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.

The wind is blowing today. The high winds are getting a lot of notice here in Los Angeles County because of the fires.

I’m not in danger of fire. But the winds are making me nervous.

It’s an old story these winds, They happen at regular intervals. As I write this, I am thinking of how I am weary of how predictable my life is at the moment.

And those winds are huffing and puffing. That’s another old story.

The big bad wolf—he wants those tasty pigs and he has the power to blow their house down.

He can blow all their safety apart.

And the pigs have built their security in different ways, the first with the straw, the next with sticks and the last with solid bricks.

Those pig houses took a little planning to construct. I am pretty sure the pigs were all doing what was true to their character. They saw the work that had to be done and went to it.

It wasn’t special. It was a regular, tedious long task that had to be done.

Tedious, that is, until it was the most important thing in their world.

The first AND the second pig ran over to the brick house that the last pig put together to shelter himself, the hairs of his chinny-chin-chin and he saved his two pig brothers too.

The wind is howling and huffing around me as I sit in my safe strong house. I’m moping because I’m stuck in a rut of still feeling sick and tired of these cancer treatments. It feels so long and tedious. I’m impatient with it.

But the story reminds me that it is worth it. All the things I am doing to stay safe and the choices I make are going to make me and the ones close to me happier.

That wind is scary out there, but it’s also exciting. It’s lending a little drama to my day. I know I’d rather do the tedious work of the brick pig than the foolish work of the straw pig.

The work practices that I’ve built with the character and disciple are worth it. Even when it feels boring and like it doesn’t matter.

The wind is reminding me of the big bad wolf that I am fighting against and is encouraging me even as I work through the next set of stuff in front of me. I’m the brick pig.

New year new me right?

I’m trying to remember who I used to be. I did have an old me. Is this new me going to be an improvement?

I’m really ready to get into a version of myself that I’m pleased with. Can I remember that person?

Like looking back through a fog, I can see the outlines of the person I used to be. That person used to get up int eh morning eager to get moving on the adventures and the challenges.

It’s been two years of cancer treatments and I’m not quite done. I am tempted to think of it as an alternate reality that is separate from real life. But is it? It’s not like time stopped while I’ve gone through the treatments. Life has been happening for everyone else while I’m doing these things. Maybe it’s happening for me top, if I choose to see it.

Could I manage that?

I’m finding faith for small things again. Small things that can turn into big things.

I may not be able to see myself as strong and whole as I’m stuck in recovery. Honestly, I’m struggling with faith in myself right now.

The good news is I don’t have to work on believing in myself. I have to find a way to do things that will help me get strong.

Even things that don’t feel strong. Like sleeping. And eating food that will sustain me.

I don’t WANT to do those little things. I want to be mighty and fast.

Turns out, those little things have to be repeated enough so they can add up to me being mighty.

Or at least mightier.

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.