There was a Japanese language professor at my junior college. He’d been there a long time. I didn’t’ take his classes, but I was friends with his son.

In my mind, the professors were high above me. It was hard to imagine such a rarified person could be as familiar as someone’s dad.

I went to that school ravenous for the secrets it could teach me. I wanted to go deeper and increase my skills and expertise.

I assumed the professors also wanted to go deeper, and they had found a way to make learning pay them a living.

I was surprised to learn—second hand—that he found teaching the same lessons tedious.

As I look back now I can understand that professor better. I have had a chance to get more education and experience.

I’m still hungry for it though. That’s part of the drive that keeps me moving.

I’m about the age of the professor now. I can see that it’s harder to learn when I have to be my own teacher.

It’s easy to double my skills when I start with nothing.

After I have achieved a critical mass of expertise, the new things can be tucked into a framework. They are manageable.

So manageable they might not seem work the effort.

Or so small they become insignificant and unimportant.

So the hunger for learning gets dull. And so does my life.

I am still keen to know, and I have not forgotten my appetite.

I can still stretch for the finer point. If I sharpen the edge of a narrow point of knowledge, I can find satisfaction. Precision and clarity are the new frontier for my well-known territories.

A master can review the tools and look for sections to polish. That will keep me moving for a long time.

I am willing to feel better finally, after my surgery

And the lymph system complications

And THEN the flu

I am willing to feel better.

I had falling in a hole of misery, honestly. I had been feeling like I was never going to get out of the part where I felt horrible.

And it reminded me of other times I felt horrible.

I certainly have a lot of experiences to remember as I’ve gone through the cancer treatments of the last two years.

As I tossed around tired and restless on my bed  of sickness I would remember these other times and feel like they were happening again.

Or that they had never stopped

Or that they never would stop

Did I mention the hole of misery?

I am willing to feel better. I am trying to feel better. At the beginning of the year, I am hoping for positive things. Or at least I am willing to try to hope.

This seems like a good time to get out of my  own head.

But how do I do that? My head is where I live.

I had a friend talk to me on the phone. She had good news, and I was able to celebrate with her for a good while. That was a wonderful break from the doom rolling around in my head.

Then today I called another friend, because she is going through a challenging time. I figured she’d be too busy but I could leave her a message wishing her well. TO my surprise, she picked up and we had a long catchup call.

Two days in a row that I managed to leave my negative thoughts for a while.

It seems that while I live in my head, I can also invite others to use the space there more productively.

It would be good for me this year, to think of others and give myself a break.

Happy New Year! This is Twenty-Twenty Five

And I knew it was coming. I was planning, I was thinking for months ahead of how I’d be fabulous and celebrate. My plan was to bounce back from the surgery and use the skills I’d earned as a Sensei. That was not how it is happening.

I did use my Sensei skills to endure. I would far rather have used them to celebrate.

What laid me so low?

A bad cold. Everyone got it. And I did too. I was so mad; somehow I thought I had paid my dues and didn’t have to do that thing. But no, I’m human.

And the good news is, I am human and I’m on the other side of the sick now. Mostly.

I’m human. I’ll be bringing that into the new year too.

I have some time—a whole year—to celebrate. It doesn’t have to happen today.

I can keep my eye on it, and keep it as a priority to get to. I don’t have to cram every part of what I hope the year will contain into the first day of it. That’s the beauty of a clean slate, there is more room that I can fill.

Yesterday I was carrying a lot of pain and weakness from the surgery and from this stupid cold/flu. Today I am carrying less.

That leaves room for more strength and celebration. There is plenty of room for strength and celebration.

These things build. Like the head of a trail, I look up at the distant beautiful summit, the challenging peak I am aiming at.

I’m at the beginning. It’s alright for me to be weak at the beginning, because I will be strong at the summit and there are some adventures to be had along the way.

I didn’t know my new year’s morning would look this way—feel this way—and here I am. I didn’t know what was inside the gift when it was wrapped.

Now I’m experiencing it. And I’ll keep on living through it every day of the year. I’m willing for the sweet and the bitter to come through, and celebrate it as much as possible.

This is my year. I’m going to make something of it.