Author Archives: hannahjanenancarrow

No Mud, No Lotus

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I got an overdraft notice from the bank this morning, accompanying a $35 fee and bounced rent check. I washed all my black clothes—in bleach. I dropped my iPhone and stared helplessly as it shattered on the ground. My cat pooped in the kitchen sink. I repeat: he pooped in the kitchen sink. I’m breaking out in a way I can only imagine will leave me looking like “Craterface” from Grease. I spent $50 on a tanning membership the day before my brother found skin cancer on his toe. I crashed my car on the way to the hospital—where my dad was having emergency brain surgery related to his terminal cancer diagnosis. And I’m happier than I’ve ever been.

I’ve heard that life is a journey, to enjoy the ride. I’ve been reminded to count my blessings, to be thankful for what I have and to live each day as my last. But in reality—only when sh*t hits the fan are things truly forced into perspective. And I’m learning that it’s not such a bad thing.

I won’t always be po’ (not poor…po’). And even if I am, at least I’ll be po’ while doing what I love. It’s summer in sunny San Diego and time to trade my black clothes for some color anyway. My iPhone still functions. In the battle between bleach and cat poop — bleach wins every time. Acne treatments have made leaps and bounds in recent years. Graham’s melanoma was successfully removed and he’s now a sunscreen poster boy/skin cancer awareness activist. My mom loaned me her much nicer car until I get the Prius back from the body shop. And my dad—-he’s a warrior. He’s a gardener, journalist, activist and road trippin’ son of a gun . He’s a lotus.

There’s a Buddhist saying: No mud, no lotus. Lotus flowers grow in muddy, swampy water. Still, they bloom above their murky conditions unscathed and incredibly beautiful.

We are all lotus flowers.

xoxo

Hannah

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The Text

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hannahjanenancarrow's avatarThe Nancarrow Project

The pathology results are in for the fluid in Dad’s brain…

There was a chance that the fluid was either (in order from best to worst news) dead/dying cancer cells, goo from the trauma of surgery (and/or hitting his head multiple times since), or new cancer cells forming.

—drumroll please—

JUST GOO!

HOORAY!  And a follow up MRI, 24 hours after surgery, revealed that it had not returned. Mom said she felt like driving down the street, windows open, yelling “THERE’S NO FLUID!!”

Mom had been {glam}camping in the new R.V. outside the hospital all week (with a german shepherd and two pomeranians in tow), and she was ready and waiting in her hospital-front campsite when Dad was sprung from his muchbigger room at Scripps on Saturday morning (4/20/13).

From the hospital, he and Mom went where all people go after brain surgery———Nordstrom’s (of course)! Dad even attended…

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Surgery #2

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hannahjanenancarrow's avatarThe Nancarrow Project

Dad’s second brain surgery was at 7:15 this morning. He did very well and was awake and cracking jokes by 11AM—all while sporting an impressive head bandage (although he refused my plea for a photo shoot).

It’s not yet clear exactly what the fluid in his brain was but we will know more when the pathology results come back. Until then, he’s resting, listening to Native American flute and eagerly waiting to be “sprung” from the hospital.

My Dad was nice enough to hand me down his awesome black Prius (since he isn’t able to drive following brain surgeries). As I rushed down to the hospital in his car this morning, I was in a bit of a fender bender (which I haven’t revealed to Dad yet—so this post may serve as a barrier between me and his impending lecture).

I hurried to gather all my information from the glovebox…

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Letter to Me

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The Brad Paisley song Letter to Me leaves me with mascara streaming down my cheeks every time I hear it. As I listened to it today, I was inspired to write my own letter—to 16-year-old me.

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Dear Hannah at 16,

High school is tough. You are tougher.

Don’t worry about whatshisname—after college you’ll have a beautifully redeeming moment that will cure your lingering feelings of insecurity. It will be just one of many personal victories.

Spend some quality time with mom. It’s the only way you’ll ever find out how incredible she really is. She’ll turn out to be your favorite workout partner, greatest confidante and absolute best friend.

Keep in touch with Ms. Minor. Her influence in your life will be significant. She’ll leave this Earth too soon and you’ll know your first real pangs of loss. But you’ll feel her smiling down every time you see a green VW Bug.

Be nice to Britta and be patient with Graham. They’ll both grow up…just like you will.

Don’t drive so fast. You’ll learn that not all cops have sympathy for a crying girl and dad will be PO’d when he inevitably gets the ticket(s) in the mail…despite your best efforts.

Steer clear of that platinum blonde hair you like so much—It’ll break your hair…and your heart.

Everything’s easier when you follow dad’s rules. When he embarrasses you by picking you up from that co-ed sleepover, it’s because he loves you and only wants what’s best for you. Although…you’ll be too hysterical (and drunk) at the time to care. Soon your endless similarities will reveal themselves. That connection will be magnetic and unbreakable.

You’ll get into some trouble. Don’t beat yourself up too much—they’re learning experiences and you’ll have some great stories to tell for it.

I’ll warn you now: you’ll never be asked to the prom. That one will linger with you for a while but life has a funny way of making it up to you. You’ll see.

Don’t sweat Algebra. It isn’t all that important and those failed classes won’t mean a thing. You’ll still graduate college…summa cum laude no less.

You’ll eventually discover the cure for your migraines and your greatest insecurity all in one place: the gym. But don’t worry, you’ll learn to love it.

Try not to stress so much about those “friends” of yours. They seem almighty now but you’ll learn they’re just mean girls. In the long run their only purpose in your life will be to teach you an appreciation for real friendship. You’ll eventually find some genuine friends to heal the wounds caused by the fake ones.

Speaking of friends; hang tight to Andrea, Katie, Alyssa and Taylor—they will be some of the most important people in your life. And you know that tall girl, Elyse? You should get to know her. On second thought, you’ll have plenty of time for that in college…and long after.

One more thing…maybe you should lose the kissy face in all your pictures. You’ll wish you hadn’t made that your signature look.

Most of all…

“Have no fear. These are nowhere near the best years of your life.”

With Love,

Hannah at 23



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Spinning as a metaphor for life

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I love Spinning. Not the kind of spinning you may have experienced in college, lying on the bathroom floor, bargaining with a higher power to see you through. Rather, the kind of Spinning where you ride a bike…that doesn’t move…indoors.

Some Spin instructors are better qualified to kick your butt than others, but I have two favorites in particular: one is an ever-positive, girl power, cheerleader type that uses her microphone headset for good—making a point to encourage everyone putting forth any kind of effort whatsoever. The other is…well…militant—the kind of instructor I feel a Stockholm syndrome type love for. One who has beaten me into submission and given me the gift of steel buns. What I love most about her class is that it’s a reflection of life: hard as hell yet there’s a certain ecstasy to being part of it.

This endearing Spin sadist is always chanting “THIS IS NOT A BREAK! THIS IS ACTIVE RECOVERY!” Like her Spin class, life doesn’t offer breaks; it doesn’t allow you the luxury of stopping to rest your weary body. Life only allows for active recovery…if you’re lucky.

And, similar to life, each day in Spin finds me in a different condition. Some days (although never often enough) I feel invincible. My endurance is seemingly limitless and I possess the energy to vanquish any and all hypothetical hills that inevitably lie ahead. Other days find me struggling for breath, suffering with every pedal stroke, sweating like an animal and feeling like Andre the Giant and his equally behemoth-esque girlfriend have affixed themselves to each of my feet. Sometimes we go fast with little resistance to slow our pace. Sometimes the resistance is devastating and we must delve deep within for the strength to power through. But we do. No matter how daunting the climb, how heavy the load—we always keep moving.

Follow me on Loren Nancarrow’s Blog

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I’m on temporary hiatus from my blog while I help my dad work on his blog.

Find out why my dad’s nails are painted cobalt blue and read more about his amazing journey here:

lorennancarrow.wordpress.com

XOXO

hjn

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F*CK THIS TUMOR

F*CK THIS TUMOR

My dad is the most amazing man I know. He finds out he has a plum-sized brain tumor and he spends his day in the ICU telling “that’s what she said” jokes. This incredibly difficult time has shown me just how many lives my dad has touched and just how many people are rooting for him. Together, we are stronger. Thank you for your love, support and healing words. And without being entirely crude– F*CK THIS TUMOR.

Graham Nancarrow– “Heart”

http://youtu.be/LhJg8_hvHU0

I enjoyed a beautiful San Diego winter weekend filming my brother play some tunes out in the country. “Heart” is one of his latest songs. Enjoy.

http://www.nancarrowmusic.com

The Code of the West

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On a recent trip to Nashville I was introduced to The Code of the West, a list of 10 principles to live by. The code has stuck with me since.

In 2010, Wyoming signed into law The Code of the West as the official state code, adapted from the book Cowboy Ethics: What Wall Street Can Learn From the Code of the West by retired Wall Street investor, James Owen.

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Ride for the brand.

xoxo

hjn

Rock Bottom

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“Rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life.”
— J.K. Rowling

Rock bottom. It means something different to everyone. For me, rock bottom was at the very top of the scale. It was the plus size section at Nordstrom. It was the Mcdonalds drive-thru window. It was constant headaches. It was the untagged pictures on Facebook. To me, rock bottom was 215 pounds.

Now, two years and 75 pounds later, rock bottom exists only in old photos and a pile of size 14 clothes waiting to be donated. Rock bottom isn’t shameful or embarrassing. Rock bottom is motivating, empowering and the strongest foundation of all.

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May 2010 (Above), May 2012 (Below)

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xoxo

hjn