An aspiring writer's tiny existence in New York City while chasing a dream, and hoping that somehow this crazy, random thing called "life" all works out.
For sending inspiration and/or fanmail, please use: scottkurttila@hotmail.com
So, in reading over the past few weeks, I gotta say I'm a bit sick of all the "sugar" in there. There's nothing wrong with it, but it's not classic "Scott" material for reading. Where are the laughs? Where is the entertainment? Where are the crazy life experiences that make people shoot beer out their noses when they read? I owe you people one and I'm long over due, so here goes nothing.
Today, I had a doctor visit to do some light surgery. I had a mole check recently and I'll be damned if one of the buggers didn't need to come off. It wasn't cancerous, it was just right in the spot where backpack straps rub so it was constantly being aggravated. Additionally, I have a small cyst on the back of my right thigh that needed removal and testing. So, off I went this morning to go under the knife.
But before I go too far into this story, I need to give you some background. You see, I've got this problem with blood, etc. I tend to go into shock at the sight of a needle. It's embarassing, highly so. However, I've got the opposite reaction, too. I once ran over three fingers, yes, my own, while rollerblading. I was flying down a hill in a tucked position, one blade slipped out and I put my hands down to catch myself. My left hand "stuck" to the asphalt of the hill and my left foot ran right over my stopped hand. I tumbled and rolled and then stopped. I checked my knee first which was missing some skin, etc. Ow. Then I looked at my left hand. My middle finger and my ring finger still were in tact. Except the fingernails were broken in half, straight across the middle as if they'd been chopped by a Ginsu knife. Double Ow...
My index finger didn't fare quite so well. The left half of the nail was just gone. And the part under the nail was just gone. I had some bone showing there. Oh, and some sand and gravel in there too. Not good. Not good at all. My friends came up and looked. One of them passed out. The other said, let's get you to the hospital. I took my shirt off and wrapped it around as tightly as I could to keep the bleeding down and we started skating the 8 miles back to the car. Along the way, the pain from skating over my nerve endings started to sear through my brain. But I was all cool with it in general. Since this occurred in Washington, DC the first hospital we went to had a four hour wait due to a gang shoot out that had priority over my little boo-boo.
I got tired of waiting and we went to another hospital where I got seen in just an hour. So, after five hours, I finally get a novacaine shot in the fingers which hurt more than the actual damage incurred to this point. But then the real fun started. The nurse separated the split nails and picked sand and gravel out with tweezers before taping them up. She followed up with a stiff bristle plastic brush and anti-septic on the index finger. There's nothing like having your bone scrubbed with a plastic brush no matter how much novacaine you've had. I watched the whole process with interest and wondered if I'd ever get skin in that area again. I didn't pass out, didn't even feel faint. Just sat through it all.
Fast forward about 11 years to last week. I started seeing a naturopathic doctor to get my blood tested for an annual phsyical before my bike ride. They take about two tablespoons and then run all the numbers on cholesterol, red blood cells, white blood cells, etc. I went to the lab and didn't feel a thing from the needle. However, as the labels were going on the tubes to be sent off, I saw my own blood and just went light headed. Sweat poured out of me. I started to pass out. I felt sick. I cursed at myself and bent over to put my head between my knees. The nurse thought I was ridiculous. I went to the bathroom by sliding along the wall to keep from falling over and I sat down on the cool floor with my head against the sink for comfort until I came to. I returned to the front desk after 10 minutes of restraining myself from barfing. My shirt was soaked in sweat, I was pale as a ghost and trying to act normal through the embarassment that I felt. I questioned my manhood incessantly.
Fast forward to this week. Now, I'm in yet another doctor office and the scalpels, novacaine and sutures are coming out on a tray. They're going to carve out a mole right on my chest while I'm sitting up and watching. Great. I'll probably pass out and land on the nurse and take the scalpel in the heart in the process. Strangely, I was fine. I even looked down at the big hole left by the doctor. Hhmm...I'm okay??? Weird. Then came the cyst on the leg. I got a shot, then had a chunk taken clean out of my hamstring. A quarter-inch cyst complete with attached fat glistened on the tray in front of me while I had the stitches being put in. I was still fine.
But just to spice things up a bit, I had some classic Scott moves. First, as the nurse was coming in to clean up, I pulled my sweatshirt, shirt and undershirt over my head as a package deal. I failed on the trifecta and my undershirt ended up sandwiched in a small blob on my belly giving me some girth. Too embarassed to undo the process, I left it in there. Then, in an attempted shortcut to gain major efficiencies, I went for the old, "pants over the shoes" trick...why take off the shoes when you accidentally put them on before the pants? That just doesn't make much sense to me if time is money...just pull the pants over them. I tugged, I grunted, I pulled. I got stuck. I fell over into the chair like a drunken sailor, losing the bandage over my removed mole during the stunt. The nurse gave me a look of incredulity along with a replacement band-aid. She was neither comforted or amused with my explanation that I do this all the time. I then took the next 15 minutes to try and reverse my shoe from its lodged position in my pants. I needed a crowbar and some oil to get them loose any faster.
I persisted and eventually was victorious. I smiled that despite my idiot-syncrasies I could still prevail. I'm going to be okay on this bike ride, come hell or high water. As I told my sister last night when she brought up hurricanes, "I would just think of them as a good tailwind." Oddly, I feel confident that I can handle whatever life is going to toss my way over the next month.
Wow. Maybe I AM becoming a man with all this upcoming bike riding stuff. I said goodbye to the cyst and wayward mole and set off for home, proudly strutting despite two stitches in the back of my leg. I banged the crap out of my skull getting into my car while trying not to touch the seat. Ow. Okay, so there will be some bumps and bruises and scraped knuckles. Hell, there might even be a monumental road rash as I descend an 8,000 foot pass somewhere in New Mexico. That's the cool thing about life. It's the bumps and bruises and knocks and pings and scars that add character. Reminds me of my favorite sweatshirt I almost tossed. It was ragged, the sleeves were falling apart at the cuffs and the neck was beginning to disintegrate. As I was throwing it, my girlfriend at the time pulled it off the pile and said, "What are you thinking??? It's just starting to get good!!!"
Yea, I like that. Bring on the tough stuff, the rips, the frays, the battle wounds. It's just starting to get good.
I've had quite a few moments in life, especially in the past month where I've felt worthless. Today, while cleaning up carnage after a 500+ person party on Saturday night, I experienced one of those moments of reflection where I couldn't help but smile because somehow, I know that I have made a difference in the world by being here.
For the past several years, I've hosted some fun parties with lots of friends in Seattle at my loft. Originally, I just did it to meet people and have fun with friends. At my first large party called "Miami Vice" I actually met the greatest love of my life so far. Her name was "LoLo" and the minute my eyes met hers, I felt something that I can't quite describe in words. After a "terrific coincidence" via email, we became best friends and I became the "best me" that I could be through her inspiration.
When I first met her, I had no idea of the difference she would make in my life. I was in a bad place, being a person I did not want to be and she brought me out of it. We talked and emailed most every day for three years, sharing dreams, joys and challenges across the miles because she lived in San Francisco. We sailed and traveled and had amazing experiences together. She inspired me to become a writer. She inspired me to lose 55 pounds. She always treated me with kindness and caring and she was always gentle with my heart. Whenever I had a bad day or screwed up or said the wrong thing, she was right there to say exactly the right words to bring me up again. She constantly challenged me to follow my dreams and to speak the truth. She taught me how to forgive myself and move on from past mistakes. Most importantly, she melted the thick walls that I had put up around my heart from loss throughout my life. I've never met a more beautiful or amazing person, inside or out.
Recently, we parted ways because eventually, things just happen in life. It's my fault and my past mistakes which caused us to part and for that, I am sorry and sad, but I fully understood. Because I love her, all I could do was let her go so she could find happiness. I was down on myself for my mistakes for several weeks beyond words. I felt and still feel an enormous hole in my life where she used to be. I find myself reaching for the phone to see how she's doing or tell her good news but I can't call. I find myself typing emails each day that can't send because she needs space to find her own way after being so much in my life. Somehow, I find peace knowing she's happier now and that's all I can wish for someone I love with all my heart. It's difficult to say this, to admit mistakes, etc. but in doing so, I hope others learn the same lessons before it's too late in their lives. Love infallibly and you will have no regrets.
Luckily, even though we're not in touch any longer, the incredible difference she made in me continues like ripples in a pond. I learned how to let go and to love. I learned how to grow up. I learned the importance of living a life of integrity, responsibility and honesty. I learned forgiveness and the importance of making peace with old broken friendships. I learned how to give of myself. I learned how to continue to go after my dreams no matter what happens. I learned the importance of making a difference, even in just one person's life.
In the middle of the party on Saturday night, I learned that even though you are surrounded by everyone you know and love, you can still have an empty spot in your heart when the one person who is most special in your life is not with you. However, I also learned that you must always push on and you must always strive to make a difference in the world. I discovered that each person, on their own terms, owes this to the world.
I miss holding her in my arms, but now I have the the world to hold. How so? Well, the thought that brought the smile to my face this morning was that finally, I am making a difference in others lives as LoLo did for me. You see, she has always lived her life right, with honesty, integrity and purpose. She gives blood to little children with Leukemia, she raised over $5,000 by running the Dublin Marathon. She is friends with everyone she meets and she brings joy every where she goes. She lights up rooms with her smile and she warms hearts with her kindness. She is a constant positive force and will never change. She'll always make the world a better place as she now goes her own way. And so, I am attempting to follow in LoLo's example by making a difference in the world in my own way: "Scott Style," if you will.
My first step was to change my "going away party" to a fundraiser for breast cancer. Friends and their friends showed up in droves. My place was packed and there was a line down six flights of stairs and out onto the street to get in. My floors were filled with people wall to wall, dancing, laughing and enjoying my last party in Seattle. People opened their hearts and their wallets at the door in memory of my Grandmother who passed away from breast cancer in 1991. The party wrapped up around 4:30 a.m. yesterday. I fell asleep and woke up a few hours later to count the donations.
It took all day to sort and count a pile of cash and checks. I was floored...$4,825 raised through the generosity of friends. And today, while cleaning, I smiled as I realized that yes, one person CAN make a difference by simply putting an inspired idea into motion. Thank you my friends for your support. I hope that in time, we beat breast cancer and many other life challenges. I hope after reading this, that many of you pick a cause and make a difference in your own way.
And thank you, LoLo, for being a hero to me and an enormous inspiration. Thoughts of you will be carried across the country during my solo bike odyssey, especially when my legs and spirit are failing, I will think of you and push on to reach my dreams. I will never forget you or the time, the lessons and the love you gave so freely to make all difference in my life.