You Win Some, You Lose Some(thing)

You Win Some

I hope you have something in your life that brings you joy the way attending concerts brings to me. You don’t have to get it, you don’t have to get my particular thing, but if you haven’t found your particular thing? Look for it, find it.

Don’t wait another second, not one more.

Whatever your “front row Barenaked Ladies concert tickets” are, drive across four states and get ’em.  You will not regret spending money and time en route to bliss.  We don’t hold a great deal of material wealth, my husband and I, but I will spend money for good concert tickets; I carry not one whiff of regret at having spent the money on the experiences.

Being with my friends, sitting in the front listening to MY hall of fame band play MY song means more than words.  Sure, I said some stupid things to the guys in the band.  Mostly stupid, probably.  Once I even had to apologize for staring, pretty much unresponsive before I recovered my powers of speech (Go, Wendy! Jaysus. . .)  But I’ll do it again if given the opportunity. With any luck, I’ll construct complete sentences, topic-related would be cool too, but let’s be honest–I’ll rant like an idiot or stand by mute.  Having an advanced degree in communication sciences and disorders means nothing when communicating with my favorite musicians. But I’ll go.  And I’ll thank them for the music, for being with me whether I need strength or a celebratory soundtrack.  And I don’t know if they think I’m weird, stop asking me, but I’d like to think they appreciate their fans, and since this is my little web page, we will go with what I’d like to think, m’kay?

When they opened the encore with my song, my heart was fit to beat straight up and right out of my chest.  My eyes welled up, and I was swept up in the moment–that being swept up thing actually happens!  I swayed back and forth, tears in my eyes, and with my hands over my heart–don’t know what’s got a hold of me, it’s greater than gravity–but I knew what got a hold of me.

You’re rolling your eyes, whatever-ing me.  It’s OK.  But maybe if we were each allowed that kind of moment, the moment where everything is perfect, every single thing is perfect, we’d be a happier world.

You Lose Some(thing)

Joy can be elusive and fleeting (see above).  Without it, one could easily fall down the rabbit hole that is reality.  It’s easy to forget how damn incredible you can feel when your single-sightedness keeps your eyes trained on the ground and not looking up.

Muscular Dystrophy is an asshole.

I get “talked to” for being negative, for attending to what-ifs and you-don’t-know-thats.  True statements, those.  A part of my brain tells me that it’s not negativism, but pragmatism or keepin’ it realism–my son is losing appreciable strength in his hands and wrists.  He carries an amended posture in his hands and arms, and it’s not the good kind of progress.  It looks different, his bones moving as a result of the muscles not working properly.  Look down at your wrists–your wrists are probably on a flattish plane between your hands and arms.  His are at odds and angles against that plane.  Hands turned in, fingers splayed back.  Even an action simple as clapping looks labored.

He’s losing functioning.  Some muscles/muscle groups work while others don’t.  That leaves an imbalance of muscles–a muscular overdevelopment or overcompensation against those muscles that don’t work properly–suddenly, this imbalance seems more pronounced.  I knew from Day One it wasn’t going to get better, but it’s a loss to see this decline.  He says it doesn’t hurt, and he hasn’t noticed that any tasks have become more difficult, and for this I am grateful.

Being grateful it’s not worse doesn’t make me happy he has it though.

Listen to this song–it’s titled Grateful.  I’ve been obsessed with it since I first heard it live last Friday.  So.  Good.

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10 thoughts on “You Win Some, You Lose Some(thing)

  1. Thank God for art — particularly music. It makes meaning — even beauty — out of the sh!tty things that happen to us. Great art takes courage to produce, because it’s hard — hard as hell — to express the things in our deepest hearts for fear of being ridiculed or misunderstood. One of the things that makes your blog meaningful, Wendy, is that you don’t worry about who’s rolling their eyes or thinking what you’re saying is dorky — you just wear your heart on your sleeve fearlessly. Keep doin’ it. ‘Cause I promise you: No one’s scoffing or eye-rolling; everyone reading Greater Than Gravity — myself included — aspires to your kind of uncommon courage.

    Liked by 1 person

    • You always connect just the right words in precisely the right way, Sean. Thank you! And thank all that is right in this world for music, yes! What a quiet, considerably sadder existence we’d lead without a musical accompaniment. Music soothes, heals, celebrates, satisfies, exalts. . . It’s my constant companion, essential as food and water I think sometimes.

      Wearing my heart on my sleeve was an essentially Wendy element about which I wasn’t aware until I burst out singing in the Target check out aisle about six years back. My BFF was visiting here, and I was buzzing with happiness. She looked me in the eye, and said, “I never fully understood the phrase ‘wearing one’s heart on one’s sleeve until right this minute.’” The phrase made me happy then as it does now. Thanks! I don’t know any other way to be. Having courage is a deep and tremendous compliment to pay someone. I can only hope to live up to that, and I will surely continue to try.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. No matter how bad I feel, a really good song can provide some relief. And never feel bad that you angst about worst case scenarios–that’s how we plan for the worst so that we can enjoy things more when the worst doesn’t happen. Much love to you, momma.

    Liked by 2 people

    • There’s truth in that! Worst case scenarios rarely result in the absolute worst outcome, thank stars for that, indeed. There was a time that I questioned my approach—do I really have to play out every possible angle and plan for every eventuality? USUALLY things turn out just fine, right? But then for a time, I felt that MD was a punishment for things having generally gone my way up until then. (I didn’t say my feeling was logical, and I know otherwise.). I am truly more optimistic than not about most things, despite my anxiety-addled brain behaving badly, forcing me to cover alllllllllllll the bases.

      Liked by 2 people

  3. There is so much hard and heavy and sad in this world. There is so much that we have to do some days just to scrape by. To find some bliss, something beautiful and fun and light and hopeful, in your day, in your life, is wonderful. It’s a gift. And, I’m sad for those who don’t get the joy that comes from a passion and a love and giving yourself permission to find a little fun and a bit of happy despite difficult days and stressful times. I hope your post inspires someone somewhere to find their bliss, too.

    Liked by 1 person

    • What a beautiful comment, Jackie. I wish I’d written exactly what you wrote here—my post would have been shorter, sure, but that’s OK—you nailed it! I mean it, whatever that “thing” is, and you have your thing, so you know that finding the joy a gift. The happiness, silliness, focus, passion—whatever it returns to you, is so worth the pursuit.

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  4. You are not even remotely negative. You tell it like it is and that’s so valuable. I hate this whole idea or expectation that we’re supposed to be rainbows of positivity all the time and that’ll be the cure all for dealing with this stupid, life altering thing known as muscular dystrophy. People need to hear the real stuff, the bad stuff, the good stuff too when that happens but I think the best understanding for other people comes from what you do…telling the whole story. I love you’re win some too. Concerts, music and bands can bring such amazing therapy and joy.

    Like

  5. Pingback: July 13th and 20th 2018 – Weekly Roundup of Members Posts | Blogging Meetup

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