I have three fruit trees:
A lemon tree, a mandarin tree, and a pink orange tree. I cherish them all, and fawn over their flowers and fruit.

I’ve learned that the mandarin tree will rotate in fruit. One year, it will bear a lot of fruit, and the next, far less. Last year was a low fruit year. In fact, the lowest harvest yet, only ten or twelve.

Last year was a tough year for both of us, really.

But a funny thing happened. I had counted the fruits, waiting for the hard green balls to turn color and show bright in the midst of the green leaves. Then I would have a true count of the number.

And I picked and ate the delicious little fruit.

But some of them were small and didn’t turn orange. That was strange. I thought they might dry up and fall off.

That would have been sad but it happens.

I kept an eye on those green balls. They stayed on the tree as the flowers came for next year’s harvest. And then the flowers became little baby fruit.

And the green fruits stayed on. Like ancestor fruit alongside the child fruits.

They were making up their own timing.

It’s October now. These ancestor mandarins have begun to orange. Not in a hurry. Not all the way and not too fast

.

See that? An ancestor fruit above this years young fruit.

I took a plunge and picked one. It was a real fruit! Yes, a bit dry, but a worthy example of its kind.

There at least as many of these late ripening ancestor mandarins as the whole harvest last year.

I thought I knew this tree. I thought I knew how this world works and what I could expect.
It’s just a little tree, but it made a different choice. I am amazed that such a thing could happen, and I have no idea why.

I’d like to have some kind of wisdom to pull out of this situation. It’s not my wisdom though. My mandarin tree is the mysterious one.

What made the choice to take the road less traveled? The flowers? The fruit? The sun and the moon in the sky? The taste of the water the tree pulled up?

What made these fruits persevere and ripen when it wasn’t the correct time?

Like I said, it’s not my secret. But I did watch the story as it unfolded. I took the time to see the flowers as they were born and speak to my tree. I noticed the fruit as they grew and lived their life.

My part of the mystery and the miracle was taking the time to observe.

To pay attention.

And it was so worth it, to notice. Now I can stand with the strength of my little tree when I have hope for the unexpected and unusual.

I’ve seen it ihappen.

“This is going to be a busy week,” my husband said. “And that’s before we discover the things we don’t know yet.”

He was right. And those things we don’t know yet? There are there. They are part of the things. I catch myself in denial of them all the time.

When I slam the car door, and glance at the clock thinking “I’ll still be on time if…”
I am in denial of those things I don’t know

I could call those things the “known unknowns.”

I’m not too indulgent in that denial. My husband is, in my opinion, too cautious.

It’s a fine line to walk, to be ready for the unknown but not too wary.

Many years ago a big unknown came into being in our lives.
That time he said: “Change is opportunity.”

I was convinced that this particular change meant disaster.

Instead, he was proven right.

I learned that opportunity is in the awareness of it.
So is disaster, now that I think about it.

When I see a disaster, and I commit to it being a disaster, it will be what I see. It will be a disaster.

And if I see an opportunity, when I insist on it being an opportunity, then it will transform into the opportunity I see it to be.

I love to plan for things. I will organize the pieces of my life into piles and make strategies for them. I will fill my time up as full as I can with good things.

Which can sometimes make me almost late to drive to one of those things I planned because I was trying to shoehorn in another things I’d planned.

Not leaving room for the thigns I didn’t plan. The changes I didn’t plan for.

And it’s those changes that create the opportunity for things to get even better.

Change is scary.
Change is opportunity.
Change is inevitable.
Madonna sang it: “Beauty’s where you find it.”

I intend to find the beauty. Thus:

Change is beautiful.

After the big life  adventure of two surgeries, chemo and radiation last year, I’m on the maintenance plan with my doctors. I do appreciate that they are motivated to keep checking on me.  I’ve had them do two different scans already to see if anything suspicious pops up

They decided that second scan was suspicious, and they set me up with a neck Biopsy to check if the thyroid cancer was growing back. This is what maintenance means: keep calm and carry on.

I think of Schroedinger’s cat. I have to be ok with that ever cat or not-cat might be in the box.

That’s an expertise I didn’t have two years ago. 

One thing that helps keep me from thinking too much about whether the thyroid cancer is there is my black belt testing. I know that thyroid cancer is highly treatable, so I decided I could withstand if the cancer needed another treatment.

BUT! The last couple biopsies hurt quite a lot. And with my focus on the black belt training, I don’t want to slow down.

At class the night before the biopsy, Sensei had me practicing a swift kick to the head. We’d done this move before, and it was fun to do the quick unexpected move on one another. 

I always think it’s too hard, but with the Sensei’s encouragement I surprise myself. I can do this!

The next day, lying back the nurse arranged the pillows so that my neck was stretched out to give the team the greatest access to get up in there with a needle. 

I had to sit very very still and let stick a needle in my neck. For a long time.

There was a whole team there doing it very carefully. I had to keep my mind occupied while they did this thing I would rather not be doing.

I remembered that while they were stabbing me in the neck, I could kick them in the head. I had practiced it the night before and gotten even better at it. While I lay there, not moving a muscle I visualized all the small movements it took, the muscles I had to use direct my kick up to a person’s head and make a hit.

It helped a lot to pass the time. 

I will sit here while you do this. I will let it happen. I make the choice to allow it. Because I could choose to kick an attacker in the head. It made a difference to know it was my choice.

But just because the fighting never stops, I got the call while I was finishing this post. Shroedinger cat was in the box. One of those spots was indeed more cancer. I’ll need another surgery in a couple months. I’ll chase that one down and get rid of it too.

It’s hot today. Except, I know this is going to be read when the heat wave is past. I can see that far into the future.

Still, today, this day I am sitting in, and writing in is too hot.

Last year was filled with a lot of medical things that took up the space. Poisoning and surgeries that took my strength. I had to keep my focus on what I could do.

I had to shrink down because the iceberg I was floating on was shrinking. What was possible? Less than yesterday.

What’s possible today? 

How’s today looking? How many steps can I take around this life I’m floating on. 

Huh. I am seeing that it’s more than it used to be. This iceberg is getting bigger

Am I willing to go further than I have before? Am I willing to go further than I did before?

It was a short push when the iceberg was small. It’s longer walk now that it’s bigger.

Is my world as big as it was before? It seems like it might be smaller.

That could be a story I’m telling myself. It’s possible that the borders are bigger, but I’m afraid to push my limits

I wasn’t so afraid when I knew the limits were small. I walled off opportunities from myself for a while. I assumed that it was too far. It was too far at that time, and I didn’t want to be frustrated.

That was before. What’s my story now?

Like the old explorers, I might be putting mythological monsters on the edges of what I know. It could be excuses.

I don’t know where the edge is until I hit it. And it could be different from day to day.

It is easier now that I don’t’ have to push against the medication. But the truth is, I still want to be strong and the best I can be.  It’s still true: I don’t know my limits.

But I do know I can go further than I could  a year ago.

I’ve done a lot of job searches in the last ten years, and they are always challenging. But this one feels painful. I’m putting a lot of effort into this and getting very little response back. I put in applications and not much happens.

To be fair, I have had two artificial intelligence recruiters interview me. The Human Resources robot is a piece of dark irony that lifts the one side of my smile.

I’m grateful to past Murphy for maintaining progress on my martial arts journey. The rest of this year I am pushing on to the big uplevel of black belt. Preparing to achieve a black belt involves a lot of repetitions to gain strength and achieve excellence.

Also, it takes going to classes 4-6 days a week. That’s a lot of classes. I’ll be honest, I take guilty pleasure when the teacher starts monologuing. It’s nice to get a rest.

Then again, one of the parts of my training is to start to lead classes on my own. Do I want to avoid monologuing? Or do I want do a better version of it?

I am reminded of something I learned in acting class: the difference between a soliloquy and a monologue.

It’s subtle. Both involve one person talking at length to an audience. But the soliloquy is meant to be informed by the audience.

The monologue is a favorite of villians. Villians are bad at seeing others’ point of view. Their monologues often expose the character flaws and blindspots.

A soliloquy is meant to take in the reactions and emotional responses of the audience. As a teacher, I’d like to be aware of how my students are taking it in.

This brings me back to the job hunt. When I do get an interview, I have a set of stories and answers to the questions that I am asked.

When I am at my best, I can understand what the interviewer is hoping to hear in my response. Then again, I am often too absorbed in my own nervous insecurities to see the interviewer’s point of view. I can talk to fast and babble on.

All through my martial arts journey, I have learned that the training applies to my life in surprising ways. To be a good teacher, I see that I can also listen to how I am talking, and how others are hearing me. There are times when I must speak uninterrupted. And yet, it is a ninja move to be aware of the other;s subltle responses in the moment

It might be to duck and avoid a punch to the face. It could also be noticing the eyes sliding away and down in the middle of an explanation that is no longer relevant.

Both are valuable and difficult to catch. That’s part of the repetitious training I’m doing, is to get it right sometimes, and hopefully more often. I want to be more of the hero than the villain.

Someone told me that for the Irish—the celts—beaches are in between spaces. It’s not quite one thing or the other.

Not land. 

Not Sea.

Maybe both.

Walk along the edge of the water, one foot on sand. It can give a view into things hard to see.

I am in the realm of maybe both. No job. It’s not quite summer and not quite fall. The school year starts this week.

In the in between time, before summer is ended and before I have found my next job, I am looking to check in on myself.  Do I recognize what I see?

I’m looking for a view into things. It’s not a comfortable place, spinning in place without progress.

Should I start all over again?  Give this EtchaSketch a hard shake and see what is possible?

What is stable? What can I be sure of?

I know I am committed to doing this weekly post. I may be in between a lot of things, but I am always a writer. I may not feel like it all the time. I know that feeling like it is not required.

The only qualification to be a writer is to write something.

And there it is. I can take the action—make the choice—in this space of both and neither. I don’t have to feel the progress. I can make progress without feeling it. One choice, one move is all it takes.

I don’t even have to stop the spin. I can tilt just a little to get going.

I don’t feel it yet, but I will. I can be sure of that.

It was a booklist. This substacker got me to sign up with the promise of a list of books that changed his life.

Yes please! (side note: would my substack readers like a booklist? Stay tuned!)

It was a nice booklist. I found one of the books at the library, and after a couple weeks on the waitlist I got it. ESSENTIALISM: The disciplined pursuit of Less by Greg McKeown

I’m trying to read books again not just audio, now that my eyes aren’t as tired as they were on chemo. A business self-help-y serious book that I read with my eyes open is a familiar habit I’d lost.

His idea is that people must do fewer things, and only the things that are truly essential.

I remembered another old habit: arguing with the book I’m reading.

Ok, book. Hey, I am a fan of Peter Drucker too: “Do first things first, and second things not at all.”

…said no woman ever…

Which am I supposed to do, Mr. McKeown—Breathe or eat?

There are always competing things to prioritize. I kept reading and found a section I could vibe with better: “in every set of facts, something essential is hidden…finding it involves exploring those pieces of information and figuring out the relationship between them.”

Here is why I still want to read the book. We agree on this. That is a huge part of my career, and one of the things I like. What is the things that when linked make the essence?

The throbbing deficiency is the most important thing. 

Humble things can be unbearable in their absence. And the lack so quickly forgotten once it is filled, to be upstaged by the next hunger pain.

It’s true-ish, only focusing on the essentials. It’s kind of like trying to be perfect. I will never get there, but I never want to stop trying. And for what it’s worth, I haven’t finished the book.

One of the things Chris brought into my life was old movies. He took me to a theater nearby that showed classic movies to see Lawrence of Arabia. Since I grew up largely without a TV and almost no movies, he was happy to show me these works of art. It made a big impression on me, and I remembered the experience.

This week our now local theater had a special showing of that same movie and we went to see it—this time with 15 year old Veronica. A four hour movie with intermission is not part of modern life.

Chris asked Veronica to look for how Lawrence changed throughout the movie. I saw him as a romantic idealist and was so hard on himself in the beginning.

And by the end so much had changed. 

The film is known for having a lot of space in the scenes. This space gave me room to reflect on myself too.

So much has changed for me between the time I first saw the film with Chris and this second time. More than twenty years for me and the territory of my life is changed.

Lawrence’s influence changed the land that he involved himself in. It’s changed to this day, and history has moved significantly because of what he did.

These twenty years of my life have seen a lot of change. I was more of an idealist then as well. I admire how hard Lawrence went after his goal. I have chased my own as well.

I can see that for him, those goals and ideals were so shiny and pure in the distance. I remember what I thought my goals would be before I achieved them. 

He had changed so much of Arabia. And it was not as shiny and pure as he hoped.

There was a lot I didn’t know the first time I saw that movie. I’ve covered a lot of ground between then and now. There is still a lot of path ahead. It very well could be difficult.

What I remember from the movie is this dialogue and the start. Lawrence makes a point of putting out the match with his bare fingers. His fellow soldier tries it, and declares “Ooh! It damn well ‘urts!”

Lawrence gives him a cool look and replies, “Certainly it hurts.
The trick, William Potter, is not minding that it hurts.”

I took that in  when I heard it the first time. Life can hit with stuff that hurts. I’ll make it a point not to mind.

It has begun.

I have arrived at the beginning of the end.

During the lockdown I was alone, cut off and desperate to connect with people. Who would be willing to breathe the same air?

No one knows how much it might kill you. Don’t touch anything!

While I was thinking of the death that lurks on surfaces, a friend sent out a call to a self-defense class. Would I go?

Yes! Absolutely! Anything to be around people.

This karate studio was still open. I put my kid in the class, and resisted a little bit before I started in the adult class. And then one thing led to another.

And today I join the final session to enroll in the boot camp to arrive at the Black Belt. I think back on what the last four years has covered and how I’ve learned to be a practiced fighter in far more situations than only on the mat. 

These four years have brought me to greater strength and a different mindset. Yes, I learned how to throw a punch. I also learned how to defend myself against an insulting and abusive boss, even to the point of leaving that job with a greater sense of clarity.

Sometimes I have to GET OUT of a situation. 

Sometimes I have to find a way to stay in longer. 

Like my training to get to the status of blackbelt. And also marriage.

It is a fine line I’ve been walking, learning more and more about what I can do. What can I achieve? What can I endure? How far can I push myself? 

And that’s not even taking the cancer treatments into consideration.

I remember when I first started, I was blown away by the senseis doing their moves. I had to hold onto the fence when I did a kick or I would fall over. The workouts were harder than anything I’d ever done. I was careful not to eat before class or I would throw up.

Now four years later it is easy.

And they are kicking it up another level. These senseis  know how to kick it up and that is what I’m going to have to do to get this black belt.

Anyone could do the easy thing. That’s not for me. I chose this, and many other things like it, to challenge myself. 

Now is not the time to back off. I started this whole thing wanting to be around people—at a time when the air itself seemed trying to kill me.

As I got better at fighting back, more and more things appeared that needed to be conquered, including and especially my own body.

I took the medical intervention, and kept training. Now is the time to build up my body, not only endure the attack.

This is the time to stay in and fight for the next level up.

She’s back.

My daughter did 3 solid weeks in two summer camps.

She was very glad to get home, and I was glad to have her.

It’s summer. She’s free and I’m unemployed.

We watched the Pride and Prejudice with Colin Firth. The Only True version of pride and prejudice—from 1995

Wait..what? Thirty years ago?

My husband has sucked up different movies and TV shows for the family on a server. When I asked him to include all period drama shows, he found several versions of Pride and Prejudice. It would seem that the Austen novel is remade for the screen very frequently. I accidentally opened a BBC version from the 70s.

We watched the dialogue-heavy version for a bit before I gave up, promising her a better one.

Firth, frozen in time, seemed as brooding and romantic a leading man as ever.

But my Gen Z girl didn’t see it quite the same way. Then again, she didn’t even know the story. I’d read the novel as a book, so I followed along knowing all the twists to come.

She was sure that Mr. Darcy was unforgivable.

The pause button allowed for a lot of discussion of the characters.

“Remember, this novel is written by a master author. Jane Austen wrote these characters to have a dynamic arc.”

She was riveted by the family, Mr. Collins and Lady Catherine de Burgh. I pointed out which characters didn’t really change.

Mr. Darcy changed and so did Elizabeth Bennet. Most of the people stayed the same. The snooty Bingley sisters were mean the whole way through.

Veronica had no respect for the mother.

Spending this extra time on the series, I was having more and more respect for the actors, as well as how Austen created these timeless characters.

Timelessness is always flavored by the moment it was captured. Yes, the period houses and dresses refer to a real thing. But the later interpretation is from new perspective. The people who made their version of a classic put their stamp on it.

And I will see it through many different eyes. I see it the way I experienced it when I read it—which was when I was my daughter’s age. And then I remember when I first saw this version.

I also remember how others talked about this version, even Bridget Jones’ Diary.

And then I get to enjoy it again from the uninitiated perspective of my Gen Z daughter. She was not prejudiced about any of the characters in the story–unless I prejudiced her.

It was the timeless summer, lazily experiencing the beautiful story together.