Just before Valentines’ day, I went through my fourth surgery because of cancer. It was a success (much better than the last one). These doctors are almost done with these cancer cures.

These medical doctor/scientists are very sure that they know how far to push me. I hopw they are right, but I’m weary of the load they are putting on me.

I’ve found an audiobooks to listen to as I fall in and out of sleep: Caliban’s War

The sci-fi in the story gives me some science to hang onto as a part of the story. There’s a botanist in the story that is part of terraforming a moon. They had done such a good job of it that it fed most of non-earth humankind

UNTIL

Disaster struck. And humanity had to be saved. Of course, humanity was not at all concerned about the danger it was in because it was too focused on the political power struggle.

The botanist could see the problem clearly, because he understood the systems at play. He knew where the tipping was and what the consequences were. He called it a complex simple system. There were a limited number of systems that balanced the biosphere on that moon, not enough to be fully redundant—that made it simple. But there were enough systems that meant you couldn’t predict which ones would fail.

I am not a simple system. I”ve got so many interconnected systems that I’m pretty sure there isn’t even a full tally on what’s happening in my body. So many systems are in motion to keep me alive and healthy, I stand amazed.

That complexity in my system is what the doctors are leaning on when they cut me open and mess around.

I am both weary and weak from the medical interventions. I like imagining myself like the heroes of the space epic. I’ve read it a lot, and every time they make it through. I know what’s going to happen.

So when I wake up in the middle of the night—which happens most nights—I can play the audiobook and fall back asleep hearing the adventure again. The heroes encounter all kinds of obstacles and they make it through

That’s what will happen for me too.

I have been thinking that I should be a lot further along.

Aren’t I supposed to be further along that where I stand?

I remember times that I”ve climbed a mountains. When I got tired and I’d look back at what I’d travelled and realize I had covered so much ground. So satisfying to see the snake of a trail that I’d walked bedhind me.

I did that. It gave me courage to push to the summit.

And this February, this week, I am looking backwards and I am seeing that I am just about exactly where I was last year.

Another surgery, another dose of radioactive iodine—and another despairing essay for my weekly wonder.

What am I supposed to look back on? It’s been a long long path.

Now I remember the labyrinth. So many time I’ve walked the labyrinth and felt the conufusing winding path that gives me hope and then takes it away again.

As I am looking for hope right now, I will shre with you and with myself a piece I’ve already written 12 years ago.

The center of the labyrinth–that is supposed to be the meaning, the goal and the reason. People have always had reasons and goals.

And that is why the labyrinth has been around so long. There is something to it.

I’ve walked these before. Somehow, though, that standing stone in the middle was different.

I wanted that rock. Up in the path, and it is right there. whoops, no, swing around to the left.

Don’t worry though. I will get there. Look, I am almost there.

Whoops, no, and again.

And THIS time I am walking all the way around a circle like I have nowhere to go or anything to care about and doesn’t matter because I’ll never get there anyway.

that rock

in the center

once I reach that rock in the center every desire I have will be fulfilled

and I want that rock

and it’s right there

but it

TAKES SO FREAKING LONG TO GET TO THAT ROCK!!!!!

until I got there

This whole year

Ok, it has only been a month long

BUT!

This whole year I’ve been down sick.

If I’m real, it started 2 years ago with the cancer diagnosis. Ever since the big news was handed to me, I struggled to choose my identity within the disease. How did I stay me in the middle of this overwhelming terrible malady?

I learned to rely on the person I had been all along. I choose to be a writer and this very piece is proof that I am what I am striving to be.

In my weariness I feel doubt. Am I really? What do this words amount to?

While I was at the bottom of the well of the cancer treatment, I work to maintain a veneer of the person I hoped I could still be.

Hanging on the edge with my fingernails while gravity got stronger and stronger, I did start taking shortcuts. I lay in bed and listened to easy books, I didn’t challenge my weary head with complicated things.

And

The malady is waning. I have a surgery on the 13^th and another radioactive treatment at the end of March. Those are not trivial milestones to cross, but they are the last ones. My grasp is not tenuous anymore, it’s getting stronger and more secure every day.

Can I remember how to engage with big ideas again? My creative imagination needs to come out of hibernation.

Hmm. This is going to take some loosening up. I’ve gotten some habits I’ll need to upgrade. The road to beign a Sensei taught me that every small step matters. Pushing myself is worthwhile.

I’m falling back on some old tricks:

Pen and paper. I wrote most of this essay on notepaper in a three-ring binder. Almost half of what I wrote has been crossed out. In ink. Like my ancestors used to do.

It’s messy. I’m rusty and crusty and slow. And I’m willing to keep trying because I really want to get better.

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.

Happy holiday season to my fellow wonderers

The regularly scheduled Weekly Wonder is Christmas day. It’s my no-so-surprise gift to you all.

It turns out that for the grown-ups, Christmas is a lot about all the work we put into it before the surprise. I have the experience of to acting surprised when I open a gift I knew I was going to get.

But if it weren’t for the tradition, which could be called the routine, we wouldn’t be surprised. In my family we have agreed to be surprised on this day.

Another thing has repeated itself on our holidays for the last few years is sickness.

Last year and the year before my daughter and I were sick.

This Sunday, my husband was sick. I woke earlier than he did (also tradition) and heard him enter the bathroom in distress.

Of course I was concerned. I was not the only one who heard this unusual circumstance. Our house has another tradition.

The animals receive treats every morning. Can and dog await my husband’s rising in the morning because he very faithfully dispenses goodies. Their morning routine highlights this action.

As the photo shows, they are right outside the bathroom door looking concerned. Are they worried about him?

A cynical view is that they are impatient for their snacks. Is that all they want?

Another view is that they care about their person—my husband—and want to lend what comfort and healing they can to his distress.

Hmm. What if it is a bit from both?

The tradition created an awareness in their animals lives of what he was doing every morning.

I wake up in the same house, but the dog and the cat are not as excited when I get up. The long habit that my husband nurtured with them has created a sympathy for him.

Even after I gave them their morning treats because he was ill, they continued to watch him and stay close.

I could interpret their attention as more than self-interest. It wasn’t just because they wanted their treat; those were already dispensed.

When it comes to gift giving relationships, I can see that the repeated kindness of gifts creates a bond.

It is more than the sum of it’s parts. Looking at it today of all days, I am seeing one how Christmas works.

Being consistent, giving things that delight others with generosity is more than the value of the gift given.

I am going to call it. Yes, my husband and his daily ceremony of treats has shown me the true meaning of Christmas.

Merry Christmas to all!

Christmas is a week away!

Am I ready?

Have I learned to be the Christmas character that I would like to be?

There are a lot of traditional stories to choose from.  I was talking with some lady friends, they were trying to get ready and face the season. I was reminded that Scrooge and the Grinch are among the options.

And when I think about it, the week before Christmas is the traditional time for disaster to strike? Has your disaster arrived yet?

Someone paid extra for that disaster to come exactly at the right time to ruin Christmas.

Because the stories have the arc, the story does come around. Even Joseph and Mary with their total faith—or on the other side with Scrooge’s cynicism—the story comes around to the lesson and the blessin’.

Yes, I couldn’t resist. I was going to say gift, but from the beginning it’s not strictly a gift. The peace on earth, the way-making that Christmas signifies is more than a gift.

Scrooge’s new perspective on life at the end is better than a gift. He questions his values and arrives at a re-prioritization.

Remember how Christmas is only a week away? This is a great time for me to question what I think is most important.  

Can I shed some expectations on myself so that I can spend time with the people I can about?

I’m sure Joseph would have liked to have a nice room and bed for Mary and baby Jesus. That manger was a workaround.

But as it happened, it was exactly as it was supposed to be. And I can let go of what I thought ruined everything. The stars in the sky can look down on my workarounds, Bless all the dear children in my tender care and make me more and more fit to have the responsibility.