Today, I enjoyed this lovely pastry from The Market by Clark Bakery, our very own on-campus bakery. It was flaky and messy and awesome.
Just like life is sometimes.
This year, there have been good days and bad days, but very few days have been all one or the other. Days I remember fondly were still usually hard. Most days this year have been meh overall.
But even days that were super traumatic had a little spark of hope in them. Sometimes, that’s all that saw me through.
The comfort of a friend.
Actually being able to taste a cup of coffee (which was a rare treat during chemo).
A cool breeze.
Sharing cat pictures.
Coming home to a care package in the mail.
A flaky, messy pastry.
Likewise, every book I’ve read this year has played some role in helping me push through to the other side of whatever was going on while I was reading it. No matter how hard something was, the stories were always there. When I didn’t have the energy to do anything else, I could still read. When I got tired of repeating updates about my health, books gave me something else to talk about.
I’ve enjoyed sharing a small portion of that with you this month, and there are many more quotes I had lined up that I hope to write about in the future. I encourage you to keep a quote journal, whether it’s to jot down things that inspire you in the books you read, in articles from your favorite cultural icons, or even in memes that catch your eye as you’re scrolling through your social media feeds.
This past weekend, I participated (loosely) in Dewey’s 24-hour Readathon. The official time was 8 a.m. Saturday to 8 a.m. Sunday (EST). But I (and various others in the Discord and in the Facebook group) rarely actually stick to the time of the event. My goal, for example, was to simply read a collective 24 hours. I think the Dewey’s team is on to us – instead of hourly challenges, they just listed a handful of challenges to complete “at any time during the readathon.”
I completed no challenges.
I didn’t read a full 24 hours.
I barely remembered to post the picture of the stack I was choosing from (see above) on the group’s social media pages.
I carried on with plans to attend my favorite yearly Halloween party and Spiderdead, brazenly cutting into the hours I would usually set aside on readathon weekends to read.
I finished three books, but only one of them is actually in this stack (Fang Fiction – pretty cute!).
What I got out of the readathon was still pretty magical.
I got to tuck into stories about found families and books and several other favorite themes. I ate good, simple food, so I rested better (weird how that happens) and thus felt more refreshed when the weekend was over (despite it being a “busy” one). I embraced my full homebody self without the usual twinge of guilt about what a person who lives alone should want to do on the weekend.
These twinges are getting smaller and less frequent as I age. One reason for this is that I’m accepting who I am more and becoming less apologetic about it with each passing month. Another reason is that I get so much joy and restoration out of my alone time that there is little to no room left for feeling bad about it.
At any rate, I had a great weekend, and I look forward to many more like it as the season changes.
(This is a little aggressive for a Monday morning, Dove. Calm it down.)
“There’s a thunderstorm brewing inside me and I think it will break soon.” Stephen King, Fairy Tale
On Saturday, I walked the survivors’ lap at the Celebrate Life 5K. It turns out, the survivors’ lap was a short jaunt around the grass near the starting point for the race, for which I was grateful. I was already up early; I’m not sure I could have done much more.
And we didn’t. We walked our circle to many, many cheers and then just kept walking out to our cars to go get breakfast.
Recently, I haven’t felt like doing a lot of things. This is not to say that I haven’t wanted to, though. I very much wanted to run the full race on Saturday but I am just not up to it yet. I wanted to clean my apartment on Sunday but barely managed to finish the laundry before I was worn out and needed to rest.
I noticed this morning that I am now in the practice of going through my calendar at the beginning of every week to see what I can remove from it, just in case. I have question marks beside things I printed in bold, assured letters just a month ago. It’s a little disappointing. I had hoped to be feeling a lot better by now, but more extended rest is needed.
This may be the calm before the storm, though. I feel it brewing.
To be fair, I always feel a surge of expectation in October. The end of the year is in sight, and the beginning of the new church year is a little over a month away. I hold off on posting hopes and plans for the upcoming calendar year until the end of December, but I’ve already started musing to myself about what those will be.
(It’s gonna be good. I’m pretty excited about it.)
(Assuming all my test results in the next couple of months are what I want them to be.)
For one thing, I turn 50 next March, and I plan to be extra…everything…about it. Several friends have reached/are reaching this milestone before then, and I’m excited to celebrate with them, too.
The main thing, though, is that I want to live in ways that make me feel better – feel alive and vibrant – no matter what happens. Storms come whether you are prepared for them or not. I want to be more prepared.
And as for the thunderstorm building inside me…let it come. It’s time.
I subscribe to quite a few blogs/newsletters, and that’s where a lot of my daytime reading goes. Here are my musings on three that stuck out to me this week. There were a couple others from Substack, but just as it was getting interesting, the prompt to become a paid subscriber popped up, so I’ll spare you those. I may have more to say about that later (not all bad…just…more).
Loving Your Inner Hobbit – Ask Polly (aka Heather Havrilesky). “The truth is, I think that most of us — even those of us who outwardly appear lazy or disorganized or prone to underachieving — hold ourselves to uncomfortably high standards. We’re plagued by guilt without consciously realizing it. We’re ashamed of our regular human urges. We feel like we’re letting ourselves down constantly, just by being human.” I have been feeling this a lot recently. I mean, I have overachiever tendencies all the time, but I’ve trained them to stay mostly dormant. Not right now, though. I have a lot of anxiety – mostly about work, but also about other things in my life that I feel like I’m missing the mark on. And as much as I would love to blame other people, the bulk of this stress really is just coming from inside the house. All the grace other people are extending to me seems to bounce right off this hard shell of expectations that I have for myself. I want to embrace my inner hobbit (that’s pretty much my whole personality, btw. Ultra homebody. I don’t know anyone who loves being at home as much as I do.); I just seem to have temporarily forgotten how.
Coffee Table Books – Ginger Horton (MMD Book Club). “Gift books and coffee table books—you know the ones, usually hardcover with loads of glossy photos or illustrations, probably picked up in that impulse section of your local bookstore, or even in a boutique or on vacation—provide some of my favorite reading experiences. And yet when a friend asks, ‘What are you reading?’ I’m prone to forget to mention that gorgeous volume on the nightstand that’s been flipped through many times or the little book of essays that sits in the breakfast nook.” This rings so true for me. Some of my favorite reading experiences are not the things I talk about the most. They’re not the books I read cover to cover and then mark as read on my reading tracker apps. They’re the design books in my living room that I thumb through when I need to see something pretty or the short humor essays I read (or re-read) when I need a quick laugh. As I get more shelves and reorganize my collection, that’s becoming more of what’s on my TV shelf – books that are best enjoyed in increments.
Bracing Yourself: How To Process Breast Cancer After Treatment Ends – Bezzy BC. “You won’t be told how to manage survivors’ guilt or how to respond to the continuous stream of messages that will no doubt flood every inbox you own. You won’t be prepared for the fake quick fixes your loved ones will tell you about because they heard it from a complete stranger in a grocery checkout line. You won’t be told how to feel when people you have contact with every single day drop off the face of the earth because your cancer diagnosis is too much for them.” Another thing I wasn’t told is that there’s this weird space between treatment and after treatment. I’ve rung the bell, signifying that the big three – chemo, surgery, radiation – are done. But I still have the port because I’m still getting immunotherapy treatments every three weeks, and I still have routine checkups and tests in the upcoming months to confirm that what we did actually worked. Is it really “after” if there are still appointments on the books? If I still feel the lingering symptoms from radiation and chemo (or maybe even surgery)? Part of processing involves knowing exactly where I stand, and I’m not really sure how to do that. The ground under me feels pretty shaky right now.
I am staring down the last few hours of work and then I am looking forward to a restful weekend.
Hope your weekend is everything you want it to be!
“Striving is fine, as long as it’s tempered by the realization that, in an entropic universe, the final outcome is out of your control. If you don’t waste your energy on variables you cannot influence, you can focus much more effectively on those you can. When you are wisely ambitious, you do everything you can to succeed, but you are not attached to the outcome—so that if you fail, you will be maximally resilient, able to get up, dust yourself off, and get back in the fray. That, to use a loaded term, is enlightened self-interest.” Dan Harris, 10% Happier
I’ve never considered myself an ambitious person. I mean, I have goals, and I do everything I can to meet them. But I have learned that there are many things that have to fall into place for most of the outcomes I seek to actually happen, and a lot of these things aren’t necessarily within my control.
I can apply for the job, nail the interview, have all the qualifications…and still not get hired.
I can write a good rough draft and then edit it into really beautiful prose, but I can’t make anyone want to read it (or any publisher want to publish it).
I can be thoughtful, giving, kind – really, just a top-notch, sensational delight of a human being – and that person who catches my eye can still not be interested in dating me.
I can do everything right and still not get what I want.
I can do everything to the best of my ability (which often is above average) and still fail.
It took me a long time to learn that failing does not equal being a failure.
Failing is an inevitable part of the process. In fact, just about anyone who has ever worked toward anything worth having will tell you, failing happens a lot more often than succeeding.
But once I learned that I don’t need to waste time wallowing when I fail – wondering what’s wrong with me or overanalyzing what I could have done to change the outcome (answer – probably nothing, as many outcomes are 0% within my personal control) – I found that I could move on and try again a lot more easily. Turns out, trying again (even a lot of times) is not as big of a deal when I’m not bogged down by thoughts of inadequacy (e.g., I didn’t get what I want, therefore I suck) or personal offense (e.g., I didn’t get what I want, therefore they suck).
My personal goals are all based on what I can accomplish completely on my own. At work, we are implementing a “new” system that I hope will actually restructure the way we frame and evaluate our goals there, too.
“I mean, I just worry… I don’t think about what I want, I just worry about what might happen to me and then figure out how to keep those things from happening.”
“…becoming who you want to be is just like anything else. It takes practice. It requires belief that one day, you’ll wake up and be a natural at it.” Alison Espach, The Wedding People
This whole book was a roller coaster for me, and this was a good year for me to read it. I’m glad it came out when it did.
I live most of my life bouncing between these two goals:
Throwing all my energy into doing what I can to avoid bad things like losing my job (and thus my insurance and all the things I rely on my paycheck to cover) or death
Creating a life that actually feels worth living
I suspect it’s the same for a lot of people.
For the most part, I can trace my best days to the ones when my focus is on more creative aspirations than when I’m just trying to elbow my way through it. The energy required is about the same – I don’t tend to half-ass things, even when they’re not technically my passion – but the reward is far greater when I can see a tangible path toward the life I imagine to be ideal.
Imagine, because I haven’t actually lived it yet. I’m not quite who I want to be when I grow up. I’ve gotten fleeting tastes of the good life and my ideal self but have yet to make either my standard.
It’s a life surrounded by books and bookish people/events. It definitely starts later in the day than my current schedule usually does. It involves occasional travel, but it’s more about creating a life I don’t need a vacation from.
My future self is a person whose default is grace and generosity of spirit (and also resources, as long as we’re wishing for things). She is curious and has the time and space to drop everything for a good story. She is a solid but soft place to land for those who need it. However, when she invites people in, she lets them sort out their own feelings about whoever else shows up rather than doing their emotional labor/conflict management for them (I think this is one of the lessons I’m learning this year).
I love planning for this future self and the life I want for her. I hope they’re both possible, and I hope they’re everything I have imagined them to be.
“I thought that my recovery required that I turn in any right to lament. Sick people were allowed to lament; healed people should be grateful. It wasn’t until years later that I realized how alone I had felt.” Abby Norman, You Can Talk to God Like That
(It’s not years later yet for me. Conventional memoir/reflections-writing wisdom tells me that it may be too early to write this post. But here we go anyway.)
In August, I finished my radiation treatment for breast cancer (click on my Instagram feed in the sidebar if you want to see the video of me ringing the bell). It was a good day. I was so happy and relieved. Going forward, I have quite a few tests to make sure the cancer stays gone, but there’s a good chance that the hardest parts are behind me.
This is where I say again that I have an amazing support system. I am surrounded by people who love to hear good news because it’s currently true, not because I’m pretending or hoping it will be true. And even when the good news is currently true, they understand that there is more going on in any given situation, especially an ongoing trauma such as cancer treatment and recovery, than just the facts or prognosis. They know how to leave space for despair, even when they can see that things are working out or will likely work out in the future.
Even with such a support system in place, however, there have been (and continue to be) so many times I feel like my problem isn’t quite big enough to merit complaint. It is often hard to convince myself that I have a good enough reason to take the rest I actually need.
If you’ve had chemo or other types of treatment, you’ve been bombarded with reading material detailing how many things can go wrong. If you have spent time in those waiting rooms – you know exactly how bad it could have been. You’ve seen it. You meet so many people who have it worse.
With a few hiccups along the way, my recovery has gone pretty well. I’ve had some scares and setbacks, but I’ve generally healed as the medical team expected me to.
Add to this that I am Gen X, oldest daughter, former gifted child, and high-masking neurospicy cocktail of a human, and before I even know what’s happening, I’m should-ing myself to death.
Should be grateful.
Should be happy.
Should be energized.
Should be back to normal.
Should be better – at my job, at my hobbies, at my life.
To my distress, I’m not usually any of those things these days. I am having a hard time.
Maybe I’m writing this post because I need a reminder right now that I have the right to lament.
My body looks different than it did before. My relationship with my body was already complicated, but now it seems like a stranger who assumes a familiarity that isn’t there. I feel like my body thinks it knows me because it follows me on Instagram. But we are not real-life friends right now.
I’m having more neuropathy symptoms now (specifically, tingling and numbness and poor grip in my fingers, especially in my right hand) than I did when I was undergoing chemo.
I am easily saddened and overwhelmed. I spend a large portion of my day and energy fighting back tears so that I don’t cry at the slightest inconvenience or change in plans. I sometimes cry for what seems like no reason anyway.
I’m tired. So, so tired. Just all the time.
I don’t know what to do with all my feelings. But I am slowly remembering that I have the right to have them. Even the negative ones.
Maybe you need someone to tell you that you have a right to lament, too. I urge you to give yourself permission to do so.
“He doesn’t say what he is thinking, which is that his church is held-breath story listening and late-night-concert ear-ringing rapture and perfect-boss fight-button pressing. That his religion is buried in the silence of freshly fallen snow, in a carefully crafted cocktail, in between the pages of a book somewhere after the beginning but before the ending.” Erin Morgenstern,The Starless Sea
The Starless Sea is one of my favorite books I’ve read this year. I love everything about it. The storyline is intricate and the characters are well-developed. It is full of mystery and surprise, and it doesn’t shy away from darker emotions.
Most of all, though, it resonates with me through little moments like this one. There is almost a holiness to the language, conjuring images and sensations that stir my soul.
I’m having a hard time putting this reflection into words. It’s something like church, though. I am a rarity among my friends in that I do actually attend church, and I find the sacred there. The care and love of a community. The big picture.
One of my favorite aspects of my faith, however, is that the divine isn’t confined to a building or a specific group of people. It’s in a million little things, like wind chimes and cloud formations. Kindness. A really good cup of coffee. A dish of water set out for the birds.
This quote reminds me of moments that make up a whole life.
“I was like a woman at a drawer, putting away her party dresses between tissue paper, and there he stood in the doorway– not Stewart Applebaum, but this feeling– gentlemanly, feral, breathtaking, peaceful, something very close to life itself, asking me for one more dance down in the meadow.” Rebecca Lee, Bobcat and Other Stories
Getting older is strange. It’s equal parts liberating and stifling. It’s a round of “I do what I want” followed immediately by “I’m old enough to know better.” People look at you like you’re the adult in the room, and you are, even though you may reject their definition of what that means and the expectations that go along with it.
Every new change, whether it’s due to aging or sickness or just boredom, comes with packing away or throwing out the things that don’t fit anymore. Sometimes that feels good; sometimes it doesn’t.
Last Sunday, we celebrated a couple of birthdays by going to the goth club we used to frequent. It was my first time going to their new location, and I was nervous about whether I would like it.
I had fun. I missed the chandelier and the multiple bars spaced throughout the club and the second dance room. I had moments of sadness remembering people we used to see there who are no longer with us.
But the music was a great mix of new and old. There was something for everyone, which is one of the big things that drew me to the club back in the day. All the weird things we each bring to the table were welcome. Everyone can play. Just the way the world should be.
It was a good reminder that I’m not ready to pack away all the party dresses. I probably never will be.
As long as I have breath, I will dance through a thousand open doorways and out into the world.
“I have finally concluded, maybe that’s what life is about: there’s a lot of despair, but also the odd moment of beauty, where time is no longer the same. It’s as if those strains of music created a sort of interlude in time, something suspended, an elsewhere that had come to us, an always within never. Yes, that’s it, an always within never.” Muriel Barbery, The Elegance of the Hedgehog
Today’s post may be a little short. I’ve not been feeling well this week. I tried to push through, expecting my default version of taking it easy by going to work a little later and canceling a meeting or evening plans a couple of times would do the trick it usually does/used to do.
But no.
Last night I didn’t sleep a lot because I was up and sick with a fever and various other unpleasant symptoms. I finally admitted to myself around 4:00 that I wouldn’t be able to go in today at all.
I hate it. I’m so tired of being sick. It may be quite a while until I’m back to what I’m used to seeing as normal for me. The despair is so heavy at times that it’s almost a tangible presence.
I’m not much of a bright-sider, but I know that little touches of light and beauty are good tools to guide me out of the dark. Things like kind words from friends, the perfect cup of coffee, my favorite sweatshirt. My faith. My art. Constants that I can always depend on even when it seems like the bad things will never go away.
M. Suzanne Terry 