Lack of time has always been the bane of my existence.  Reacting to the next deadline, shift or due date has, historically, created so much anxiety that planning became an impossibility. 

In retrospect, this pattern of behavior began when I was in my early to mid teens.  I plainly remember being very stressed to the point of panic, lying in bed when my dad came up to wish me good night.  I had just gotten home from playing an away basketball game and I should have been studying for the next day’s biology and Spanish tests.  I was too tired to do either.

Fast forward to today, twenty short years later.

I find myself sitting at my sister’s kitchen table watching my nephew and my soon to be stepson playing in her pool thinking about things I should be doing.  Book chapters to edit, invitations to finish, knitting gifts to begin, cucumbers to pick and chicken eggs to collect. 

My priorities have finally changed.

For so many years, it seemed as though I just needed to catch up.  I would pummel myself for not meeting deadlines or exercising enough.  I replaced contentment with achievement that led to my taking on more and more projects until my ultimate failure.

It was a shock to my core the day I realized that I needed to fail.  I needed to miss an important deadline (and extensions).  I needed to not pass a exam.  I needed to, simply put, FAIL.

Although my path didn’t come to that severe of a cliff, I made subtle changes in my life over the past year. 

The first was that I stopped obsessing about writing.  Not just writing my blog, but writing period.  I no longer felt the necessity to capture every waking moment like it was my last.  It wasn’t necessary to live my life in such a public forum.  My passion for flight nursing, although intact, became more of an integral part of my core existence, versus my defining veil.

Over the winter months, I became more an more interested in things my mother held dear when I was a child.  Canning, gardening, and knitting.  During those cold, short days, Ben and I planned our garden, our hen house, and chose what vegetables we would preserve.  Mom, while undergoing chemotherapy, taught me to knit.  Each of those things takes time, planning, and a skill set I am still very novice at.  None are possible with a last minute decision or on a whim.

Each one of those things has taught me something invaluable:

Patience.

I never realized how satisfying it would be to collect eggs every day.  How grateful my friends would be to receive a hand knit gift.  How much accomplishment comes in different forms.

It is no longer as important for me to reach the next Army rank, or earn the next degree for my wall.  I am happy simply being granted time to call my mom and ask her a question about brining pickles or for help tying off my quilt.

Oh, and another important thing.

I’ve learned to say no.

Last spring I found myself in the midst of my normal chaos. Too many jobs, too many projects and too little balance. That was when Ben told me he thought we should plant a garden.

A garden that needed weeded, watered and looked after. He said that to the girl who could barely keep a “no one can kill this kind of plant” alive.

I think I laughed.

We were rarely home as it was. It is hot in the summer and I have an aversion to mosquitoes which happen to be Michigan’s state bird.

The pessimist in me obviously wasn’t convinced. We decided to start it late in the spring and had everything else going against us. Poor soil, a local covey of deer, and two hunting dogs that like to dig. Did I mention the mosquitoes?

I reluctantly began to buy in to his hair-brained idea and figured the act of working up the plot of yard would be exercise at a minimum. What I didn’t realize was that spending an afternoon working manure into the soil would be the beginning of my finding balance, patience and a reconnection with the many life lessons my mother taught me as a child.

I remember the day we first found plants coming through the soil. Vivid memories of green bean plants popping through the dirt in our family garden were floating through my mind as I stared at our rows in wonder. The veggies I despised as a child were now a thing of peace as I spent time determining what was growing by intention and what was growing by opportunity.

Ben & our garden last spring, just after planting

I was still at war with the mosquitoes.

And the deer.

I almost cried the morning Ben walked in the house and broke the news. Our tender shoots were devoured by deer in the night. A tasty snack for them supplied by hours of our hard work. The look of disappointment on his face was something I hope to never see again. It would have been easy to quit. We overcame the odds and grew plants from seeds when everyone said we should just by plants. They were now just green stubs. Instead of quitting, we pushed more seeds into the soil.

And put up a fence.

We learned a lesson in patience. We learned a lesson in persistence and were rewarded with new shoots.

Throughout the summer, we took the time to walk around our creation in the morning and work the soil when we had time.

I learned to love the garden.

New possibilities began to present themselves as I recalled the rows and rows of beautifully preserved vegetables, fruits and meat my mother canned. I remembered the huge binder twine loop that we threaded through the Ball canning jar rings and the piles of lids which were ever present in the dishwater.

I began to ask my mother questions about when during the year she canned certain things. Her cherry jam, which was preserved in the freezer, was my favorite. Chemotherapy wracked her body during that time, but not her mind. We spent hours talking about what to plant and what we should do this spring.

As summer turned to fall, and our first garden went from beautiful plants to baskets of broccoli, peas, green beans and peppers, becoming more self sufficient didn’t seem like such an insurmountable undertaking. Instead, it became a passionate winter time conversation.

First of our Peppers last year 

This morning, I checked on our chickens, excited about Ben finishing the chicken coop this week. I admired the beautiful dark soil we worked last night in our garden.

Lucy watching our chicks the day we brought them home

My sisters express their shock at my “domestication.” I view it more as living with intention. It takes time to plan, plant, harvest and preserve. As I look forward to buying my first pressure canner and seeing shelves lined with vegetables and jams, I realize that my life has lacked intention. I grew up reacting instead of being proactive. This new found perspective on life is bringing peace, happiness and balance.

And lots of fresh vegetables.

That process, quite frankly, took the wind out of my writing sails. From day one, my writing centered around how much I loved my job, where I worked and the people I work with. It was difficult feeling as thought I needed to defend myself, my writing, and in some ways, who I am.

I am thrilled that after the recent publication of the social media policy, I can now say that I work for Aero Med in Grand Rapids, Michigan. I have, as you will notice, added a disclaimer the the side bar as was directed. I will continue to talk about how much I love my niche profession of Flight Nursing, how much I enjoy where I work, and those I work with.

Please take note that I DO NOT speak for the US Army (which recently also changed its stance on social media), the hospital, or Aero Med.

My blog is my opinion only.

The stories I tell are either written with permission or changed to be HIPAA compliant. Everyone likes a good story, but I am aware of how visible my patients are both in the news and in the community. They will never have to worry that I am doing or saying what I shouldn’t.

News organizations do not contact me for a scoop. I will simply direct you to the hospital communications department and give you the phone number you already have memorized.

Everyone else, call or email away. I would LOVE to talk to you about flight medicine! (side note: if you have emailed me, I am working on getting back to you)

Lastly, I am still the person dubbed crzegrl, and no, I am not turning in my hypothalamus. *pointed look at the boys* I will continue to post about my life in a fairly uncensored format. I drink beer, cuss on occasion, and do everything humanly possible to wring every bit of love, laughter, and passion out of this life. My blog is not a representation of Emily J. McGee as a professional entity, it is me Emily and my life as I live it.

So as I have the next four days away from the insanity, I have a lot of catching up to do. I’ve missed you all!

So please, get me your submissions ASAP….and help a girl out? Please put the corresponding Carnival in the subject line!

Submit to me—

emily at crzegrl dot net

Will let you know deadlines soon!

Good times my friends, good times.

This is quite simply

f’ing

awesome

h/t thebronzeblog

MMS Comes to a Biting End,
originally uploaded by crzegrl15.

Well, we returned safe and sound having driven 616.6 miles in three
days. We made it all 616.2 miles before we encountered any terrorist
bonsai suicide whitetail deer. There were four on our street. Bastards.

Fortunately after yelling “Boo!” real loud, they quit staring at our
headlights and lived to destroy someone else’s front fender another day.

All in all a successful trip.

Oh, and the extreme close up? Apparently I am one hell of a mosquito
dinner entree. This lucky little sucker flew into my full face helmet
at 55 mph, took a tour of my temple and managed to feast on my face
wilst I was otherwise occupied.

And to think I was upset at the overweight, cell phone chatting bitty
in a mom-mobile who almost wiped me off the freeway today.

Geesh.

It is good to be home!

MMS and NOT the stairway to heaven,
originally uploaded by crzegrl15.

Actually the stairway to Ft. George which, for all u Michigan history
buffs, is the highest point on the island.

140 steps high to be exact. Yes. I. Counted.