If you’ve been around here for a while, you know I have a completely unnecessary obsession with Tudor England. I can’t explain it. Give me a documentary about Henry VIII, Anne Boleyn, Elizabeth I, or Mary Queen of Scots and I am absolutely locked in. One of the things that has always fascinated me is how royal marriages worked. Imagine someone telling you: “Congratulations! We’ve found you the perfect spouse.” “Wonderful! What’s he like?” “Well…here’s a painting.” That’s it. Somewhere across Europe, an artist was painting the most high-stakes portrait of his career because your entire future depended on whether your future husband or wife liked what they saw. One image. One glimpse into the life you might be living. It turns out…we never really outgrow that. Last week, my doctor felt something on my thyroid she didn’t love. Two days later, I was lying on a table getting an ultrasound, staring at the ceiling, trying very hard not to let my imagination get a running start. Thankfully…it was nothing. Apparently my thyroid was just having a particularly pudgy day. Which, frankly, feels a little rude considering I haven’t been able to run for six weeks, and I too am feeling a little extra pudgy. Speaking of running…later today, I get another image. An X-ray of my foot. And somehow, this one feels even more important. I’ve never been so emotionally invested in a picture of one tiny bone. Because this image gets to answer all the questions I’ve been asking for the last six weeks. Can I run again? Can I start lifting weights? Can I bike? Did it heal correctly? Do I need surgery? Is my second metatarsal happily settling into an arranged marriage with the bone next door? Has its dowry been paid? It’s amazing how much hope a single image can hold. The funny thing is, we all have moments like this. One email. One biopsy. One pregnancy test. One acceptance letter. One contract. One scan. One image that feels like it’s contains the answer to the question you’ve been carrying around for weeks…or months. You convince yourself that everything starts after that moment. After I get the results… After I know… After I have the answer… The past six weeks have reminded me how much joy lives inside the routines we take for granted. But, it’s forced me to find new ways to feel fulfilled when I couldn’t do the things that usually define my days. Would I still like the X-ray to tell me I can lace up my running shoes this week? More than I can possibly explain. Come on little piggy….you’ve had six weeks. Pull yourself together, literally.
Cheers,
P.S. If you like my work and want to support it, here are 3 ways! 1) Forward this newsletter to a friend and let them know they can subscribe here. 2) Buy my book 3) Bring me into your company to speak. (Either in person or virtual.) |
Henry VIII had portraits. I have X-rays.
Read More