A few weeks ago I went to see my doctor about a mole on my arm (as you may have guessed, this will not a particularly sexy blog post). She referred me to a different doctor, who would probably be unhappy if she knew I’ve been calling her The Mole Lady in conversations with friends and family, especially since she is quite elegantly named.
Anyway, this morning it was finally my appointment with The Mole Lady, where she decided it’d best to remove the whole thing – “the whole thing” being a pencil-eraser-sized dot on my left forearm.
It started off well enough, the sharp prick of the anaesthetic needle, no feeling at all while she used a scalpel to cut away the small chunk of flesh. But then came the stitches.
Stripping Off by Julia Blackshaw Art on Etsy
You know when you think you know something? You know this thing so well, in fact, that you don’t even think about it anymore, it’s just an accepted part of your worldview. The sky is blue. Olive never stops talking. E=MC2. These are just facts! Generally accepted truths!
Well, this afternoon one of my own personal truths shattered and I am still reeling from the aftershock.
In case it wasn’t obvious already, this story is about boobs.
This post has not been sponsored in any way.
Just over a year ago I snowshoed up a mountain.
In some ways, it was a triumph because I didn’t die and now I get to say things like “I snowshoed up a mountain”. In other ways, it was a really sobering experience. As soon as we started the ascent, it became painfully obvious that I had virtually no cardiovascular endurance. The lack of thigh muscles definitely made the trek upward more difficult than it needed to be, but the main issue was that I needed to stop every few minutes to catch my breath.
To put it bluntly, it was embarrassing.
[At the bottom of this post I’ve included a song that was playing when I wrote it. I like to include this sort of thing because I love the synchronicity of you listening to the same song while reading. It’s like you’re here with me!]
Reticent, by Philip Kanwischer
One thing about life that always makes me feel good is that no matter how much my life changes (and good lord, it has changed a lot in the past few years), there are a few essential components that remain the same. Some are very small things like mass quantities of cheese, scalding hot baths, and books piling up on bedside tables. Others are much bigger.
Of the larger constants, one of the most vital (especially recently) has been a search for meaning. It’s a slightly eye-roll-y phrase, but seriously it’s what we’re all doing, isn’t it? We’re all constructing a life for ourselves, consciously or unconsciously. We choose jobs, places to live, partners, and things to fill our days. We are constantly standing in front of forks in the road – large and small – and being asked to pick a direction.
Making these choices is one of most exhilarating things we are asked to do. It can also be slightly terrifying because after you make a choice you have to live with it. Sometimes forever.
Nurture, by Philip Kanwischer
Oh, hey there! I’m shacked up at my all-time favourite coffee shop, listening to my all-time favourite writing music and I have just about eighteen million things to write about.
It’s time for a list.