Games are something people do. I’m not sure if animals do it. We set up rules, which are basically constraints to accomplishing a goal.

Look at this ball…It bounces. Can I bounce it this way? How about with only one hand? Maybe I can’t touch it with my hands to move it at all. How hard would it be to get it to the goal then?

Kids come up with little games all the time. They learn more complicated games and pass them on. The common thread is to create obstacles to doing a relatively simple thing.

Sometimes it takes others to do the game. Sometimes it is a game against myself, a personal best. But there is that goal to reach for.

Games are human nature.

Yes, I am chafing against a constraint. This restriction wasn’t MY idea. I am struggling and burning against the boundary.

It’s not a game. It’s an affliction. I did not choose this. It was thrust upon me.

 …

….

…..

I would not have chosen this, but since it is upon me, I can choose how I see it. What if I could make it a game?

What is possible for me in this space? With this time, these resources of strength and stamina, what can I do?

I’d better pick carefully. It will only hold a certain amount.

I am wasting my energy on resentment and anger. I can shift to what is possible.

What can I build? What needs to be fortified?

Taking inventory and tracking my personal to-do lists are part of the game.

Resources I have taken for granted are denied. How do I resupply? What can I do with what I have?

Let the game commence.

As a young mother, 14 years ago, I felt nailed down. This child, this new life, was priority one. I  had to make sure she slept and ate. If she did, then I could.

All my stuff, all the things I wanted to do was second place at best.

I tried to leave the house. I remember Saturday at 5:30 AM trips to mcDonald’s playland frantic to leave my house and be around humans. I had my book in progress and all my side notebooks, working to keep ahold of myself in the wasteland.

When she started kindergarten, some people said “The time goes by so fast!”

Not for me. I felt every moment.

That is me. I feel the moments.

And when the oncologist gave me treatment plan, 5 months of chemo to be followed by another batch of radiation—the rest of the year at least!—all the moments strung together like an impossible cliff.

How could I do it? I had to find a way.

It is not the sickness that I fear the most. Although that is bad enough. The isolation and the lack of productivity is the worst.

And I remember the notebooks spread out at Playland. The notes, the drafts, the road I travelled and what I learned how to do.

Those were hard repetitive days.

As I recall, I need to keep a lot of notebooks at the ready. I had to make the time, make the habit, to string the words together. It doesn’t happen without effort.

I still found a way to be creative and be myself. I will do it again. I will do it still.

If there were anything in th world I could do what would it be?

I”m chewing my knuckles at how restricted my life will be during thiws treament.

and I’m also mad that even before I wasnt’ doing much that impressed me. I had a couple things, a could process and projects in the fire.

Now? Is it all blocked off?

When have I been the person who did nothing?
I could come up with a list of possibilities, and set some goals. I feel so trapped by my own body.
But I’m not. There are still options. And I am not sure what they are but if I don’t try I won’t discuover them

There’s a freedom again in this blog because almost no one come to see it anymore. It’s a tiny corner of the internet that has been abandoned. Maybe one person a day comes here…

But I want to remember how to write. I want to be creative and write the things I am thinking. I am still thinking.

I think I am thinking. I do feel stuck in quicksand, with the state of my body under renovation. I am doing things, things that seem faily mindane and barely worth doing.

Yes, I have a job and a family. I am doing the work to maintain those things, keep the momentum.

But I want to be doing bigger things. i want to create something.

I have two manuscripts–Works in progress –that are worthy. I want to get those done.

I think of a circus or an event has a critical mass that people can join in…something that is already in motion that others can jump on and be part of the thing that.

but a writer writes alone. All momentum has to be generated by me.

That’s why I’m writing this this morning. So generate a little motion, a little momentum. I would like to write a little every day. Until I write a lot every day.

It’s  natural to want to put out a smooth exterior. I like to appear that I have things under control. Usually I do, don’t I? Except for that one thing. 

And that other thing. 

Until it’s obvious that I am out of control and things are not smooth. Which is about where I am at now. My hair hasn’t fallen out because of chemo yet, but it’s coming. I can’t hide it. 

Being vulnerable feels like a insult following the injury. It’s hard enough to keep it together in these hard times, why do I have to explain to everyone why I’m falling apart? 

Brene Brown writes about the power of vulnerability. She’s doing quite well talking about it. She has a lot of books about it. I’m kinda seeing where she’s right.  

It turns out that acting like I’m fine is really boring. When I put it out there that I’m in a struggle, facing some stuff, people have been kind. I suppose there are some people who will stay away, but the people who I barely knew who step up and held me out have been surprising. 

Being the person who needs nothing leaves others out. Smooth exteriors are too slick. There are no rough edges to hang out to.  

Asking for help, as it turns out, creates a connection. 

Connection is very valuable. These relationships are what makes life enjoyable and precious. 

When I’m feeling vulnerable, it’s easy to want to hide and cover it up. But in a counterintuitive reality, showing up with my true stories brings me what I was afraid to ask for. I didn’t expect it, but I’m so grateful. 

Maybe it wasn’t insult to my injury after all. It gives me hope to look for more silver linings. 

It’s not paranoia if they are really out to get you
-Anonymous

Head of the dojo was teaching the class and wanted us to think:

“You love hitting the heavy bag, don’t you? It feels good to get that impactBut I started the class asking you to shadow box. Which do you think is harder?”

I thought striking the bag was harder, of course. There is impact!

Sensei disagreed. “Shadowboxing takes a lot more control and balance.”

Striking is very satisfying, but it’s a lot harder to keep my form correct and stay on my feet when I’m fighting the idea of an opponent.

I’m shadowboxing right now. I know the blow is coming, but I don’t know when yet and I don’t know exactly how it’s going to land.

This chemo thing sounds pretty nasty, but it’s coming. The surgery took a lot longer than we hoped for me to recover, but just this week I’m getting some capacity back.

Just in time to dread the next thing. Surely it can’t be as bad as the surgery.

But even the surgery wasn’t supposed to be as bad as the surgery.

It doesn’t hit until it hits. Like I’ve learned, I have to keep my feet under my and stay balanced. Check my structure.

It isn’t paranoia but it’s a close cousin. In my weak moments I succumb to resentment. It’s not fair to hit me while I’m down.

Except this impact is peripherally mine. The main impact is meant to be on the cancer disease. The impact on the rest of my body is friendly fire, collateral damage.

I am waiting. It’s coming. I’m trying to stay balanced

I want to be strong. I love it when I feel strong, and if I notice I’m getting stronger. Can I do another situp? How about a push up?

Using my muscles has been a fall back. If I’m stuck in a bad place, and least I can go lift something heavy. It’s an easy way to feel proud of myself. I can go get that W if I just reach for it.

Only now I’ve got something else going on. It’s opposite world.

I’ve left the land where strength is easy. I’m used to being able to push myself. The surgery has forced me to

Be Still

I don’t like being still. I want to get up and move. I want to use my strength and feel my power. But that’s not what I need rig right now

I remember feeling this kind of paradox when my daughter was an infant. It was one of the hardest things I’d ever done. But it was the opposite of power. Caring for a baby requires the gentlest of small movements. The most important work of my life required me to keep still

Great things can require restraint.

I am not pleased with how long it’s taking to recover from surgery. I’m not in pain—not much anyway—and I up and ready to kick move.

I discovered that my  body wasn’t ready to move as much as I –my spirit?—wanted. I’m still too swollen and the doctors need me to

Go Slow

I can’t get back to full strength until I practice the art of being weak. It’s very hard to be slow. I have to hold the pose of stillness before I can resume motion.

I’m right here. And I want to get over

THERE

I know the way: a straight line from here to there. I can see it clearly.

Not so fast. Why can’t I get there? it’s so close I could reach out and touch it. Why can’t I touch it?

Saturday was international labyrinth day–a perfect reminder of how very far here is from there.

It’s a mystical miraculous thing, the way.

The way must be travelled, letting here be all the things it has to be until it is inevitably and surprisingly

there

as clear as my vision might be, the way isn’t clear until I walk it.

The labyrinth teaches me I have to walk it. The goal is not as close as it would first appear.

But the path is always there. I am never stuck.

The way will present itself as soon as I look for it.

I might be impatient…

ok, I’m always impatient

…and I might be afraid

in doubt and disbelief

The way is there for me.

I’ve got my eyes on that goal, the place I want to be so bad. I walk towards it and it slips away, teasing me with it’s nearness

and escaping in the distance

my here places me apart from the goal–that goal one there

But the way is always with me. The path I am traveling will hold the faith even as I have lost it and lost sight of my goal.

I’ve got a a long way to go.

When I’m choosing a book to read, I ask that question.

What’s it about?

Even more so, when I choose to do a review of the book, I have read the book. I can rely on my own experience of the book to share the essence in my review. With my favorite books, they are complicated and it takes some effort to get down to the essence. I will wrestle with it to find the structure that I can share with my audience

Life is even more complicated than a book. That’s part of what authors do is take it all down to a smaller stage and highlight in the story what they are trying to convey. This sets the stage for the art that the book is.

There are moments in my life like that. A time when it’s clear an action needs to be taken. Like when I must break off a relationship. Or conversely to grow a relationship.

When I became a mother, a lot of choices were more easily made. My kid was my priority, everything else was second.

And now I am looking down the barrel of long set of cancer treatments. That has narrowed my priorities again.

What’s it about? Killing this cancer disease is what it’s about. It calls back the earlier clarity when I became a mother, I have to live for my daughter. Priority.

But I’ve never been one to go overboard on that. Neither she nor I will do well if I make her the center of my life.

Here comes the re-shuffling of priorities and possibilities.

SINCE I have to subject myself to continued treatments …chemo and radiation…which are harsh and use up so much of my energy

What is that margin of leftover energy and capacity going to be spent on?

It is frighteningly small. I do not want to squander it.

I’m arriving at another moment of clarity. It’s the people.

If I have a tiny budget of time and energy left over, I want to spend it on the people in my life. It’s the place where love shines in. More than anything else people are what it’s about.

I’m really grateful for the kind people who responded to last week’s post with expressions of sympathy and well wishes. It is always so wonderful to be surprised by who bubbles up to encourage me in my times of need.

I had not shared the story of my cancer situation freely before that post. I’d told a few people, but I’ve also been keeping it kind of quiet.

Like I wanted it to be a secret. Maybe this cancer can be dealt with quietly and it will go away without anyone having to know.

It’s been a big secret to have to carry. I am ready to share it more openly now.

There is an old saying:

When shared with a friend, good news is doubled and bad news is halved.

The people who care about me are often extremely generous with their interesting and support.

Those people that insist on keeping a secret? The ones who whisper “don’t tell..”?
Or those others who say “don’t you dare tell or else…”?

Creepy.

My story is mine. It’s up to me to decide on the right time to share it. I had to choose the time that was right for me.

Too soon can be confusing. I want to examine the situation myself and carefully come to my own conclusions. I had to encounter each new bit of information on my own and get clear on what was most important and what questions I have and for whom.

I didn’t want to muddy the waters with more opinions than I could handle.

Secrets have their own time.

If I have a healthy place for it to mature the secret can be kept. With the right amount of freedom and fresh air, without pressure, heat or poisonous stagnation, things can grow into the right moment for release.