Live fully or don't live at all

I hate goodbyes. I hate them. I don't hate much but I hate goodbyes. And no matter how people try to soften the blow by saying, "I'll see you later," or "Until next time," that doesn't matter. I hate goodbyes. It's an enmity grown out of my aversion to change but the fact remains that I hate goodbyes.

Those of you who have known me for awhile will agree that some of my strangest behaviors stem from not wanting to say goodbye. I'm usually the last to leave any place: home, work, church, parties, hanging out with friends and pretty much anywhere people are gathered. I get nervous and jittery and act like a stand-up comedian. I perpetuate crazy games that take forever like Life and Phase 10. I say stupid things at moments of departure. I give cheesy cards. I choke and tear up. I give really awkward hugs that catch people off balance. I've even been known to mess up a kiss on the cheek by planting my lips on some random place on the other's face, like the corner of their lips, their nose, their forehead or even their eyelid. It's truly a disaster.

Let's be totally honest, though. All of this is another way to say, I'm selfish. In so many ways, I like my life the way it is, status quo. I like to have my friends and loved ones close by, not more than an arms length or a short drive away. Mainly because I need every one of them so much. In my mind, I don't exist in this world without them. My relationships with others are what has brought me here and what will help me tomorrow and in the future. Without my friends and family, I would be nothing. My love for each one of the people in my life is one of the things I treasure most. I feel so blessed to be able to love so many people. Sometimes I think my heart will burst because I love people so much but it never does, it just keeps stretching, making infinite room for as many as will accept my care and concern.

Departures really throw me for a loop. And I mean departures in the general sense, whether someone has moved across the street or the country, or someone has branched out to other relationships that I am not a part of, or even those that die. It's hard for many reasons but one of the main reasons I am saddened by these changes is that I have a hard time showing these people how much I love them. A day or a week or a year goes by, and I haven't called or emailed. I haven't gone to visit. I haven't sent Christmas cards. I haven't sent birthday cards to them or to their kids. I haven't hugged them and said, "I love you." When people are in close proximity, it's easy. I don't love those that go any less, in fact, I think I love them more because our relationship is perpetuated in my memory and usually, those memories are good, whether or not they are completely accurate.

But according to the Counting Crows (one of my favorite bands), "The price of a memory is the memory of the sorrow it brings." I have to agree. Love and all similar connections require a hefty price. M. Scott Peck, in his book, The Road Less traveled, calls these things, "love's risks." He says of these risks:

If you move out to another human being, there is always the risk that that person will move away from you, leaving you more painfully alone than you were before. Love anything that lives and it will die. Trust anybody and you may be hurt; depend on anyone and that one may let you down. The price of (love) is pain. If someone is determined not to risk pain, then such a person must do without many things; having children, getting married, the hope of ambition, friendship - all that makes life alive, meaningful and significant. Move out or grow in any dimension and pain as well as joy will be your reward. A full life will be full of pain. But the only alternative is not to live fully or not to live at all.

During the first week of November, two very important people in my life passed away. On November 5, one of my friends and former college roommate, Shelley Windsor, fell while rock climbing in Arizona and died. Then the next day, Roger Miller, the bishop of my church congregation, passed away after a brief battle with lymphoma. Both lives were vibrant, brilliant and well lived.

Shelley was a loyal friend, a true outdoorswoman, full of energy, never quitting, always frugal, dedicated to the gospel of Jesus Christ, humble, patient and kind. The short year we lived together at BYU was full of college drama and fun times. She was the even keel that many of us, like myself, needed. She was always reasonable, fair, open and honest. Even though that moment in my life is long past, it remains part of my favorite times for many reasons and Shelley was a part of that. I was fortunate enough to know her and I feel very blessed.

Her death was sudden and unexpected. Attending her viewing and funeral was painful and surreal but because I know she lived a full and faithful life, the pain is certainly lessened. Yet, I have regrets about the sparse contact I had with Shelley over the past few years. I kept up with her through others and the occasional mass emailing. I am saddened that there are things that I didn't get to share with her or say to her. I hope we can catch up someday.

Bishop Miler has had an awesome impact in my life over the three years I have known him. I remember a certain point in my recent past when I got very caught up in my own inadequacies and heartache. Although I spent many moments in prayer, I felt as if the heavens were shut for some reason and I was left to bear those burdens alone.

One Sunday morning, Bishop Miller shook my hand and asked me how I was doing. I told him "fine." He then asked if I would come and talk with him some time that week and I agreed. At the appointed time, I went to his office and he invited me in. We began the meeting with a prayer and then he sat back in his chair and asked me how I was doing. In that moment, the doors of my broken heart were thrown opened and I was able to share with him the heavy burdens I had been carrying for so long. He reminded me that any place worth going was always uphill and that I was loved and appreciated by many, including my Heavenly Father. Never once was he too busy to listen or treated my burdens as if they were too small to worry with.

And while I know with all of my heart that I will see both of these dear friends again, their absence makes me sad. I feel like this life will be less enjoyable because they are not here to enjoy it with me. I briefly mention these two loved ones here because their absence has been felt so recently and yet there are others whose absence is just as stark and painful. I ask myself often, "What am I going to do? How will I ever survive? How do I show them that I love them now and always?"

Again from The Road Less traveled:

The essence of life is change, a panoply of growth and decay. Elect life and growth, and you elect change and the prospect of death. If we can live with the knowledge that death is our constant companion, traveling on our "left shoulder," then death can become . . . our "ally," still fearsome but continually a source of wise counsel. With death's counsel, the constant awareness of the limit of our time to live and love, we can always be guided to make the best use of our time and live life to the fullest. But if we are unwilling to fully face the fearsome presence of death on our left shoulder, we deprive ourselves of its counsel and cannot possibly live or love with clarity. When we shy away from death, the ever-changing nature of things, we inevitably shy away from life.

In some ways, words have never rung more true to me. In my aversion to change and goodbyes, I have to ask, am I shying away from life? In all honesty, I have to admit that yes, I am. I have more than once allowed a precious opportunity to show love and grow closer to someone to pass because of my fear of the unknown, but perceived painful, ending.

Of course I believe this situation in my life can be remedied. But what sweet irony! The way to remedy my situation is to bear the full brunt of the thing I hate. And in doing so, I must embrace the poignant lessons that endings teach. I have to love more people, more fully, more readily, more often and when I'm faced with the inevitable good-bye, I have to be willing to push onward and look heavenward for the comfort and understanding that only a Parent with an Eternal Perspective can give.

My resolve is strong today and yet I know that there will be moments in the future when, in the throws of a painful good-bye, I will have my doubts about the prudence of my decision to love so much. But I have to exercise my faith in the eternal beauty and purposes of love. It is worth it, it is.

Journeys

As you can tell, it's about time "The Flicted Friend" returned to publication. I have taken quite the hiatus: my apologies to you faithful readers! I guess after that last entry I figured I had said everything that I wanted to say but as we all know, I've always got something else to say :) Plus, as the picture tells, I am certainly still flicted!

I would like to reflect on the miracle of journeys. I've taken a few journeys over the past six months and I've taken a moment or two to pull out some commonalities that made these experiences meaningful and unique. (I hope the pictures will help and add a little color to the "musings")

What is a journey anyway? Mr. Webster says it's "travel from one place to another" but in all honesty, that's just too simple. I believe that journeys are more than that. In my experience, every journey has five phases: the dreaming, the advent, the heart, the close and the reflection. Everyone enjoys a different part of the journey and all of us could probably do a better job learning from and contributing to each of the phases. I'll have to explore each of the phases in more depth in that book I keep promising to write :) But in general, at any given moment during a journey, there is the potential for learning and growth and it's up to the journeyman (or person to be politically correct :) to take it all in.

In April, I went to Nashville with a group of friends to run a half marathon. However, as the picture shows, I did not run the half marathon. I made a fatal error in the dreaming phase of this journey, assuming that my body would be completely healed three months after major surgery. I was wrong. Until the very end, I tried to convince myself that I could do it but my body and a close friend finally won out and I did not compete in the race.

I was very disappointed but the trip was fun and the satisfaction that I felt as each of my friends crossed the finish line was sufficient to abate my sadness. In fact, it was awesome how easy it was to forget my own disappointment and be completely swallowed up in the joy of their accomplishments. I definitely learned that my own journeys in life aren't made alone and what others gain from the experience is just as valuable to me as it is to them. Victory comes in many ways, even in defeat.

In late May, I found myself (literally and figuratively) on a cruise to Alaska. Even now, as I reflect, it is hard to find any moment that wasn't completely wonderful and full of fun and adventure. We dreamed big in our plans and spent plenty of time beforehand deciding what we wanted to do and see. We left early enough to spend a day in Seattle with good friends and attend church before the boat left port.

Then, every day on the trip there was something beautiful to see or amazing to do. From whale watching, to canoeing and horseback riding in the Yukon, to the high ropes course challenge in the cedar canopy of Ketchikan, I couldn't have loved it more.

I was humbled everyday at the power and majesty of the Creation and found myself so thankful that God loved me enough to provide such a beautiful place to live and learn. There were constant reminders of how perfectly prepared and put together this earth is and of how much love and tenderness God placed in every detail. I came away refreshed and excited to see more of this world and appreciate those miracles all around me.

The other main factor that made this journey such a complete success was the company of some of the best people I have ever met. The trip was made so much sweeter because I was able to share it with good friends, old and new. It was meaningful to me to share new experiences with people who were kind, fun, supportive, understanding and just out right terrific! I was reminded of the importance of sharing this life with others and of the impact that my fellow travelers can have on me and my experience. I don't find meaning in this life inspite of others; I find meaning in this life because of others. Relationships with others, no matter how difficult they seem at times, are one of the tender mercies of the Lord.

As if that wasn't enough, I was able to spend a week at the beach with my family in June. At one point, I think there were 14 or 15 people sleeping at our beach house! I thought about the "trip" that we had all made to get to that moment in our lives. In particular, my youngest brother had recently returned home from Iraq. I can't imagine the lonely road he has traveled over the past year. Similarly, his wife had spent the first year and a half of their marriage mostly alone, raising their daughter. But they had made the trip to the beach to spend time with us and my heart was so full of gratitude that we were all there.

As our family has aged, we have all taken different roads and made many different decisions in our lives. But somehow, through many small miracles, we were all there at that moment together. It also occurred to me that the sacrifices we had all made previously allowed us to come to that moment together. No matter how large or small those sacrifices had been, in that moment, it was all worth it. Whether it was time from work or money that could have been saved or spent on something else, it was well worth what was given up to have what we gained in love and closeness over the few days we together. The love and affection that we were able to give and receive made what we gave up seem small in comparison to what we gained. Most journeys require some sort of sacrifice and hopefully, when I come to the close and reflect on my journeys, what I gave up will be worth what I gained.

The summer of journeys was far from over and in July shared my favorite holiday with some of my favorite people canoeing, swimming, watching baseball and loving the fireworks. I like to gauge how my year has been and how the next year will be according to how much fun I have on the 4th of July. It's my favorite holiday (mainly because of the fireworks and the cookouts) but I look forward with anticipation every year to what the 4th will hold. This year was no different. If this day was any indication of what's ahead, I'm so excited! It was the kind of day that could go on forever. But like all journeys, it had to come to a close.

Now, almost four months later, everyone in this picture has set out on other journeys and like Frost so vividly reminds us, I doubt we shall pass this way again. This short trip and fun day will stand as a reminder to me to try to live without regrets and make every moment a good as I can, taking the road less traveled. Although my heart is tender as I am reminded often that people will come and go throughout my life's journeys, I need to remember to love them with all I have and try to make sure at our parting, there are some sort of fireworks :)

When I look at my calendar for August, it seems like there was a journey almost everyday! On the 24th, I visited Dr. O for the last time. He gave me a clean bill of health and released me to return to full physical activity, even though I had sort of done that already! Almost seven months to the day, I was able to come to the close of a long and hard journey: physically, emotionally and spiritually. No doubt, I will continue to spend many hours reflecting on the things I have learned and the shear miracles that have been afforded me as I have been given a second chance to live this life to the fullest.

Some journeys leave indelible marks on our souls: body and spirit. I've decided that my 30 inches of scars don't reflect a past I'm ashamed of; they represent a future I'm planning and preparing for. Coming to the close of this journey and reflecting on it has reinforced the fact that God loves me and is always aware of me and my needs. Plus, if I can change with His help, anyone can. I also have accepted that there were dreams that I gave up on because I was afraid and intimidated but no more. If I can manage success on this journey, I can certainly accomplish a myriad of other things I never thought possible.

It was with that attitude change, I decided to try long distance cycling for fun. A group of friends and I decided to ride in the MS 150, a 150 mile bike ride to raise money for multiple sclerosis research. I spent many hours in August on a bike. My longest training ride came on the 27th, 65 miles in one day. It was awesome! I couldn't believe how much I loved riding and how easily I grew accustomed to biking. Journeys have a way of showing you your strengths and weaknesses, some already known and some waiting to be discovered along the way.

On a whim in mid-September, I went to Washington, DC to visit a dear friend I hadn't seen in a long time. She was in DC for a conference and I couldn't pass up the chance to reconnect with her and have some fun in DC. We had so much fun; it was like we had never spent any time apart. Being with her reminded me of so many wonderful memories we had shared and it was refreshing to remember why and how much I love her and cherish our friendship. I was grateful that our life's journeys crossed again and have made a promise that I will try to make these kind of moments happen again.

I also visited the WWII monument for the first time and by chance was able to look up my grandfather on their interactive kiosk. I was so surprised to find him in their database. My heart was so full of love and gratitude for him as I saw his handsome picture and read the brief description of his service in WWII. It engendered a desire within me to research information about his journey and be able to share that with my family and those who have and will benefit from his service and sacrifice. Sometimes the unplanned moments on journeys can be the most enlightening. I think mainly because they are mostly free from expectation and fear. Our hearts and minds are free to simply live and love and be overwhelmed with a beautiful moment.

The following week passed quickly and then it was time for the big bike ride. All the ladies at work laughed at me all week as I would exclaim, "It's like Christmas!" The anticipation of the whole thing was about to kill me and then, we were there at the starting line with a thousand other riders and we were off. I had told myself that no matter what, I was going to finish. As long as my bike worked and my body held out, I was going to make it to the end.

We would stop at every rest stop to stretch and refill on water. There was a monster hill right before the lunch stop that about did us all in. The first afternoon was hot and sticky and the rest stops seemed less frequent. We witnessed a crash of one of the riders that had been pacing with us the whole day. Luckily, one of the members of our team was a paramedic and although she was pretty banged up, she was going to be OK. We waited with her while the ambulance came and then rode a little slower afterwards. After 71.5 miles, we pulled into Darlington Speedway and took our "victory lap" for finishing the first half.

We went to bed at 8 PM and were up early the next morning to do it all again. We had heard a rumor that the course was actually 10 miles longer than we had expected. That rumor turned out to be true but we kept telling ourselves, "we can always ride 10 more miles!" Day two started out overcast and chilly then turned warm and sticky only to rain on us after lunch. By lunch time, I was having to readjust on my seat every 2 or 3 minutes. At that point, we had gone 131.5 miles and there was no way I was quitting with only 30 more to go. The last 20 miles were the hardest. The head wind from the coast picked up and at some points, I felt like I was moving through molasses. Thank goodness for tall teammates and drafting!

My parents caught up to us at one of the last rest stops and gave us some much needed encouragement. Then it was on to the finish. My favorite sign along the way was the one that said something to the effect of, "Congratulations, you knew you could do it!" It was right near the finish line and I thought to myself, "You're darn right, I knew I could!" The finish line was a sweet experience and although I almost ran over the little girl handing out the medals, I was still ecstatic. 161.5 miles in two days! In my wildest dreams, I would have never placed myself at the finish line of an event like that. But there I was - what a complete miracle.

It was a sweet and unique experience. The principle of preparation was certainly reinforced. I would have never made it, had I not put the time on my bike before the ride. I was also reminded how comforting it is to be on a team with people who care about how you are doing. We spent the miles cheering each other on, "just one more mile." The cause was important and our team raised over $2,000, which will in turn help someone else in need. I've also stumbled across something that I really enjoy and hope to continue it.

However, the greatest lesson that this and other similar experiences are teaching me is that the harder the journey, the sweeter the finish. Nothing comes close to that feeling and that's the reason I want to keep at it. I know how rewarding it feels to finish.

That high has kept me going all the way through October. Each weekend has been filled with fun trips and great people. From a short trip to Charleston, SC for a friend's wedding and to see my brother's family to the NC state fair with my roommates and good friends. Then to Utah and Idaho to visit for a few days and finally the Halloween 100K, a bike ride for Habitat for Humanity.

In all honesty, I could go on and on about the amazing places I've been in the last 6 months. Not all these places are physical destinations that others can travel to and not all have been exciting and fun. But they've been milestones in my life and they all hold special meaning to me.

I'm learning that every time I move from one place to another, an opportunity for learning and growth is afforded to me. According to my choices before and along the way, the finish can be very sweet and the reflection on the experiences can be the source of great understanding and comfort in times when other journeys seem pointless, painful and otherwise pretty pathetic.

There are some fantastic journeys just ahead on my life's horizon: a half marathon, a new job, etc. What I've learned previously will help me along the way. I'll set realistic goals, I'll make the proper preparations, I'll make sure to have the best people with me and I'll have confidence in myself and continue to remind myself, "You're darn right I can."

Most importantly, I'll keep moving in anticipation of that fantastic finish. In the past, I've wasted prime opportunities for incredible journeys because I was afraid or intimidated. But I know now, I can't quit moving forward, exercising faith that the One who can see the beginning from the end will be at every beginning to strengthen me, every crossroad to guide me and every end to comfort me. I can't help but know that's true because it's been the case in my life since I started breathing. Take it from this flicted friend of yours, if my journeys are guided, yours will be, too. So, keep moving and keep me posted :)

The Shaw family - December 2002 

The Shaw family - July 2004 

The girl in the photo

A new year and a new volume. It's been four months since the last issue but no worries, I'm still flicted. In fact, I'm probably more flicted now than ever :) I'll have to do some research about this condition but I think it worsens with age. I'm two weeks away from my 31st birthday and I can only imagine the amount of flictedness I will acquire during the next year of my life!

This blog must begin with an apology. I have to apologize to all of you who have endured these blogs, online and in person! You know who you are out there. All of these blogs (online and in person) allude to my amusing challenges and somewhat silly struggles over the duration of my existence on this little planet. It's just the way I'm wired and although I have tried to keep all this craziness repressed, it just has to come out in some way. I have spewed so much of my life all over those who are closest and so if any of you are too sticky from the goo and sick of hearing it all, I understand if you must take your leave before you go nuts!

I don't have any cute story to tell this time around. Just some straight up, flat out, in your face life story. I figure it's time to just tell the whole story that I have been trying to tell in so many ways and then once it's told, then maybe I won't have to keep telling it over and over to myself and to others in order to believe that it really happened and this is my life, for real.

I hate change. I absolutely hate change. Unfortunately, for me, that's a stupid thing to hate because if there is one thing for certain, that is change. If there is one thing that life has taught me it is that change is the rule, not the exception. Everything and everyone changes, a lot, all the time. But, the fact remains, I hate change and I will usually do anything, irrational and crazy, in order to keep the status quo. Many of you have experienced my madness as I have approached a change and have watched me squirm and writhe in the agony of change. It's not pretty but it's real.

My story that I want to share with you and with the world is a story about change. A big change, my big change. The past two years of my life have been littered with changes in everything and this story is just about one of those changes, well, it's the story about the biggest change for me.

I've posted the family portraits from 2002 and then 2004 as a visual aid for those of you who haven't known me that long or who are visual learners :) I'm in both pictures, I promise. If you look closely, you will see that I have lost a substantial amount of weight since 2002. The facts are such - I used to be really overweight, really. Those of you who have never struggled with a weight problem or chronic body image insecurities, just quit reading now because you won't understand and it will probably just bore you.

For two decades, I lived with this kind of disease that pervaded my every thought, movement and very being. It was the first thing that I thought about when I woke up and it was the last thing I thought about before I went to bed every night. For twenty years, every prayer, every falling star, every birthday wish was a plea to the powers above to help me free myself of this horrible plague.

At last, in my mid-twenties, I found some solace with my condition by convincing myself that God wanted me to suffer in this way in order to gain humility and empathy for others. Plus, I also convinced myself that I was the fat person that everyone needed to know and love in order to learn those life lessons about loving and accepting others. Just like that I had it all figured out and that completely convoluted and utterly false understanding was good enough to allow me to build some nice, tall, really thick walls to keep everyone out and the real me in.

After a few years of cynicism, sarcasm and utter loneliness, something started to happen in my heart. I call it a spiritual smack in the face but the good Lord was trying His best to help me understand that the way I was thinking and living was wrong and that I needed to change. It started with my dad sitting me down one day and saying, "Tracy, you know I love you no matter what but I'm concerned about your health and here's something that I have been thinking about." He then shared with me a pamphlet about gastric bypass surgery. For eight months I thought and considered and thought and considered about everything and in the end I decided that I would rather die and take my chances in the next life than live in this life one more day like I was.

A deep breath, a big sigh and my signature on the dotted line catapulted me into a realm of changes and challenges that I had never considered possible. On January 31, 2003, I underwent a five hour surgery to reduce the size of my stomach to two ounces. Again, for the visual learners, put your two thumbs together side by side . . . that's about two ounces. After five excruciating days in the hospital where I about met my Maker again, I was released and went home to recuperate. Although I was relieved to be at home, I was still very sick and very weak. Ten days after my surgery, I developed a leak in my new little stomach. Since the leak would have to heal on its own, I couldn't eat or drink anything by mouth for seventeen days. My nourishment for those three and a half weeks consisted of a syringe, a tube in my side and a can of Ensure every three to six hours. It was not pretty.

Eventually, the leak healed, and my recovery continued. After two months, I was able to start exercising again. I joined Curves for Women and started with the basics. By the summer, I had lost sixty pounds and took a trip to the Bahamas with one of my dearest friends. My body was slowly healing and getting used to the changes that were occurring. Around April, I noticed that my skin was finally regaining its color. A new sense of freedom began to wash over me as the weight melted away and my body continued to change.

In September, my new found freedom found me playing some touch football with some friends and just like that, I had re-injured my right knee. Within two weeks, I had had another surgery on my knee to repair the damage and was confined to an immobilizer and crutches. I battled with my physical therapist over and over because I was always certain that I was not going to be able to do what he pushed me to do. But somehow, he knew better than me and I started to recover and regain strength in my knee. In a few months I was back to exercising and gaining more and more freedom.

It's very interesting what freedom will do for a person. The confidence that I was gaining helped push me to reach out beyond my comfort zone in my job and in my relationships with others. I no longer felt the need to hide so much behind my walls. I decided to change jobs and move away from home, my comfort zone and place of security. It seemed as if every time I turned around there was some new change to embrace either in myself or in someone else. I was constantly being asked to accept the newness of myself and others.

Most of my life, I had been so worried about the costs of all the changes and what there was to lose. A year after the gastric bypass surgery, I found myself in a new place, in a new job, with a new and expanded circle of loved ones and friends. The only thing I had lost in all the change was over a hundred pounds and a lot of pain that was self inflicted and unnecessary.

It would be impossible for me to share all the joys and sorrows the ups and downs. I finally bought my first pair of Gap jeans. I went to Carrowinds and was able to ride all the rides. I ran my first 5K. I finally allowed myself to really love someone.

Well, another year has passed since then and I find myself at another crossroad of change. I opted to have another surgery at the end of January to "lighten the load" a little more. Even though my body is grateful for the weight that I was able to lose, my skin was not as forgiving. So in late January, I had a full abdomnioplasty to remove the extra skin on my tummy and torso. It was nothing like the first surgery. I had no idea how it would affect me, body and spirit, and I am still recovering. (One of the main reasons I haven't written in so long :)

I quit the job with the state that I hated so much and now I work at Curves for Women part-time while I am finishing graduate school and figuring out what to do with the rest of my life.

As I sit here at 3:14 AM, I feel like I could never capture or appreciate all the joys and sorrows over the past two years that have shaped me literally and figuratively but I so desperately want to try because I know that out of these past two years will spring the source of so much personal growth and understanding. There just aren't enough words to express my joys or my sorrows in their entirety. I suppose that's how it's meant to be. Some things can only be felt and known to the individual.

As I reflect, oh and boy have I ever reflected, I am trying to come to some conclusions and lessons that I can begin to take away from this season of complete and utter miracles in my life.

Here's what I have come up with so far:

1 - God lives and He loves us all, even me.
2 - He is a God of miracles and miracles can happen in the lives of all of us, even me.
3 - God answers prayers, even though it may take two decades of asking and pleading for the answer. When the time is right, He will always deliver us, even me.
4 - We are all worthy of love and respect, even me.
5 - Sorrow is necessary in order to appreciate joy.
6 - Happiness isn't found it's created. It's not a place; it's a state of mind. We don't arrive there, we are there, and we just have to choose to see it.
7 - Loosing 160 pounds will not make people love you any more or less, including yourself.
8 - You have to be able to accept the love of yourself and others before you can open your eyes and heart to true joy. Offering forgiveness and accepting forgiveness from others and yourself for your shortcomings is a key to unlocking true joy and freedom.
9 - If you want to succeed you have to be willing to give up all excuses for failing, eliminate all the crutches in your life, and rely on those who love you for support and encouragement.
10 - It's OK that I'm not perfect. There's only ever been one perfect person and He's the reason why I'm still here and can live and love and learn. The greatest freedom I will ever know comes by knowing and loving Him.

So, my dearest friends and loved ones, I hope that you will continue with me into this next volume of the Flicted Friend. I am forever grateful for each of you in so many special ways. As we all continue through this life where change is not the exception, its the rule, I hope I can offer you all my love and support through all the changes in your life as you have done for me over the past few years. Just remember, you aren't alone, you have a flicted friend who loves you!