Ok, I confess: I cried today as I rolled up my winter clothes and packed them tightly into the suitcase, anticipating my departure in a little over a month. This year has been amazing, intense, difficult, and beautiful—all at once. Each aspect overwhelmed me, in the span of an instant, as I packed up the pieces of my Uruguayan life.
I’d like to think I’m beyond clichés, and that years of academic training have taught me to avoid them. However, my only consolation in that moment was the saying: when life gives you lemons, make lemonade.
They are words to live by.
Take my middle name, for example. It’s Millington. Yes, Millington. As you can imagine, having a name associated with a 1960s British porn star has made life a little more, well, interesting. And my pre-teen years? Call it Murphy’s Law or just bad luck, but I always seemed to find myself among bubbly girls with cute middle names like Mary and Michelle, Sarah and Clara. Occasionally there was an Elizabeth. From time to time, there was a Yvonne. I, on the other hand, was no more and no less than Rebbecca MILLINGTON Pittenger. Count ‘em up—that’s a nine-syllable name. It seemed to belong to someone older, stronger and more convicted, which I guess could be true now. At the time, though, it felt like dead weight—worse than baby fat, glasses, and getting hit by a car combined—and only made heavier the pre-adolescent tonnage that was seventh grade.
But, with time, Millington became Millie, and with her, my fabulous alter-ego. Millington, who was once shy and awkward, became a sharp-tongued, Chanel suit-wearing force of a woman. Suddenly, life made designer lemonade.
I’d like to think I’m beyond clichés, and that years of academic training have taught me to avoid them. However, my only consolation in that moment was the saying: when life gives you lemons, make lemonade.
They are words to live by.
Take my middle name, for example. It’s Millington. Yes, Millington. As you can imagine, having a name associated with a 1960s British porn star has made life a little more, well, interesting. And my pre-teen years? Call it Murphy’s Law or just bad luck, but I always seemed to find myself among bubbly girls with cute middle names like Mary and Michelle, Sarah and Clara. Occasionally there was an Elizabeth. From time to time, there was a Yvonne. I, on the other hand, was no more and no less than Rebbecca MILLINGTON Pittenger. Count ‘em up—that’s a nine-syllable name. It seemed to belong to someone older, stronger and more convicted, which I guess could be true now. At the time, though, it felt like dead weight—worse than baby fat, glasses, and getting hit by a car combined—and only made heavier the pre-adolescent tonnage that was seventh grade.
But, with time, Millington became Millie, and with her, my fabulous alter-ego. Millington, who was once shy and awkward, became a sharp-tongued, Chanel suit-wearing force of a woman. Suddenly, life made designer lemonade.
Plus, if it weren´t for Millington, there would be less of Rebbecca (fewer letters anyway).
And since I’m in the mood to confess and this has been a year that, in many ways, has brought me full circle in life, I think it’s only appropriate to admit that, for me, multiple sclerosis is also shaped like a lemon. I found out ten years ago—the day I returned from Spain—that my mother has it. I didn’t tell anyone at first, and then when I did, only one of my closest friends. It was a secret, another Millington.
Eventually, though, just like my name, I got used to the idea and lightened up about my family’s new reality. We now poke fun at my mom’s occasional lapse in memory—her “blueberry” moments—and the thing that scares us most actually brings us closer together.
So, as I pack up my life, bringing this journey to its natural conclusion, I’m reminded that this decision represents more than just leaving or staying in Uruguay. It’s about an unspoken commitment I made to be an active member of my family, the challenge I accepted years ago to start living up to my name--and, whenenver I can, to laugh as I make lemonade.
Eventually, though, just like my name, I got used to the idea and lightened up about my family’s new reality. We now poke fun at my mom’s occasional lapse in memory—her “blueberry” moments—and the thing that scares us most actually brings us closer together.
So, as I pack up my life, bringing this journey to its natural conclusion, I’m reminded that this decision represents more than just leaving or staying in Uruguay. It’s about an unspoken commitment I made to be an active member of my family, the challenge I accepted years ago to start living up to my name--and, whenenver I can, to laugh as I make lemonade.
Today was one of those days when the Rio de la Plata better resembles an ocean than a river.
2 comments:
Beautifully writen. Grandma Millington would be proud.
I don't think that I have read a more eloquent description of one's self and how they view their place in this oftentimes, confusing and maddening world. You ARE an inspiration Millie!
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