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There is a Chinese saying that goes:
"If you want happiness for an hour, take a nap. If you want happiness for a day, go fishing. If you want happiness for a year, inherit a fortune. If you want happiness for a lifetime, help someone else." I like this saying, but I think that we can adjust it to make it unique to each of us. Mine would go something like this: “If you want happiness for an hour, take a walk outside. If you want happiness for a day, go riding. If you want happiness for a year, raise a foal. If you want happiness for a lifetime, help someone else.” — For me, that last part does not change. As many of you know, I have thick, long hair — which is both a curse and a blessing. When I’m working, it’s usually thrown up in a messy bun. When I’m home or out and about, I wear it down. With hair like mine, I consider myself somewhat of a hairtie connoisseur. A collector of quality hairties, if you will. They make me happy. I have them all over my house, in my car, and at the barn. In preparation to enter Level One of the dungeon, I researched the items I could bring with me and all the things that needed to be done before my arrival. However, I neglected to research the rules regarding one’s bougie hairtie. Surely I’d be allowed to keep it? I mean… have you seen my hair? Ha. Nope. No hairties like mine were allowed, and I watched it get tossed out into space along with a tiny piece of my happiness. Hasta la vista, baby… or whatever Arnold said in The Terminator. I pleaded my case to the “welcoming” DOC aliens, but it was a no-go. I was stripped of everything. Right down to my hairtie. There was nothing left of the old Liz on the outside. But on the inside? I was still there. Still me. Inside my heart, inside my mind. I just prayed I was strong enough to hold onto all the pieces. At this point, I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m sharing my hairtie drama with you. Stay with me — it’s worth it, I promise. I twisted my hair into a makeshift knot to hold me over as I made the walk to my assigned dorm and bunk at the infamous “Lowell Lodge” in Marion County. Walking into an open bay dorm with approximately 70 bunks can be overwhelming. Actually no, is overwhelming. Especially for someone who doesn’t make a habit of frequenting these kinds of “resorts.” I wasn’t sure which direction to go to find my cabana — I mean bunk. An older woman walked up to me and said she would help me find my way. She told me her name was Millie and asked what my bunk number was. I shared my name and number, and she immediately lit up. “Oh, you’re right next to me! Don’t worry, I’ll help you. Is this your first time here?” “Thank you—yes, it is,” I replied. But in my head, I added: Thank you, yes… and my last time here. I wasn’t sure what to think of my new acquaintance, but she seemed kind enough—and I was still mourning the loss of my hair tie. We made our way to my new temporary home, and she helped me put away the few things I had. She showed me how to make my bed to DOC standards and even offered me a book to read. Later that afternoon, she pulled out some coffee ingredients and two Tylenol from her locker. “You look like you could use this,” she said. In that moment, my definition of grateful suddenly included Millie. I thanked her and told her that I definitely needed it. Maybe even a night in a volcano, too. We shared a laugh. Then I asked her what the chances were that she had a hair tie in her Mary Poppins–like locker. She rummaged around for a bit, and after some time she replied. “No, I’m sorry, I don’t have a hair tie… but I found this.” She held out her hand and presented me with a 6 inch piece of a 1/4 inch wide elastic band. Honestly, I didn’t know what to think—but the MacGyver part of my brain kicked in. “Yes Millie, that will do just fine! You are a queen!” I thanked her a million times over for everything she had done for me —her help, and her kindness. I told her it was the happiest I had felt all day. Her reply was simple: “It makes me happy if I make someone else happy. I just love to help people.” Her kindness shocked me. She didn’t expect anything from me. She didn’t even know me from Eve. But somewhere between losing my two-dollar hairtie and finding my place in that dorm, I realized something important: Maybe we don’t need the two-dollar hairtie. Maybe we really don’t need most material things at all. But maybe what we do need is more people like Millie. People willing to help someone who looks lost. People willing to offer kindness when it would be easier not to. People who can bring a little bit of happiness into someone else’s really hard day. Because trust me — Millie’s kindness will stay with me for a lifetime. And no matter where I am, I hope I never stop helping others the same way. Level 2 completed. Until next time, DC Liz
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This morning, as I sit here on my bunk, my normal routine has changed drastically. But who I am has not. My mind is still sharp, and my heart still hurts.
Instead of sitting on my porch, drinking coffee with my two buddies—my dogs, Rocky and River—watching the birds come and go from the feeder, I’m sitting here in a dorm with over 60 other women. I won’t let this place, or my time here, break me like it has so many others behind these walls. I know my life will look different when I leave, and I’m okay with that. I’ve accepted it—and honestly, I’ve embraced the unknown. I trust God and His divine plan and purpose for me. However, I don’t believe He intervened in my life that night because I needed some kind of divine redirection. I may not have been perfectly walking the straight and narrow path to the pearly gates, but I also wasn’t speeding down the highway to hell. I don’t believe He caused the accident or my cancer diagnosis. But I do believe He will use it for good. I know, without a doubt, He redirected me toward something bigger—to reach and help others in a greater way than I had before. ⸻ I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about how I wanted to share my thoughts, experiences, and just plain survival since my accident on January 7, 2024. Writing a book seemed like the easy answer. But I wanted something more personal—something more immediate. So, in addition to putting my memoir on paper, I decided to create this blog to share my journey in real time. Writing has always been a joy of mine. I’ve been doing it for years—much of it tucked away with the hope of being published one day. I may even share some of those pieces along the way, in hopes they might inspire someone else too. ⸻ Many of you may or may not know the full scope of what has happened in my life over the past two years. If you know me personally, you know the truth. But for those who’ve relied on internet reports or the good old-fashioned game of telephone… sorry, you do not pass go and collect $200. About 99% of that information falls into the “fake news” category—thanks to Donald Trump for coining that phrase ;) Every time an internet troll, journalist, or gossip king or queen shared their self-righteous judgments about me—my accident, my health, or my family—I prayed for them. I asked God to forgive them, soften their hearts, and help them to understand instead of judge. Because they didn’t know the truth. “Why, Liz, are you so confident in telling your truth?” taps microphone *ahem*… Because if everything that was reported about me were true, I wouldn’t be here writing this blog. That’s hard to say, but it’s the truth. I’m here because God knows my truth—and He has pushed me to share my story with you. So come along with me as I share this journey… ⸻ Last year, one of my favorite book series was “Dungeon Crawler Carl” by Matt Dinniman. If you haven’t read it, I strongly suggest you do—or at least check out the audiobook. LitRPG isn’t usually my go-to genre, but it was all over TikTok last year. And wow… it was a wild ride. Here’s the quick version: Planet Earth is suddenly destroyed and replaced with a massive alien dungeon that functions as a brutal reality TV show for the universe to watch. I know… it’s starting to sound a little familiar to my upcoming journey. Survivors are forced to compete, and everything runs on video game logic. Think Survivor meets MacGyver meets Mario Bros meets Grand Theft Auto—all for the viewing pleasure of alien audiences. Ridiculous? Absolutely. Entertaining? Even more so. The story follows Carl, an ordinary guy trying to survive alongside his ex-girlfriend’s very judgmental (and hilarious) cat—who can now talk. Together, they descend through increasingly dangerous levels, trying to stay alive while navigating bizarre rules and a system that is clearly flawed. Hits a little close to home, right? ⸻ So, with faith in my heart, I’m stepping into my own version of “Dungeon Crawler Carl.” And if you know me, you know I love to make people laugh. Through everything, I haven’t lost that part of myself. Until next month… Stay tuned—39 more levels of mayhem and life experiences ahead |
AuthorLiz Pizzonia |