Choice.

I am pro-choice.

Thankfully, I have never been placed in the position of having to choose to have an abortion myself. 

I have, however, seen first hand the decision making process required when I drove a close friend to a clinic thirty minutes away and sat in the car waiting for her, unwilling to bring my new baby inside. I didn't want anyone who had made that choice feel guilty.

Abortion is legal. It has been since Roe vs Wade in 1973, however, the history of abortion dates back to the 1800's in America. The first laws attempting to regulate abortions were passed in 1821. Think about that for a minute. Think about what life was like for women in the 1800's. Women couldn't vote. They were basically baby making machines, restricted to aspirations that could only include the home and family. 

It startles me to think of the new push to defund Planned Parenthood. The (mostly male) Republican candidates spit those words out of their mouths as though they were poison, something to be embarrassed about and cast away.

What they don't understand is that Planned Parenthood prevents abortions. Planned Parenthood performs breast checks that lead to mammograms that save lives/prevent breast cancer. They provide necessary STI checks to people who otherwise couldn't afford them. They perform pap smears and catch cervical cancer before it has a chance to become more insidious. 

And even if they didn't? Even if they did 100% abortions? 

Abortion is legal. You don't have to like it. You don't have to make that choice or even be nice to someone in your life that has made that choice (even though that does kind of make you an asshole). But to attempt to change the laws that make abortion safe and legal for anyone who has to make that choice so you can be more comfortable in your religion or personal ethical code? That is unconscionable. 

This world is built on personal choice. How to do your hair, what job you choose, who you marry, what religion you follow... all things that make you an individual, with autonomy.

Don't push your religion or choice on me. The right to choose is just that... a right.

And I'll be standing there, wearing and waving pink, making for damn sure you know how hard people have fought for centuries to allow that same choice.

Chelsea Dagger.

The last time I heard Chelsea Dagger, I was standing in a crowd of people at the Chicago Pride parade. The Stanley Cup sat proudly on the float, there was cheering and excitement.

I stood there, surrounded by cheering, and cried. My tears were tears of joy, of course, but they were also tears of grief.

Tonight is the first game of the regular season for the Blackhawks. I will celebrate. I will cheer. But I will, above all, miss my sweet puppy.

Chelsea was hit by a car just after the Hawks won the Cup. There isn't a day that goes by where I don't miss her with my very soul, that I don't wish she was still here, letting me hold her up and make her dance to the music.

Thankfully, my memory of seeing her tiny body crushed by the car, the noise of the impact and the feeling of screaming comes less and less frequently. But every day her absence is made clear.

Brambles.

My heart is brambles, barbed wire, landmines. There are days when everything is sunshine, days where I casually skip through the landmines with a grenade held gingerly between my front teeth, eyes closed, missing detonator after detonator.

Then there are days when I swing my feet to the floor and immediately hear the unmistakable click of landmine, prepping to explode. I hear the blast, I feel myself being ripped limb from limb and yet I am still expected to get up, put on a smile and put on a show. I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine.

The truth is, I'm never fine. Even in my most pristine, flexible, death-defying moments I am still perched on the edge of oblivion. The specter of anxiety and depression looms directly behind me, breathing smoke and brimstone down my neck.

But I fight on. I breathe through it, even on the days the smoke chokes my lungs. Sometimes I look in the mirror and don't recognize my own face, don't recognize the look in my eyes and the person staring back at me. On those days, I smile. I nod at her and move forward. She knows.

Meditation practice.

Meditation is hard, you guys!

It's amazing how doing something as simple as sitting in one place for ten minutes can completely test one's patience. As an adult with ADD, sometimes the most simple tasks become exponentially more difficult.

And what could be more simple than sitting, focusing on the breath and clearing my thoughts?

Apparently, everything!

It is unbelievable how many times a mind can wander... and where it will go! I'm not quite sure if my brain just vibrates at a higher level, bouncing thoughts back and forth at an extreme frequency, or if it is a weird self preservation instinct. Regardless of why, one week into an attempt at a daily meditation practice, I am still having an infuriatingly difficult time just. sitting. still.

Thinking. Thinking. Thinking.

Our whole lives are full of the stuff.

What's for breakfast? Am I going to be late to work? Does my boss like me? Do I like me? Should I gym or should I relax after work? Does my butt look big in these pants?

It's simply instinctual. And we're so used to it that silence is deafening.

Enthusiasm.

I miss my youthful enthusiasm. I'm not quite sure I can pinpoint exactly when it left me, floating away from me like a dandelion seed on the wind. It was suddenly just gone, vacated the premises.

I'm sure that it was the result of a variety of factors. Growing up is a tough process, full of bills and disappointments and responsibilities. It tends to beat the fun out of you with an invisible bat, one you can't see or hear or feel.

But, opposed to what it may seem, this isn't meant to be a depressing or sad post. It's one about hope, the hope that I'm on the path to regain some of that childhood sense of excitement I may have lost.

I'm 33, but I'm not quite sure how old I'm supposed to feel. Despite paying all (most) of my bills on time, I would rather sit on my couch with a good book or giggle with my friends than do something productive. I've lost touch with a lot of them over the last few years, mainly due to a serious bout of depression than rendered me slightly overweight and anxious and withdrawn.

Now, I can feel the thaw coming. I'm appreciating things more. I'm wanting to work on myself, my body, my health. I want to socialize, to get out of the house (sometimes).

It's nice to feel want although, as a Buddhist, I know I should work on being liberated from it as well. I'm just happy to feel it for now.

1/1/2015.

Last night was the first New Year's Eve in a long time that I chose to stay in, don comfy pajama pants and celebrate quietly with my wife. To be fair, it was also the first year that I've had a wife (yay)! It was amazing... relaxing, less worry about all the other drunk drivers on the road, more snuggles with the warm and furry ones that are most important to me (minus my mini-me who was with her father seeing Blue Man Group in Chicago).

Today was much the same. I, of course, made big resolutions. I want to lose 50#, but mostly get healthier. I want to do more yoga and meditate more. I want to write more (chiggity checking that off my list for the day). Overall, my goals are to clear out the nonsense on focus on breaking down my life to its barest, most basic essentials... love, peace and security.

Yes, I want to buy a house at some point. I'm working on my credit score and we've created a budget. But the things that are the most important to me are making sure I'm taking care of my temple. We only get one and I have definitely not been treating it right (to the tune of a 20# weight gain since the summer - mostly after getting my gallbladder out and being able to eat food again).

I'm going to be writing most days so be warned. :)

Here's to hoping your New Year's Eve and 2015 in general is MAGIC.