I sat down at my computer today to nothing but a desperate desire to complete something that was mine.
But I was only met with the silence of my keyboard. The slow and steady blinking of the cursor left me simply listening to my own heart beat.
It’s called Rubatosis, you know. Apparently Rubatosis is…
“The unsettling awareness of your own heartbeat.”
I know because I googled it. Because I experience it often.
And today, I am keenly aware of my own heart beat. My blood pressure has been off again. I’ve been battling that dark place of facing my mortality. Of fighting back when the numbers are so high they scare the shit out of me. And I sat there in the quiet. The boys were both at school. Roman was napping and taking those deep crackling asthmatic breaths that are so…her. Those crackles and wheezes remind me on the daily how much I love this little girl.
And I sat down to write.
I don’t even know what I was going to write. I had this ache in my heart. Anxiety, maybe? A lost feeling? And so I did what I haven’t done in a long time. I started my “therapy.” I wanted to write something.
Sure I have endless topics to write about. Or endless “fashion-y” things on the horizon. But today, I wanted more. I wanted this feeling to go away. And I wanted to replace this rubatosis with something. A heart that was beating for something. Something that was mine. Anything.
So I clicked off pages. And opened chrome. To be met with that same little cursor matching my pulse beat for beat. And then I started typing.
Google filled in the rest. And here I sat, in this very space, for hours. Is it weird I read my own blog? Oh well. Here I sat reading post after post. Finding myself through… uh… myself. My own words. They were all there. Reminding me what I do. What I own. What my heart beats for.
It’s My life.
It’s what I’m creating. What I’m owning. It’s meaningful and dark and bright – all at the same time. And It is everything.
I use to write a lot about Lucas. My boy who climbed that mountain called life. And sometimes I revisit those posts. I go to my blog. I click on the “therapy” button. I scroll to the the beginning, and I read. Every word.
So much has changed, yet so much is still just the same.
Sometimes I am inspired, or sad, or beyond grateful for how freaking far we have come together. This boy and me. But most times when I read it. I find something new all together in it. In the writing. The wording. The lessons of his therapy become my own therapy now. And really it makes sense, because hardship is always the battleground for growth. And lessons learned in his battle are usually universally applied to all our struggles. And struggles are real for all of us. Different, yes, but real nonetheless.
Once I wrote about Lucas and how I sometimes I rob his success from him. It was a puzzle piece that Lucas had turned upside-down. I just wanted to flip it over in his little hand. I wanted to reach over and place that piece in the missing spot for him. But I didn’t. I coached him. I taught him. And I let him figure it out. And even when he asked for help. I was mindful of what kind of help he needed. And though, initially, I’d wanted to grab that last piece of the puzzle and put it in the spot for him. I didn’t. I guided him in flipping that piece over. I used my words to help him understand lining up the picture. And I set the piece right next to the spot. I let him nudge it in. Let his little fingers feel that piece click into place. Let him own that puzzle. He needed it way more than I did.
That puzzle meant very little to me. It meant a lot to my little boy.
And that post got me thinking about… well…me. And ownership. And who I am letting “nudge that last piece into place.” And where my work and time is going. And ultimately, it got me thinking about what I am completing.
And when the work is all said and done, who is getting the ownership? And does it mean as much to the person taking it as it would have to me?
So I’m kind of re-evaluating myself. And my efforts. And where I put my stresses and time. Because when I sit in the quiet and live with that unsettling awareness of my own heartbeat. I no longer want it to be so unsettling. I want to know that I took my meds. And I monitored my BP. And my stresses and work are building a life not chipping off the days I have left.
Gah! sorry. Got a little morbid at the end there.
But really, I just want my heart beat to be a little less scary and a lot more inspiring. So I think I need to build this puzzle called life piece by piece and I need to seek out the people who are going to help me flip the upside down piece over. And I need to feel those pieces click into place.
It will be a rush of rubatosis that is so much more than unsettling and isolating. It will be an awareness of being alive. And it will be everything.