The Declaration of Independence

IN CONGRESS, July 4, 1776.

The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America,
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As I mentioned to my friend Erin on twitter, I think it is fitting that the death of Senator Byrd has created an extra long Independence Day weekend to West Virginians.

Most who have never lived here do not understand precisely what Senator Robert C. Byrd meant to the state and its residents. They know he was was a member of Congress longer than anyone else ever. They know he was called the King of Pork. They may even know he had been majority leader, minority leader, and President Pro Tem of the Senate. What they don’t understand–can’t understand really–is what all this meant to those of us who lived here.

Senator Byrd had a checkered past in some ways. He was born in a time when racism was accepted and spent the first part of his life believing in those principles. However, he came to discover that outside differences mean nothing, and he came to profoundly regret his earlier beliefs and apologized for his earlier beliefs and actions.

Senator Byrd was the first person in his family to go to school past the second grade. While he was in Washington D.C. representing West Virginia, he got his law degree by taking night classes. But his education was far greater than that. He was a musician, a lover of poetry and verse, and he revered the Constitution and this country.

He went to Washington DC with one objective–to represent his state and to do everything in his power to improve the lives of its citizens. The “King of Pork” wasn’t an insult to him, or to those of us who lived here. He didn’t want to build a bridge to nowhere, he wanted to bring in money to improve the state and its population. He helped us build roads. He helped us build infrastructure. He helped drive government agencies and projects to the state. And he helped build the educational system in the state.

The building in which I work is officially called the Robert C Byrd Health Sciences Center, and within that complex of structures we have one of the top Rural Health programs in the country. The money he brought in did far more than provide jobs–it helped to create an educational system dedicated not just to educating future health professionals but to improve the health of all the citizens of the state by sending its students throughout the state to help provide health care in isolated and impoverished areas.

This is the legacy he left us.

He helped create systems that do more than create a handful of jobs, these systems support and improve the entire state and all its citizens. These systems attempt to reach out to those in isolation and poverty and provide them with the things that most people take for granted: Roads. Education. Health care.

He was a great man, and his like will not be seen again.

That’s right, this was the big one. I’m now 40!

Does it feel any different? Oddly enough, yes. However, that is not due to my age as much as to the life changing experience of breaking my ankle and being off my feet for six very long weeks.

Several years ago I decided that my goal for my 40th birthday was to feel comfortable in my own skin–to like myself for who I am. I’d started on this goal before that (years of therapy will do that to you) but I still had to work myself up to it.

The first big hurdle was accepting my hair. Do I still sometimes wish I had more manageable hair? Of course. But it is what it is, it’s not going to change, so I learned to deal with it, and be happy with what I have.

Once I got past that, everything else seemed pretty easy in comparison.

I already had a regular exercise routine, and I continued with that routine–right up to breaking my ankle–but by taking care of myself physically, I take care of not just my physical health, but my mental health as well.

I also came to the conclusion that enjoying life was far more important that worrying about stupid stuff, such as my weight. If I want to eat a ridiculously high fat calorie laden dessert because it looks really really really delicious, then it doesn’t make sense to deny myself the occasional treat.

Of course that circles around to accepting myself for who I am. I am never going to have the skinny body I had at 18, but that’s a good thing. Because I’m not a teenager anymore and I feel far more comfortable in my curves than I did when I felt as if I was all bony elbows and knees.

Interestingly, my injury made me realize that I am in really good shape. I’ve always felt that because I don’t run or partake in more assertive forms of exercise that I’ve been cheating myself somehow. After discovering how quickly I am bouncing back from my injury I realized that what I have been doing is just fine for my–I don’t have to be able to run marathons I simply need to keep myself in shape and healthy. I’ve done that, so no more guilt about running or anything like that.

The hardest part has been accepting my screw-ups–and believing that not everything is my fault. Everyone messes up. When I do, it’s my job to own up to it and move on. It does me no good to beat myself up over what is past. I can hope that I won’t make the same mistakes, but I also know that my mouth often works faster than my brain, and so stupidity WILL occur. It just isn’t the end of the world.

The last thing I learned is that it’s okay to do things for myself. It is important to me to care for others, but I cannot do that if I’m a wreck myself.

Mind you, this doesn’t mean I think I’m perfect and done growing. Because I’m not (on both counts). But I am who I am. I accept that. I other people don’t like me–that’s their problem, not mine.

So happy birthday to me! I can’t believe I’ve made it 40 years!

Also, Happy Birthday to Cathy, and to Phiala as well.