My Last Big Struggle

Having my Arthritis is still a big obstacle every day in all aspects of my life. It has made me think back to time when I had another life changing obstacle, but eventually overcame it and that's why I have a lttle hope when reminiscing about it.

Feeling old at 35 has forcibly brought me to be humbled and so I wanted to share a true story of the last time was humbled.

"From humble beginnings come great things". This is one of the most inspiring and beloved quotes describing our favorite stories of earnest perserverance; the rags to riches story. It's practically the American promise and entails a lifetime of struggles and hope in exchange for wealth, especially for those coming from other countries to begin again in America and end in abundance. While all of that is divinely encouraging, however, I want to talk about a story that began with riches, but ended humbly- Humble Endings.

This is my story- a little backwards because it ended, rather than began, with humility. The "riches" aspect was becoming humble- that was my reward. I guess you could say my definition of "riches" changed during this time period so this became my riches to riches story.

Almost 10 years ago I was considered a hard working woman who had it all; new car, new apartment, new designer dog, new clothes every week, This wasn't too far off from how I started life either- I was sheltered by my parents, never wondered if life could get any better, and all I knew about was wealth and having plenty. Continuing my adulthood in this way easily maintained a naive equation that perserverance = riches = happiness. I had it all figured out until I met a humble man at the local gym.

This man, Iven, was a hard worker in the gym- I admired that trait. I also ran into him where he worked, which was a small nutrition store. He always seemed so shy around me and I could never tell if he was just completely uninterested in me or maybe a little curious, but genuinely shy- another trait you don't see too often in a handsome man. There was small talk between us, but most disturbing was when I left each time, he had a look in his eyes begging me to never leave, like it was always the last time, like I had been with him forever, but somewhere else, maybe some other time- who knows? But the feeling was haunting me.

Months went by and I was thankfully beginning to be assured he was not interested in me romantically because he never pursued more than simple conversation. Yes, this was a relief to me; after all I had everything I wanted and nothing to complicate it. My mother, on the other hand, who heard me speak of Iven periodically was insistent. Usually she respected my "butt out" rule when it came to my love (lack of) life. She blatantly told me, "You must find out if there is something more. Just ask or give him your number". "Ha" I said defiantly and marched right into the store where he worked and gave him my number. My mom had the last laugh because I finally did it- she was right.

To my surprise Iven eagerly, refraining no excitement whatsoever, accepted my number and lit up like a little boy on Christmas morning with a brand new bouncy puppy. He asked me to go on a picnic with him and that was our beginning. The date picnic was perfect, but still a nagging, haunting feeling lingered somewhere behind the scenes to this real life love story. I believe we discovered we were soul mates that first day complete with the same birthday. As cliche as it sounds, looking at him was like looking in the mirror- our souls were identical. We both shared the same values, the same interests, and being with him replaced needing anything else.

His natural innocence reignited what I had lost, maybe never known, about the world. He was not a rich man nor had he ever been- he grew up without a father and was still in the midst of his humble beginnings. Even though I had enough money to pay for our ensuing dates, he insisted on paying- working hard on his grandfather's farm, besides his regular low-paying job, to "Take me out like a lady", he would say triumphantly. He had more happiness in his humble life than I ever knew in anyone.

From the day he accepted my number, he never failed to call me and see me every single glorious day for months until one Monday- August 6, 2001. The day grew later and sadder- I could feel it. I had finally put that haunting, uneasy feeling aside long before this day, but it returned eager and suffocating. My universe got smaller somehow and every step I took was overwhelming, heavy with dread. I finally got my call that evening, instead from his mother who stated, among other things that I don't remember, Iven was gone. "Gone, how"?, I questioned as if didn't know, as if I didn't know the moment I met him. A drowning accident- he drowned from the turbulence of a waterfall earlier that day, swimming with his cousin and best friend (who survived). Oddly, the haunting feeling instantly disappeared because it came to full realization.

His passing and the days afterward were a blur, sleeping, praying for nothing because what I wanted could not be returned to me, more crying, losing enthusiasm for what used to make me happy; my car, my place, money, etc. One month later, listening intently to a lecture in my college World Religions course about Buddhism, I woke up from my dazed grief. My own philosophy was born.

Inspired by Buddhist teachings, I gained valuable insight; Everything you can (and have the power to) hold onto is not worth holding onto, but everything you want the most, worth life itself, is not possible for you to hold onto. Riches only fool us. They fool us into believing they are a destination, but they are nothing, not even close to where we want to be inside of us or outside of us in this universe.

Hard work does equal riches, but not always of the monetray kind. There is a lot of hard work to be done within us too. I later learned from Iven's mother he was not supposed to survive when he was born- he had lung and heart problems. When he overcame that, the doctors told him he would never run, but he did and played sports too. His hard work was not soley for money, it was survival too.

Also during my grieving, the 9/11 terrorist attacks occurred in New York so I was not the only one learning this humble lesson- it made it more powerful and effective when the whole country was grieving as well. With everything happening, and without knowing what exactly I was doing, I gave up my new car for an old completely paid for one, gave up my new apartment for a meager studio, and all my decorations and furnishings, donated clothes to Good Will, and everything else money had once made me happy with. Things I used to view as uncomplicated were now cluttering my life. I kept my dog, my 1 fish, some cooking utensils and signed a 1 year lease to my studio. When I later tried to make sense of what I did, I believe it was in honor of Iven, perhaps giving his view of life a try and hoping to hang onto his humble and happy presence.

I made it through the year- happily, I moved on- inevitably, and never lived my life the same. It marks a distinct time of spiritual awakening, infinite depth within my small corner of the universe, freedom to live without a strict or typical definition of "riches", and most of all humbled to my knees. Each person must learn their own lessons and for me this was a tragedy that finally reached a place inside me making me comfortable enough to really begin life, but knowing the ending will once again bring me to be humbled.

Support

When you have an illness or disability, support takes on a whole new meaning to you. You learn support comes from unexpected people, needing support can make you feel weak during a time when you want to get stronger, and support always has limitations. Support is usually a back-up system for people, like insurance, but for me it's a necessity and way of life like food and water.

With my RA, I've lost enthusiasm for being with friends, maybe them or maybe me just trying to lessen the strain on our relationship. I know I've been known to walk out before someone can walk out on me. Part of me doesn't want to test relationships for fear of the inevitable strain, end, or rejection.

I want to talk about my issues with RA to my "normal" friends, but I know they don't understand- not even close. They look like they feel sorry for me, but the look on their face just makes me see how pitiful I must look to them. Although, I don't want or expect them to understand, I still want to let them into my life. I think some of the strain comes from the mere reason people become friends, and that is having things in common. I don't have RA in common with any of my friends.

I've touched base with online RA commmunities and chatted with people who have RA and know exactly what I'm going through, but it's not the same. It feels like that's all we have in common so the relationship aspect is empty.

Ideally, good friends for me are ones who don't mind listening to me on a bad day, but also don't make me think of my bad days.