In my last post I resolved to be intentional about my actions and reactions and to remain open to whatever life puts before me. I’ve experienced this kind of openness before, so I know it is possible.
I recall vividly the time of freedom and liberation from my internal demons, the voices inside my head that tell me I’m not good enough or that wonder what everyone else is thinking or that simply keep me silent to avoid all those nagging doubts. All of it fell away. I truly did not care. Not in a flippant, nose-in-the-air kind of way, but in a calm and peaceful way that made me float along life’s waters like a duck – letting everything roll off my back. Nothing really bothered me.
Seeing clearly
The clarity and detail came first. I remember walking my dog in the neighborhood and noticing the shape of the leaves, the shades of green against the cobalt blue sky with the sliver of moon hanging between the puffy white clouds. The pink tulips and yellow daffodils bordering the cream-colored house and its turquoise door.
I heard the birds chirping and watched the squirrels chase each other up and down the trees and across fences. The glow of the sun and gentle breeze warmed my skin. My legs effortlessly stepped forward as I nearly floated along the sidewalk, my arms gently swaying at my side. I felt lighter and relaxed, like I always feel after a long hike and I take off the heavy backpack and walk freely again. Something had shifted – a weight lifted. And suddenly I saw things I had never noticed before – but were always there.
Speaking freely
Writing has always helped me process the craziness that is my mind and my heart, but I generally keep the words for my journal. I’m not one to talk about myself, but all that changed. What started as a desperate attempt to gather an army of people to help me fight this battle became an outlet of hope. I started sending emails to family and friends about my cancer treatments, sprinkling in highlights from hiking trips and mountain excursions. Instead of filtering my ideas and thoughts through my hyper-alert self-conscious warning system, I let it all come out on paper.
Life is good…
even when it’s hard
I spoke freely about the crappy treatments and side effects, but also about the joy of living. “Life is good – even when it’s hard,” I’d say. And that was as simple as I could describe the journey. Life was so damn good during that time even though it was so damn hard. And I was free from the inner critic who would have kept me small and quiet. More of myself showed up in those emails than I had let anyone see before.
Living calmly
Work became just a way to pay the bills. I stopped checking emails during my days off and started saying no to requests that normally I would have found a way to fulfill. What had been an incredibly stressful job became such a non-issue that I barely remember what I did during this time.
Family drama erupted but I remained calm and understanding, not letting the anger that normally would surface ever break free from the otherwise bubbling volcano.
Everything just was and so was I. I just was. Me. The unshackled being that dwelled in a place so deeply hidden that it took death to set her free.
Fading away
This time of exquisite freedom and liberation began on May 9, 2013 on the rim of Bryce Canyon in Utah, just minutes after finding out I had stage four metastatic melanoma. Standing on that cement platform looking out over the fantastical orange and white candy-corn-like formations, I saw every curve and shadow and color despite the gray clouds and rain. The rocks took me out of my head and into the universe of god’s creation. I stood there and marveled at the glorious beauty before me, consciously taking in every detail of the landscape – imprinting those views into my mind, creating memories that I could carry with me to my grave.
I wanted to see everything because I may never see it again. And suddenly my vision cleared and the colors popped, my ears heard, my nose smelled and my skin felt. The senses remained on high alert and the clarity stayed with me through all my treatments and extended about two years into my recovery.
I wish I could point to its departure as easily as I know its exact arrival time, but my memory is fuzzy. It was a gradual loss of vision, not a tragic sudden blindness. I eventually let go of my freedom and grabbed back onto the handle of suffering and internal madness – the self-doubts and warning system back in charge, my heart again covered by the protective blanket I thought was gone. Going back to my old ways happened without me really knowing what was going on.
Getting it back
But my heart did not forget the freedom it felt and kept tugging at me to bring her back to the forefront and stop hiding her. The clues went from subtle whispers to loud shouts and booming thuds.
All my attempts to liberate her while clutching the security of my job seemed utterly futile. If I wanted to be free, I had to let go. I had to let go of the old ways and my stubborn belief that I could be free while living in my old cage.
I still feel far from the level of freedom I discovered on that gray day in Utah, but I am hopeful I can retrain my mind to stay present, see clearly and to stop the incessant chatter and fear-mongering inner voice that keeps me locked up. I am still the same person, capable of the same liberation.
It is up to me
I think I convinced myself that it was the cancer that freed me, that it somehow took over my mind and body and was operating it from some faraway place – as if I was controlled by someone else’s remote. What if I freed myself? What if I chose to see life? What if it were really more my doing than I give myself credit for?
That was me at the top of Bryce canyon who chose to see and live life like she always dreamed of living. Wild and free and graceful like the ravens that flew above my head. I chose to embrace the unknown of my diagnosis. I chose to see life and all its beauty and its brokenness and to enjoy it all.
I can choose again to embrace the unknown and to see the beauty in all things. And to just be me.
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