I fell asleep last night, moments after being inspired by Aubrey’s Instagram post. In the photo, the beautiful young woman with the beaming smile had her arms spread, displaying, “embracing” the massive quantity of empty prescription bottles covering a coffee table. She eloquently and vulnerably wrote that she both resented and was grateful for these bottles that held the tiny, mighty pills that had helped her fight breast cancer for the past five years—that both resentment and gratitude can exist simultaneously. I love that message. And my favorite two lines? “What a grief-filled season that has created such tender ground for a newfound perspective and enthusiasm for life. Creating a life I can’t wait to wake up to and struggle to want to fall asleep from.” Reading her words filled my heart, but also drew a stark contrast for myself: I remembered when I, too, felt that kind of enthusiasm for life, and reading her declaration made those missing feelings crystallize. I wanted what she was having. So, I slept on it.
This morning, on the first day of school, I merged with the throng of tiny cyclists on what is called “Bike Bus.” I wasn’t sure if my broken arm had recovered enough to ride, since other attempts over the past few weeks had not been successful. During Bike Bus, there is loud music to get you peddling—and the sweetest camaraderie that will blindside your heart. I don’t think I’ve ever done it without shedding a tear or forty. Bike Bus always brings the joy. I’ve said Bike Bus feels like love. Today, when they pumped up the volume, a song was playing that I’d never heard before, which included the refrain, “I love my life.” Aubrey’s Instagram “dot” from last night instantly connected. Those tiny pills connected.
Not only was I able to do the short distance round-trip to school, but I was also able to do my first true ride (after Bike Bus) in nearly three months. I was so elated that I let out a Ferrari howl, just like I did that one time I got to drive a Ferrari in Italy. Before I attempted the bigger ride today, I downloaded the song by DeMarco from iTunes and listened to it on a loop. I made a deal with myself. I’m going to put this song—this tiny, mighty pill—into my morning prescription “bottle.” The other tiny pill in the bottle is that I need to sing “I love my life,” at least once out loud, whether I mean it or not.
Because I want to love my life.
(And I currently-definitely-forever love Aubrey.)
