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Why Joy Pomegranate?

Because life is hard. 

I almost died.

Here is what happened.

One day, not so long ago, in a galaxy far, far away, I woke up feeling NOT myself.

I stood up and felt my world lurch forward and to the left. I was unable to cross the room without grabbing hold of something.

Woah! What’s going on?

I also couldn’t think straight and had a soft headache. The muscles in my mouth felt “funny,” like someone had turned my kisser into Play-doh and was trying to match my lips to what I was saying.

My hands weren’t working so well either. I could barely grip the doorknob to pull open the bedroom door.

I thought about ignoring it. And so I started making my morning usual bowl-of-breakfast-goodness. (1)

But I stopped, realizing I didn’t want to put anything into my sea-sick stomach.

My concerned husband insisted I go see a doc. I slumped my way over to the clinic a few blocks away.

The doc did a bunch of on-the-spot tests, like asking me to close my eyes while simultaneously poking my eyeballs out with my fingers.

Then she said I needed to get a CAT scan in emergency.

Emergency Room? What?

I need to go to the emergency room? Crazy. This is getting weird.

I mean, c’mon, what was I doing in emergency without my morning coffee? “Can you add some french roast to the IV fluids?” I asked, as they poked it into my arm.

They ran some tests while I sat in the hospital bed.

All they could figure is that I was dehydrated and I’d better go see a neurologist.

Eek. That sounded serious.

The neurologist couldn’t see me for two weeks.

So what’s a self-sufficient, info-gathering girl to do in the two weeks waiting for that appointment?

Scaring myself silly, that’s what.

Holy cow.

I googled my symptoms and everything I read was BAD, really, really BAD.

I mean, the best case scenario was a disease which, at the end of it, would have someone wiping my ass.

Nothing wrong with that, except I’d rather be the one wiping someone else’s ass than having someone wipe mine. That’s a frickin’ hard life!

The scariest neurological-disease I read about said “dead in less than two years.” I tell ya. It’s enough to make a girl wanna induce an even earlier death by eating a truck-load of raspberry jelly donuts.

Where is the Joy in That? 

I convinced myself that I was going to die in a miserable way. (My heart goes out to all of you with neurological diseases…and a deep bow of respect to you for braving through it!!!)

I felt regrets floating around in my noggin.

This phrase kept popping out of my mouth:

“I still need to help people!”

Which surprised the sh*t out of me.

I have never had that thought before. The more I said it, the more I realized that my compulsion to give advice was a real yearning to help others. It sounds so trite and cheesy, I know. But that’s what happened, fer real.

My story isn’t that surprising.

It’s the same ol’ story of sudden realization of unfulfilled living in the face of death.

Yawn.

Boring…but not for me at the time. I felt the sadness, the anxiety, and the pain of “not doing” and “not becoming my best me.”

Have you ever felt like that?

My heart was telling me to do more and share what I was learning in life. How could I make this happen in what little time I had left?

I’d better find a way to get it out to the world…so…

A Blog is Born! Hah!

I figured if I shared my favorite life hacks and tools, that maybe you would find it useful too.

But Michelle, what did the doc tell you? Are you going to die?

Patience…I will tell you soon, I promise. Stop interrupting.

Anyhooo,

I’ve struggled with depression, perfectionism, negative thinking, and general b*tching about life.

AND I’m DONE with putting off the best parts of myself.

I’m on a mission to hand out what I am learning on my way to a happier mental space. I’ve actually come a long way. I already have lots of life tools that work well for me. Which brings us back to…

Okay, so Why Joy Pomegranate?

You can probably guess….go ahead and take a minute. I’ll wait.

Okay, I’ll tell you what it means to me.

A pomegranate is mysterious, like life (is that what you guessed?).

They are both rough on the outside, but inside, they have a jillion joy-pods tucked together. The more they’re pulled apart and examined, the more the mystery unfolds.

I’ve often given pomegranates as gifts, when they are in season.

What I’m trying to get at, my dear friend, is that I’m gifting this pomegranate blog to you. This blog is an exploration of how to “do life” with grace, or at least a sense of humor.

And I want to make it a juicy one.

Speaking of juice, that’s where the joy comes in.

It’s a goal, a wish, something to aim for.

It’s taking the little juicy parts in the moments that pass by and savoring them.

It’s a feeling of deeper peace, even when life gets chaotic, or terrifying.

Like harvesting the fruit of the pomegranate, it takes work to pull out the bundles of “amazing” from our day. It takes focus, it takes patience, it takes slowing down and noticing.

This blog is my attempt to slow down and notice how my brain works, where my emotions go. Noticing when I’m in joy or not in joy.

Joy Pomegranate is the Launch of a New Dream

A new way of life….

It’s also a new headache, a new obligation…it’s always like that; there are two sides of every coin. In fact, I had to check in with myself to see if I wanted to say “yes” to another obligation. (2)

Of course, you are reading this, so you know I said yes. I am excited to be on that path!

Okay, okay, Michelle. What about the neurologists appointment? Are you dying?

Well, I’ll tell you.

I nervously arrived with my friend Richard in tow (My hubby was working, otherwise he would have been there; we’ve gotta pay the bills ya know).

I babbled on about the past two weeks and how I still felt wobbly. My hands wouldn’t work right, I had no grip. I felt fuzzy brained. I felt nauseous. I had no zip in my zaster, no vim in my vattles. Some days were better than others.

I held my breath as the neuro-doc ran pokey items along my legs, had me moon-walk for him down the hallway and dance along the walls like Fred Astaire. And. Then. He. Told. Me. I. Would. Be.

Fine.

What? How do you know? I asked.

“Because you’ve had days of improvement,” he said. “Scary neurological diseases don’t improve.”

Huh.

Really?

Why didn’t they say that on all the disease sites I’d been reading for two weeks???? Grrrr…

So much for my crying spells and thinking about leaving this world way too soon. So much for the grief I’d given the hubs, and my parents. So much for the nights I tossed around like a freshly dressed salad.

He said I was dehydrated, lacking sleep, and having migraines (even though I had no headaches). He prescribed more water, more sleep, and more vitamins.

I was going to be fine. Or was I?

If I didn’t do those things that have been rolling around my brain for those two weeks, then I would NOT be fine.

“Gotta do it,” I told myself, “it’s time to get brave!” And that’s when I started looking into how I could share more of myself. Speaking of getting brave, I used it as my one-word New Year’s resolution. (3)

That is also when I started to think about you, my new friend.

This is I hope you come with me on this journey. I have a lot to share. Come play with me.

Live Juicy, Joybird!

Posts

1 The Add-In Diet: Power Up Breakfast For Weight Loss + Health

2 Overwhelmed Again? Stop Doing This

3 How To Pick The Best One-Word New Year’s Resolution

Photos

Pomegranate: Fet

Cat Scan: Ron and Joe

Donut: Elizabeth A. Cummings

Blogging: Negative Space

Seeds: Jessica Lewis

Happy Girl: Indypendenz

Reflecting Girl: Tim Douglas

Start: Ann H