Sometime around the beginning of October, in a way that anyone who's suffered from something like anxiety can understand, the pieces of myself sat down to have a talk. We decided to try out a new mantra for the month: Do the Scary Thing. I bought a solo ticket for a concert (that ended up being postponed), made plans to explore potential futures.
And you know what? It was okay.
Just okay. Not much more, not much less. But I tried. Things didn't suddenly, miraculously get easier or better by sheer force of will. People forget that illnesses--mental or physical--don't work like that. Things didn't suddenly clarify in front of me. My body still gave out on me more easily than it should. The chocolate still ran out and the flowers still died. I didn't have something other than hastily edited iPhone photos to offer you, weary intrepid blog traveler. But I was okay. I survived. I think it reinforced the philosophy I've held for a while: that trying is all anyone can truly, legitimately expect from us. Trying (and often falling short) makes us human. Unutterably so.
And boy, am I human this season.