Continuating

My little sister recently graduated from 8th grade to high school. Her middle school hosted a ceremony called "continuation," at which the students "continuated" to the next level. I found it ironic that in moving from one educational level to the next they created an entirely new (grammatically incorrect) statement. Kids these days.

There's a lot of continuating going on in my life right now. My cousin will continuate to her new life with her husband this evening. That's nice, but I plan on continuating single (it is merely a chronological fact that I'm next in line, people). Next, I have my own continuation ceremony today: I graduate from the University of Denver, Latin honors and all. Finally, I completed the Partial Hospitalization Program and will continuate to the Extended Intensive Outpatient Program on Monday. Because EIOP is only recommended, I am technically finished with treatment for my eating disorder. I can no longer say that I am in treatment; I can now say that I am in recovery.

Other than from my sister, who jumped at the opportunity to get dressed up and take pictures with her friends, I have noticed a certain ambivalence about the ceremonies that accompany continuation. My cousin was unwilling to invite very many people and intent on dressing down for the big occasion in purple converse (please note: I totally support both of these ideas). As for myself, it took a lot of mental debate to finally settle on attending my graduation, and as I sit here writing this I am debating whether a shower is even necessary. Can't I just go in jeans?

I am disinclined to celebrate my successes, see, because I can usually reason how they may have been inadequate or the other things I could be doing with my time. In my mind I bid DU adieu at my presentation for my research project. I wasn't intending on ever going back. There is a "goodbye" ceremony in program where everyone says a little something to the person who is leaving, but I felt like I had already started to separate myself from the group about a week before. Why bother celebrating successes when I've already separated myself from them and they probably could have been better, anyway?

At the goodbye ceremony we are given a little pendant. Each person "puts something into" the pendant, something they think will aid the person in the next phase of their journey. I got some zen, loud laughter, and faith. One of the best contributions was actually "carrots." A dear friend of mine noticed how alike I am to that rascally rabbit who chases a carrot dangling in front of his face. I can never seem to grasp the carrot; I push it further away on the string and keep chasing without ever wrapping my fingers around that delicious orange gem and biting in. I never get to the moment when I can savor the taste.

I think that continuations are kind of like finally reaching that carrot. Running toward the carrot is doing the work. It's movement toward the goal, including saying goodbye. But that work isn't tasting the carrot itself, nor is sensing closure on the work. Biting the carrot is actually acknowledging the success, sitting in it despite the doubts one may have about it. It's letting yourself wave at the jumbo-tron like a nerd and inviting as many other people as possible to party with you. Eating the carrot, that's a true continuation ceremony.

Yesterday I allowed myself to grasp a carrot. For over a year now I have been eye-balling a beautiful necklace. It's not very expensive but I could never buy it for myself because I never felt like I deserved it. I kept promising myself I'd get it when I accomplished [task], but when the time came I always thought that another task completion would really cement the prize. Yesterday was different. I finished PHP and felt such a content, balanced high. I was proud and I felt ready. My lucky pendant hung heavy around my neck, my friend's accolades echoing in my mind. I walked up to the little store and bought myself that necklace. I hung it next to my pendant and chomped on my carrot.

Rather than go for a run this morning I sat, ate a big breakfast, and wrote this. The carrot crunches in my mouth. As I get used to the taste of carrots I will feel more and more deserving. Any excuse for a party, I say. Would you like to come?