love to do things, but don’t really know how to engage myself in these long-term. It’s probably noteworthy to mention I also suffer a touch from social anxiety (incorporating myself into a room full of strangers) so I at times steer clear from opportunities. I like crafts (painting, cutting, arranging, organizing) but don’t want to do them alone and need another person to help generate the idea. Are there craft groups out there? Maybe auditing some classes at a local college in the evening? I used to crave bike riding and spent an entire summer every day after work riding 10 or 15 miles. Then, the winter came and by the next summer I lost the motivation. I like to watch movies, but that gets expensive after a while. I adore book reading, but again it’s an activity done alone. I think mothers have play dates where they pull their kids together for play time and mother time thus promoting regular purposeful interactions. I get home from my 10 hour day and fall into bed not prioritizing life at the end of the day. Would watching The Waltons on a regular basis at 9 pm count qualify with merit as hobby I could mention without embarrassment? So there I remain knowingly unbalanced. I am however, very well intended and want to work on reversing this. Anyone want to volunteer in joining me in this discovery adventure? Those of you that have known me a while know this has been an ongoing task of mine.
I’ll brag and say I finished my Christmas shopping about 3 weeks earlier than my goal. After my last post, I got a surge of motivation and the very next week (day?) went out and tackled everything on the gift buying to-do list. Boy was that a treat to sit back and realize I had it all accomplished well before my self-proclaimed deadline. Then, as days continued to pass the pride and achievement began chipping away and the remorse started filling in the holes. I gained an ongoing awareness that holiday junkies secretly need to be out in the hustle and bustle of the cold with Christmas music swirling overhead with everyone else. I’m now having to find reasons to do that and imagine this will heighten even more as I move into December. (Can this be a hobby?) Yep, I should look for a few more stocking stuffers. Return the red for blue. Obtain more bows for next year. And so on the excuses go.
Recovery is going nicely. My next appointment is in less than two weeks. I have no idea what we will talk about. “Yep, those look nice, swelling receding, see you never again.” Maybe I’m just overly optimistic? There are still many things I can’t yet do as I found when I recently went to my Basic Life Support recertification. Let’s just sum it up by saying if I were you, I would choose a very specific time when Sally had someone with her for you to have your cardiac arrest. There is absolutely no way at this stage of recovery that I could successfully perform chest compressions. (Nor would I want to receive them for that matter). Pushing down with that degree of force is very close to impossible. So if you could delay your need for my skills about 4 more weeks, then I think we would be the perfect team, you and I, for you to fall out on the floor with your heart sputtering in cardiac arrest. Only if you are feeling up to it, of course. No pressure from me. I want you to fall out at your own desire without any encouragement from my need to practice my pursuit at proficiency.
You might not want to know this. It might make you uncomfortable knowing I possess this skill particularly if you find yourself in possession of a set of imposters yourself, but I believe I am now sufficiently and maybe even certifiably skilled at detecting implant reconstructed boobs. Not that I walk around doing this or anything, but in this phase of my life where I now notice boobs right and left (think about how many pregnant people you see when you yourself are trying to get pregnant, or how many red mini coopers you see on the road when you recently bought one yourself) I myself am now in possession of and now know the characteristics of Smooth Round High Profile Gel filled flaps of skin. Those of you reconstructed with adipose instead of implant may potentially remain safe from my detection. So there is no need to avoid me. The rest of you, I provide my apologies for now possibly knowing your secret as you do mine. The gel imposters do not behave as the normal fat-filled sister boob on any level. Large chested women have never before been successful at going bra-less. My equally large chested-ness now a result of gel means I now can do that. Rest assured I don’t choose it, but I could do it. In fact there are many days in any given week when I have a bra on and can’t tell that I do- I reach down in fear that I forgot it so thankful to find it exactly where it should be. Some of this forgetfulness is a result of my inability to feel some of my skin and pressure normally imposed by a bra, but also because a bra covered boob looks no different than an uncovered boob under a shirt. When I climb or go down a set of stairs, my chest remains motionless as if made of firm plastic (this may change as the swelling lessens in upcoming months, but no doubt never to return to the sway of the fat containing sister boob. I almost want to become an avid jogger just because of this, but the pull is not near convincing enough to promote conversion. Joggers are very similar to golfers to me. I don’t always understand the pull. So instead I try to bounce a little more on my walking treadmill to appreciate the new trait in its entirety. And without going into detail out of respect for my grandmother who probably can’t believe I have typed so many paragraphs about breasts, gel filled boob carry a different swell. I will leave it at that.
I still stand amazed at how something once so foreign to me now is a necessity I could never imagine parting with. Perspective. God was pretty creative when he came up with that ever changing influence. I’m also now of the mindset of never say “never.” I think I aged 10 years with the deletion and addition of boobs. (Thankfully, my boobs regressed in age in contrast. A silver lining to a dark cloud.)
