Let’s just admit it right up front, my 2016 has continued to be closer to chaos than perfection. I feel we do too much. Does anyone else feel like this? Actually, the feeling I get from my immediate universe is that pretty much all of us feel we do this. We are tired and busy more often than we are not those things – even me, though I hate “tired and busy” as an answer to “how are you doing” so much that I consider it a part of my life’s purpose to usually not have to say that. I truly believe we should avoid busy at all costs, mean every thing we commit to, and unregretfully say no to everything else. It’s a mission statement, not a resume. All I can really say is, I’m working on it.
With that intention not quite being met lately, my days and nights are blurring. I am way too relieved when Friday comes. I pray on the way to work that I would please for the love of all I find meaningful, not miss life while I’m living it. Because sometimes it feels like that, like I’m missing it. As in, “there’s a gorgeous thing on the side of the road, Mom, and you’re missing it.” Fortunately, along with that desperate prayer, life has its own way of centering us occasionally.
Life’s way of pointing us north is often painful. We get sick, and the truly important comes screaming to the forefront. We lose someone we care about and are suddenly given time to reflect on what we want our own short life to be. Or we lose someone we had built everything around and have to ask, what now? Those are life’s gentle (painful, almost unbearable until they’re past) reminders. I experienced this every time I faced cancer. I re-visit the feeling every time I have a check-up. And sometimes, I get the reminder without the hard parts.
On Tuesday night, February 9, our school and community came together for Pink Out night. At the half time of each of our varsity basketball games, the dance team did a routine to Christina Aguilera’s Fighter, while cancer survivors walked between them holding signs about how long we have been kicking cancer A. The night was feely and powerful and stuffed with togetherness, and it shot me straight back to perspective. I felt all my old philosophies returning, as Anne might say. (Didn’t Anne say this, Katie? Help me out. My Anne books are in storage while we’re renting. I miss them so much I could cry.) Because of this night and its reminder, unimportant stressors slipped away. It was so flipping awesome to be alive.
The Sunday before that special night, I walked straight from my chaotic life into the school gym with several fellow survivors to rehearse our march through the dancers. The organizer of the event came to rehearsal with us. She brought the big, white boards on Tuesday night so we could write on them. She filled in the edges with “I am a” and “Survivor” for us to fill in the middle with our years. She sent personal invitations to more than 90 survivors, made a banner on the bleachers, stayed for both games, and told us again and again that we were special, we were fighters, we were an inspiration. She wasn’t the only one who made the night possible, and I felt so grateful that they had chosen this.
I believe in protecting our schedules and saying no and not doing too much and keeping at least some of our evenings and weekends free so we can recover from all the chaos. So I noticed when people created work for themselves in order to make that night possible for me. It meant the world that they were so selfless with their Sunday afternoon and their Tuesday night and whatever nights and afternoons they gave to the preparations. Those are precious hours, and they gave them to us.
This night was an anchor in my year. I’ve started to see my years this way, with anchors, something to tie them down in my memory and mark one emotional season from the next. I am so grateful for this particular anchor and for a gentle, beautiful return to perspective.
Yes, Anne said something very like it – “gathering the shreds of her old cheerful philosophy to cover her nakedness of spirit.” There are probably others, too. I love this so much. Grateful for reminders, and people who work hard to make them happen.
Thank you, Katie! That’s the one – is this House of Dreams, after baby Joyce?
I believe it’s Anne of the Island, when they get to Redmond. But there might be a similar line in House of Dreams. Must look!
Love this! Made me cry this morning. A good cry. :)
Well, as long as it was good. ;) Thanks for reading, Rachel!
I love everything you write here and am so encouraged just knowing you. Still think sweetly of that quick hour we got to spend together in the ABQ airport!
Caroline Starr Rose (I have to say all the names together, it’s such a beautiful name), consider me way, way blessed by this comment. This weekend, I was looking at our picture together at the airport and feeling so grateful for that day.
This would probably be the wrong place to tell you that I am still regretting my decision to stay AT WORK that night instead of witnessing your walk!!!!! In the moment, it felt like the right thing to do, to help other people who were trying to be survivors. But, most of them were seriously just trying to survive strep throat. They could probably have done that without me, and I could have cheered for you.
I am reassessing my priorities as we speak :)
Oh dear. This is not what I want you to be feeling. And I don’t know. I think we often say family first, above pretty much everything. But I think those we live daily life with should actually be pretty high up on the list as well. A bloom-where-you’re-planted kind of thing. That’s the thing with priorities, they really don’t work perfectly all the time. Our kids are our priority, too, but occasionally work still wins. I hate that, but the rule just doesn’t always work in the moment.
And I reassess my priorities every single day, but somehow I still have a day job. It’s weird.
It’s an amazing gift you have been given, Serenity, to write about life and the perspective you have through cancer. Greg and I talked about it while he was ill. We didn’t get the chance to write about it. But we did have the feelings you speak of so eloquently. Thank you for giving voice to those who have gone before you. Love you.
This is very encouraging, Kim. Thank you for writing.
I am so happy I got to be a part of this! Not only did the walkers get a return to perspective but everyone watching took a moment to reflect on our own lives and realize how precious they really are! You know you are a good writer when a teenage boy can find a lot of meaning and truth in this! Thanks for being an inspiration and someone I get to look up to!
Keep up the good work!
Aww, Ethan. This made my whole day. Maybe longer than that. :)
Serenity – where to start. I am so glad it touched you in such a positive way. Im glad that we were able to make this happen and to recognize all the survivors that could make it. I would do it again in a heartbeat. And this just totally reassured me that I am doing this for the right reasons. Anyone who has ever battled cancer, is batteling cancer, or has lost their fight, are all true inspirations for everyone. My life is so much better knowing you! You are such a sweet person and I am glad that it was an amazing night for you!
Lacy, I was hoping the post would find its way to you. Thanks to Kim for tagging you! And thank you so much for stopping by and writing. You made my night and I think many others’, too. :)
This is the beautiful tension of my life: to know I should be less busy and yet to want so badly to do important things! And sometimes the important things don’t present themselves as life-altering. They look more like PTO service hours and classroom parties and just dragging a kid along with you to the grocery store so maybe you can get a few minutes to talk. Well said.
YES!
You’re always coming around and calling really crappy things a beautiful tension. I love you for that.
Double YES!