Goodbye, Be Free

I spent the first Thursday afternoon of 2010 sitting in the cafeteria of a skilled nursing facility crying into my coffee with a colleague. I was recounting the recent death of a client and the way he and his wife loved each other through sickness and then death. I told her of how they pushed their beds together and slept side-by-side holding hands until the morning she became a widow. We looked into our coffee, quiet for a moment. I wiped my eyes and cleared my throat.

Mr. D was an 84 year-old Jewish man with a malignant form of cancer known as multiple myeloma. I was told he needed help adjusting to his condition; to the fact that he was dying. I wondered how I might help him come to terms with dying when I myself knew so little about the subject. He was not ready and neither was I. Mr. D was born in Brooklyn right before the Great Depression. He met his wife when he was 14½, and she 13½ through a neighborhood Jewish event. They married four years later and had two daughters. Proudly, he shared about his career as a plumber and how he managed to move his family to New Jersey, into a house he himself built.

For six months, I met with him and became a part of his life. At times, he stared at the hallways before telling me of his plans to change the facility into a better place. Other times, he cursed with anger as he recounted the letters he had sent to management on issues related to the food. We discussed the importance of rest and letting go. I listened as his daughter expressed concern over his outbursts towards friends and family members. We discussed learning to forgive, be thankful, and find peace. I watched his wife cry confused tears as he stormed off clanging his walker against the floor with each step. We discussed how to leave behind a loved one and say goodbye.

In December, Mr. D asked me to help him write letters to his loved ones. He had many words he wanted to say and needed a scribe since he had lost the ability to hold a pen. He was grateful for his friends and asked them to look after his family. He thanked his daughters for their care over him in his old age, said he was proud of them in their adulthood, and apologized for being hard on them in their youth. We started the letter to his wife four times before he became frustrated and tore it up. He wanted to leave behind encouraging words, but was unable to do so. He was worried she would miss him, cry, and not be able to carry on by herself. I suggested that he tell her how he felt even if he thought he was doing it poorly, but that he do it anyways with all his worry, sadness, and love. And that was how the letter came to be.

I was told that the morning he died, his wife remained by his side for hours quietly looking at his face. When it came time for the orderlies to move his body, she rested her head on his chest for a moment before she said goodbye. There was silence, rest, and peace as death did part them.

That morning I cried for the family and their loss. I cried for the community and the collective pang that comes with the passing of a resident. I realized that when people you care for pass, it is difficult to mourn and accept the end of a life, but that it is not the end of hope. Something awakens when the life of a good man concludes. Through his words of gratitude, kindness, forgiveness, and love I discovered that dying is an integral part of living. With dying, comes the opportunity to set free those who are left behind.

Provoked

I don't really know where to begin. I've been sitting on my autobiographical statement for weeks, ruminating about it, dreaming about the themes I've considered exploring. I want it to be perfect, but I don't really know what to say or how to say it...especially in 500 words or less. I've written so many of these over the years that you'd think I'd be a pro at coming up with a solid statement. Quite the contrary, I seem to go through some sort of identity crisis every time I have to construct one. It's as though I suddenly don't know who I am, what I want to do, and what I've been doing the last couple of years. I think I'm just really tired & maybe burned out. I'll be honest, there are days where I catch myself imagining a life where I don't work and get to travel and indulge without having to worry about resources. In fact just the other day, my colleague and I were discussing the benefits of being a "trophy wife." I usually let myself think about this until reality slaps me in the face and my sensible side reminds me that the grass is always greener on the other side.
The thing is I've never been one to just settle for the comfortable life. My parents raised me to be independent and to value knowledge and hard work. By nature, I just happen to be this incredibly curious person who has a deep thirst for understanding how the world works. I'm genuinely interested in everything, well everything except for computer programming. I love learning and if time and money weren't an issue, I'd stay in school forever. I'm always up for a challenge and often wonder why it is I always choose the difficult path when I know it's so tiring. I have/had grand dreams of changing the world, making a real difference and not because I want a name for myself but because I really believe things can be better. This is a broad dream I know, but I hold onto it nonetheless. It helps me to continue believing in something bigger than myself and remember that I have a purpose greater than the day to day tasks I get to check off.
I was recently introduced to the word "provoked" in the context of feeling a deep calling for something. I thought the term accurately describes what I feel on a constant basis. Not to say that I'm angsty but rather that I'm always thinking about how things can be better especially for the marginalized. I'm currently working with a Hispanic 83 year-old woman whose daughter was left disabled after suffering a brain aneurysm and as I help navigate the health care system with and for them, I can't help but think that there has to be a better way of doing things. I often feel powerless and frustrated. I mean if I, a well-educated and resourceful individual, can't navigate the system, than how can the marginalized, the people who really need the system, to maneuver their way towards getting what they need. As a practitioner, I'm finding its hard to address individual concerns mainly because every problem is so personal and unique. At the end of the day, I am forced to settle for the fact that I can help get you what everyone else like you also gets, but I most likely cannot get you anything extra. This was rather disconcerting until I learned that I could also just listen and let myself feel something for your situation and in doing so, you know that I'm here and genuinely empathizing with you.
At one point, I wanted to be a lawyer. I thought being a lawyer would allow me to work on behalf of others. It was sort of a glamorous thought one where I'd get to fight for people who really needed to be fought for. I soon learned that this idealistic dream was largely based on what I had seen on the big screen...A Few Good Men to be exact. I still wonder about this abandoned dream of mine, but looking back, I'm confident my decision to become a psychologist was the right thing. It gives me that chance to go above and beyond. It gives me the opportunity to really care even if I know there's nothing I can really do. I know this is the right things for me, but I just wish I knew how it will all unfold...especially now as I'm trying to craft the best autobiographical statement possible.

The Autobiographical Sketch

It's that time again...or rather, I should say, the time has finally come. Internship applications: autobiographical sketch, training experience & career goals, theoretical orientation, and of course the stance on cultural diversity. I've been avoiding having to write these statements like the plague. I got started last year, put all of 0.05% effort into fulfilling a first pass requirement. Then, I decided to stay an extra year due to numerous factors: desire to publish, realization of sunken costs & time (so why not add another year? What's one year in the grand scheme of things?), not ready to leave SF quite yet/possible conviction to continue sewing seeds where roots were laid, best friend forever moved to SF from NYC (we'd been praying for years that we'd get the opportunity to live in the same place for once), end of 2.5 year relationship followed by questions of what is my purpose now & the like, defense of clinical oral examination and 98 page dissertation proposal coupled with complete burnout further explaining my avoidance & investment of 0.05% effort.

It finally hit me today that I can only avoid internship applications for so long. Okay, fine. It didn't really hit me. A more accurate explanation is I got a request/demand from my advisor for my completed essays-autobiographical sketch, training experience and career goals, theoretical orientation, and stance on cultural diversity-and thought, "Oh Crap." So here I am now, further procrastinating by blogging about the fact that I need to get going on these essays. I figured I'd use this space to try and take a stab at the first one, the autobiographical sketch.

Please provide an autobiographical statement. There is no "correct" format for this question. Answer this as if someone had asked you "tell me something about yourself." It is an opportunity for you to provide the internship site some information about yourself.

Let me just start by saying that the idea of writing yet another personal statement that may or may not convince a committee of strangers to choose me from hundreds of other applicants aiming to do the same thing makes me want to hurl. I know I'm early in my career. In fact, I'm not even @ the career mark quite yet. You may say that it's too soon for me to feel this way, but I can't tell you enough that I'm really tired of having to sell myself. The application process is never ending. Life is an application process it seems.

Most of the statement you'll be receiving will detail the journey of how some graduate student stumbled onto the field. Others might be oozing with passion overflowing from experience with a loved one. And then I'm 100% certain that ALL statements will convey the overused theme "I want to help people." I'm not excluding myself from any of these categories. I joined corporate America immediately after college, was provoked by the idea of pursuing mercy & justice for the poor after spending summer in the slums of Bangkok, and then took an unexpected turn after callouses formed on my fingertips, resultant from punching numbers on a calculator to ensure debits equalled credits...give or take a couple thousand in between of course. My paternal grandmother had a diagnosis of Parkinson's Disease and exhibited symptoms of Lewy Body Dementia. I want to help people and have had this desire ever since I was a small child (I think I take after my mother who often experienced an overwhelming need to invite strangers to holiday and family dinners...they had to be Chinese of course though). So yes, I'm an ex-accountant turned psychologist, a descendant of a victim of Parkinson's, and a good citizen/humanitarian/helper.

I know you're all seeking good matches for your program. I want to tell you that I feel I'm a good match, but I don't really know what that means. The phrase, "a good match" is a little too simplistic for my liking. I want to offer you something more than just "a good match." And when I say more, I'm not referring to better or worse...just more. You see, I'm 29 years old and not quite ready to write the story of my life in 500 words or less. I still have a lot of living to do and I'm certain you're program will only be small part of this living. Not to say it won't be an important part as I expect it will be a stepping stone to something greater. The thing is I try not to live or plan my life too far advance, so to say you're program is exactly what I am looking for and will help me get where I want to go would well...be a lie. I've learned in order to be good at anything whether it be a career, relationship, or even hobby, you kind of have to roll with the punches. I'm at a point where I'm still rolling.

It's been a difficult yet humbling couple of years. I figured out I was deathly afraid of disappointment...not just disappointment, but negative feelings altogether. This came about after I was called to examine my defenses. It became clear that I spend a lot of time and energy pretending I don't care about things I actually do in fact care about. I don't like to care because I don't like to be disappointed. Unfortunately, I wasn't made to be this apathetic person who doesn't really care about many things. I seem to care about too many things. In fact, I'm always thinking about something whether it be the mess of a healthcare system we have, the morbidly obese candidate for bariatric surgery, the borderline patient who gave me the hee bee jee bees, my close friend who just suffered a break-up, my friends who don't yet know the Lord but need Him so much, my posture, getting enough sleep, and of course the ongoing quest to find my purpose as I walk around with this gnawing feeling that I was made for something bigger than myself. My best friend referred to me as "intense" the other day. I didn't think of myself intense. I mean I laugh a lot and at most things. I regularly engage in what I call "ugly dancing." Even my dreams have a way of being plain silly and goofy. Still, I couldn't argue with her. Goofiness aside, I do operate at a consistent level of intensity.

Thus, I often feel like there isn't enough time to acknowledge the illogical negative "things" that pinch at me along the way. I'm strong on survival, but lacking on all the touchy feely things connected to the gooey epicenter of my being. I've learned however that there's no way to avoid the negative touchy feely things...except to stand in the middle of it all-disappointment, pain, hurt, sorrow, and all. I tell this to my patients and I tell this to myself.

The thing is I care about this...this thing I am doing here. I want to be picked, chosen. I want to know that I'm good enough and that out of the hundreds of applicants, I won't just fall by the wayside. I want to know that I'm interesting, unique and my efforts these last few years were not in vain. I need to know that even if I don't get picked for this one, there is another one that is even better..."a better match." I want to ensure I'm right where I'm supposed to be and that where I end up will help me to further propel mercy & justice from the front lines of my gooey epicenter. I'm writing in search of all these things even though I know it may end in disappointment and that I may have to stand in it and live through it many more times & over.

The deep truth is that our human suffering need not be an obstacle to the joy and peace we so desire, but we can become, instead, the means to it...Living our brokenness under the curse means that we experience our pain as a confirmation of our negative feelings about ourselves. it is like saying, "I always suspected that I was useless or worthless and now I am sure of it because of what is happening to me." there is always something in us searching for an explanation of what takes place in our lives and, if we have already yielded to the temptation to self-rejection, then every form of misfortune only deepens it. -Henri Nouwen

How I got Fulfull my Lifelong Dream of Living a Cliche Moment

It has happenned. I never imagined I'd ever get to partake in something so cliche. I've heard jokes being made about the scenario from time to time. I remember watching a parody of it way back when I was still interested in Tiny Toons, a comparison between Good Boy Buster and Bad Boy Monte. It was a public service announcement at one point, an affiliation with the Boy Scouts of America. Never would I have expected something like this to occur during my lifetime. Yes, I got to help a little old lady cross the street...and it happened exactly as I would've imagined.

I was on my usual 9-mile run wearing my earphones and thinking about very unimportant things. Picking up the pace along Fulton Avenue, I saw her standing there on the sidewalk not moving. She gestured and I wondered whether she was just having a moment or whether she was trying to get my attention. I stopped short in my stride and paused the song that was playing on my Ipod.

I could barely hear her with the Sunday afternoon traffic passing us by. She She had a very soft voice. "This is very heavy," she said. She was carrying two medium sized bags and a cane. "I have arthritis and can't see very well." I asked her where she needed to go. She pointed to a house diagonally across the street. I took her bags and slowly walked with her across the street. She thanked me and told me I could leave the bags at the front of her door. I told her I'd bring them up the stairs for her. She was somewhat hesitant and squinted her eyes giving me a good long look (probably sizing me up). I'm sure she concluded my 5'3 frame would not fare very well in a match with her cane and decided to let me continue with my role of playing "the good Boy Scout." She let me lug the two bags up her steps and requested I close the gate on my way out.

And that's how I got to fulfull my dream of helping a little old lady cross the street =D

Ramblings of a Psychologist

I keep promising myself that I will write again. I always wanted to be a writer. At times, I fantasize about living the life of a struggling literary artist. Who doesn't? Sure, you're always wondering how you'll come up with the following month's rent and how to construct a "thanks for taking the time to read my submission" letter that doesn't scream "screw you for saying 'no' to my piece." Even still, a life devoted to putting 'angsty meanderings' into words and crafting something that pretends to say so much when really says nothing at all is oh so appealing...only at times of course.

I was struggling there for a couple of months; having a hard time with the idea of having spent the last 4 years of my life undergoing training in order to make the commitment to helping other people have better lives. You see, it's always been my dream to change the world. I wanted/want to do something great. And while I struggle with wanting to do it just so I know I can be something great, I also know deep in my heart I really just want to do something great for God. As much as I don't like to admit it, His heart for the people of this world breaks my heart. I guess I just didn't think I'd be committing to this with the knowledge my own life isn't exactly "better" in the way I want it to be.

Working with veterans these last couple if years, I've come to understand that "Better" is a relative term. I've also come to understand there's no "good guy" or "bad guy." There's really only the individual human nature and the collective human nature. To be honest, I understand all this just enough to understand that I don't really understand much of anything at all. As psychologists, we like to think we understand. We want to understand our patients, our instructors, ourselves-we're mandated to go to therapy in order to quicken the process of understanding ourselves. In my opinion, understanding is overrated.

I don't understand why we're always at war. I don't understand why people voluntarily sign up to go to war. I don't understand why society expects people to function "normally" after they've gone to war. And really...I don't understand why there's the expectation that life is somehow going to be fair because honestly it's not. Life isn't really fair for anybody, that much I do understand.

It's easy to just read lab reports, analyze psychological assessments, and/or just recommend a pill that will make the pain go away. Despite all the progress of modern medicine many diseases and illnesses persist and ache many a weary soul. In moments like these I realize my clinical training based on science has many shortcomings. Patients come in hopes of finding understanding even though they know the majority of us haven't a clue what it's like to have spent what felt like an eternity in the deep and dark depths of their lives. In most instances I have to confess audibly, "You're right...I don't understand, I just don't know." And then I wait for an unexplainable compassion that allows me to follow with, "but I'm here and I'm listening...and I want to understand."

365 DAYS OF CHANGE-Day 1: Aknowledgment

Make a change. I decided that I need to make a change in my life. I've been feeling a little out of sorts...a little down/blue. Fine, I've been feeling a lot out of sorts. It's been difficult for me to get going. I feel tired a lot. I want to sleep all the time. Oh, and the big one: I feel like my life isn't going anywhere; that I don't have anything on the horizon to look forward to. I've been feeling this way for quite some time now but since I like to pretend nothing is ever wrong and things are always fine & dandy, it's taken me a while to acknowledge I feel well...less than stellar these days. The things is, I spend a lot of time helping other people have a life. Almost all of my energy is devoted to helping others make a change so that they can have a better life. I finally decided it's time for me to make a change. I want a better life.

365 Days. I'm a creature of habit and routine. I've found that routines make life simple, manageable, drama-free, and all that other jazz. Only thing is, they also make my life boring and resistant to change. I don't mind boredom as much as I mind everything always being the same. I've been on the same weekly routine for the last year. I know what to expect every day. Every week is the same and the weeks end up just passing me by. It's time to make a change. I decided I'd embark on a quest to do something, one thing, different everyday. I'll be honest, this was not a solution I came to after some profound-ah ha-epiphany-type of moment. No, it was more the product of a driving to old sappy music-something's gotta give-my life is going nowhere-must do something but don't know what-type of thing. It dawned on me that change occurs in all sizes, forms, & shapes and can be instantaneous or span the course of weeks, months, years, etc. I figured I'd start small: Do something, just one thing, different everyday for the next year.

Day 1: Acknowledgment. It's okay to admit I'm not feeling satisfied and I want a better life. I'm not and I do. Here's to Day 1 of change: Acknowledgment. Cheers.

Common Suffering

I'm a big fan of written notes and cards. I like getting them and I like giving them. I used to regularly write cards/notes/letters of encouragement to my friends. I stopped a few years ago. Grad school does that to you...sucks away all your time & energy, forces you to take comfort in shallow meanderings and focus on the concrete.

I have a collection of meaningful emails/cards/notes/letters that served an integral purpose at the darkest moments of the last decade of my adult life. Clarification: I've only lived one decade of adulthood. From time to time, I like to sort through the collection and read some notes. I didn't realize why I liked doing this until today. The first 7 years of my adulthood was a hellhole and I say that with the knowledge that the word "hellhole" should not be taken lightly. I forget all too often how much of a hellhole I let myself live through, how much of a hellhole I created for myself. Here in a moment, I"ll let myself remember:

Since I don't really believe in a God, I don't know who to thank for Grace's presence in my life. Maybe TC? I've learned that bonding can come through suffering together. On this perilous path that we separately walked down in a parallel for so long, when we finally met, we didn't just bond through our common suffering. We suffered similarly yet there was more to our bond than that. It was one of common experience and understanding and being able to share anything an everything with someone who, in time duration, was so new to my life, but in spirit, seemed to have been with me for so long. I surround myself with people, a lot of people. It is in Grace's company that I don't feel so alone. Grace's spirit and regard gently hold onto my hand like a caring sister would. It is in Grace's mind & heart that I know I reside...as she does mine. - Cl

Thank you Cl, for walking with me and for leaving me a gentle reminder of the perilous path. The one we fought so hard to leave. I know you don't believe in God...but I am reminded of Him every time I look back at our time on that treacherous road together. I am reminded of Him every time I think of you and how in a moment of need, I found you...a parallel spirit. I am still always praying for you and that one day you'll know whose hand it was that fought to put us on a different path and is still fighting now so that we'll continue to be more than who we were then.

On Being Enough...

Of late, I've been dwelling on the concept of "being enough". I've been under the spell of a miserable, arduous, and long application for a fellowship that I've been coveting for the last three years. They say third time's a charm...we'll see about that. I'm not hopeful. In truth the actual spell only lasted from sat-weds, but its been a peripheral part of my life for the last three years.

You see, I'm exhausted.

I didn't make it past the prelims the first time around most likely because I was a young, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed graduate student. I wanted to change the world...but so did the rest of America. The feedback I got went something along the lines of, "you need to be more specific, tell them exactly what you want to do, who you want to serve, sell yourself in a way that will make them sit up and pay attention."

I spent all of Christmas and New Year's working on the same application for the second time last year. I remember slaving over every sentence. Craft a story. Be specific. Tell them exactly what you are going to do. Highlight the need. I finished a week before the deadline. Had my genius sister read through it. Had my a friend in journalism school read through it. Had a friend working on her Ph.D in economics read through it.

It was solid. It was made up of everything I had...blood, sweat, and tears included.

It was solid BUT...it wasn't enough.

The feedback went something like this: "Your application was solid. You made it to the final round. There were questions of whether it would make it, but its hard to understand why it stopped there. We can't predict the applicant pool. You're moving in the right direction". They wanted me to apply again ??? "You were clear. You communicated your goals very well. You just need to put some of that passion back into it. You need to sell yourself w/more passion. Try to come back stronger and better next time". Stronger? Better? Are you Serious?

I decided I would try again. One final time this year though I wasn't sure what I would change. My experience level has increased. I'm older, no longer bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. I still have hopes and dreams of changing the world, but I'm willing to settle for just healthcare policy right now.

I decided I wouldn't spend all of my Christmas or New Year's on it this time. Avoidance is like ignorance in that it can be blissful...or so I thought. Until I finally sat down on Friday night to look at the same annual material...for the third time. I chickened out after 30 min and decided I would find inspiration in a book entitled "What should I do with My Life?" Too bad I fell asleep at page 47. I don't really know if I fell asleep at page 47. I just know I woke up with my face crinkled between 47 and 53 and since I prefer to be conservative in my estimate, I'll just say it was page 47.

Enough is enough. Sat-Weds and I'm finally done. The spell is broken...as is my pride, dignity, and sense of self. I feel like I might cry and no, it's not the Chariots of Fire kind of crying. I've come to realize that I hate having to sell myself. I hate having to prove myself...and I'll just lay my cards out on the table and say that I hate it because when all is said and done, or in this case written, I feel like its just not enough...nothing is ever enough. And this feeling has a way of highlighting the many other times in my life when, well frankly, I just haven't been enough.

I could go on and on about this...the concept of being enough that is. Its a concept that inserted itself into every facet of my life. Professional, relational, & personal. It explains why I avoid dating, why I obsess over all my clinical reports, why I agonize over having to embellish my own recommendation letters, why I can't just run 3 or 4 miles and instead have to run 9 or 10, why I can't just say "no" to another project (although I do work under Dr. Chu and that woman can sell ice to eskimos), why I can't just stop where I am and go to sleep.

So there you have it...the struggle between me and "being enough". I think its a fine and dandy sort of tug-of-war game except that I'm so tired and worn out from having had to sell myself over the last few years. I don't really feel like playing anymore. So long Mr. "being enough". I've had enough of you.

The Story

For You Christina Ha As You Take off for the Windy City...

When we first met, I was writing the story of my life and so were you. I knew next to nothing of your story just as you did of mine. I wanted to call my story "Porcelain Paradise". I thought it to be a very fitting title. It never crossed my mind that we'd be friends. It never crossed my mind that anyone around me would ever understand who I was, why I was who I was, or why the story of my life was being titled "Porcelain Paradise".

As impeccable of a memory as I have, I can't recall the exact moment when it all clicked for me and you. I remember sharing my testimony in our small women's group 6 years ago...how you arrived late, listened, and then left. I remember listening to your testimony a few weeks later. Even though I wanted to react, I didn't...I couldn't. I was different back then and so were you. So we began to share a few dark and twisty moments. We both liked to run...and so we started running together. We ran so long and so far that it seemed like it would never stop...it wouldn't stop...not on its own. I remember when it all went to hell for you and the night we stood under 4th of July firework-filled sky, both feeling weak, tired, and numb. I remember when I was just about at rock bottom and the night we sat in a small Mediterranean Cafe barely nibbling away at our food...both feeling unsure, alone, and stuck.

And then your story took off and you lost the dark & twisty. I remember holding onto mine as you shared your good news with me. I was happy for you. I remember telling you "God is so good to you" and wondering to myself when He might decide to be good to me as well. I caught on a while later...10 months later to be exact. It was as though we were a stained and slightly buckled jigsaw puzzle w/some pieces missing...but now there were at least a few border pieces in place...enough to make a full picture...or so we thought.

You went 3 years and I went 2.5 before the picture came undone again. Instead of circling back to that painful bend in the road...the one that had gripped us for so long, we were both somehow able to remember that we still had those border pieces in place...the ones that helped us find our way out of that self-made rabbit hole of a hell we had created for ourselves long before we first met. I remember the afternoon you held my hand as you cried your way through the story of those last 3 years and the morning after the 2.5 years when I could barely see straight and you let me cry on your shoulder. "Love, Lavender Honey, and lots of Curry"...that was your MO....and then came the next 11 months: the trips to LA, adventures in Haiti & Miami, late night pillow talks and phone calls, crazy times of laughter...lots of laughter.

In the last 6 years, I've come to understand just enough about life to understand that I don't understand much of anything...except that our lives were meant for more than where we were allowing ourselves to take them. Thanks for being there to learn this with me. Thanks for being there to laugh and cry with me, to teach me how to be shameless, and show me how to hold onto my heart a little less tightly. Thanks for always being there to pray with me and to call me out when I've been over-rational & over-logical. Thanks for understanding exactly what I mean when I tell you that 95% of the time I feel positive about life but that 5% percent of the time I feel like...well like everything is PUKE. Thanks for challenging me to bring that 5% down to 2%. Most of all, thanks for journeying alongside me during the most painful yet most formative times...from dark & twisty to shiny, happy, and new.

Tomorrow, you start the next chapter of your story and though we won't be in the same place, I wanted this to be a reminder that we are both still writing the story of our life. We want to know what it's about, what are its themes and which theme is on the rise. We want to know where we are headed. We want to ensure that we will get there and that when we do, we will look back and know it was not all in vain...that we mattered and made a difference somewhere or to someone. And while life does not seem to present itself to us for our convenience, to box itself up so nicely that we could talk about it with wisdom and a point to make before putting it on a shelf somewhere, I'm certain that this story of our life--the one with laughter, adventures, risks, and faith--will be wrapped with the courage to get it right and to fight hard for what we love.

Here's to loving you like a fat kid love cake.