I’ve been thinking a lot about life and loss these days. It started when I was about to turn 40. October 1st, 2018 to be exact. I remember waking up, excited because it was October, ready to post my “it’s fall y’all meme” and celebrate my birthday month. I was also strangely excited for 40, or at least I wasn’t afraid it. I was in a good place. I had a job I loved, I was able to travel as much as I wanted, I had good friends, a home, a fiancé. Life was good, so turning 40 was more like the next big adventure rather than the dreaded over the hill.

Then my mum texted me. She told me she had some cancerous spots removed from her leg and that they were advanced enough that she’d need scans every three months. It was scary. It made me face the mortality of my parents and I didn’t like it. On October 3rd my mum texted again, this time to tell me my Uncle Donnie had cancer. It wasn’t as cut and dry as hers was. It was complicated and the prognosis wasn’t as good. More mortality. More fear. On October 11th my mum called to tell me Jim Halstead had died (again, cancer). Jim was like a second father to me. I grew up with him and with his kids. I loved him. I spent my 40th birthday at his funeral. Suddenly turning 40 didn’t seem so much like the next adventure and seemed more like a bad omen. A reality check. Everyone you love is going to die. On July 2nd, my uncle passed away. Forty as it was, was not a good year.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t struggle with everything. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that the last year and a half has been hard. I’ve been faced with a lot of hard truths and have made some pretty monumental decisions based on these truths. I’ve started to reevaluate my life and my decisions. I’ve started to consider the future, not as something that is going to happen to me, but as something I am going to control. I can’t control death. I can’t control the loss of those I love. I can’t control growing older, growing grayer. But I can control what I do with the time I have left. I can control what I do with the time I have left with those that matter most to me.

For the past month, I’ve been distracted. I’ve let go of that frame of mind and I’ve allowed myself to become wrapped up in something that I shouldn’t be wrapped up in. I became consumed and swallowed up by a dream I shouldn’t have. In the last few days I’ve realized that dream is just that, a dream. It’s not reality, and even if it could be, it wouldn’t be a healthy one. Those who know me well, know I’m prone to self-destructive behavior. I have what my dad and Tony call “end of the world syndrome”. I’ve worked hard the last ten years to get that in check and this past month it’s been rearing it’s ugly head again.

I’ve been trying to get back to me. Back to basics. I’ve been writing again. Getting it all out. It’s a way for me to admit things to myself, it’s a way for me to channel my anxiety and my angst and my hurt and eventually let go. I submitted my application to the University of Illinois and their doctoral program on Education Policy. I got a new tattoo (probably more self-destructive behavior). And I started taking stock. I started really reflecting on my losses and my decisions. I started gaining perspective.

My aunt lost her husband. My cousin lost her father. That is a loss that can’t be reconciled. That is a loss that can’t be healed. When I think of my dream I have to ask myself, what did I lose? I mean, really, what did I lose? But through patient and sometimes painful reflection, I know what I gained.

I gained a new appreciation for myself, I was tying my self-worth to something else and it was tearing me down. I gained a new appreciation for my personality that a lot of people find overwhelming and annoying. I gained a new perspective on what really matters and what really should keep me up at night. I regained my drive and my focus, my determination to accomplish the goals I had set for myself. I regained my resolve. It doesn’t mean I don’t love the dream. It doesn’t mean that I don’t hope for the dream. It just means that I leveled myself. I found my footing and stopped the world from spinning out of control on it’s axis around me. The dream will always be there, but it won’t haunt my dreams any more. It won’t be my everything. And I’m ok with that.