NEW SHOES

 “Maybe you have to know the darkness before you can appreciate the light.”

                                                                                                                   ~Madeline L’Engle

In order to rise from its own ashes, a phoenix first must burn.” ~Octavia E. Butler 

     It’s been two years since my cancer diagnosis and one might assume, especially if you’ve followed this entire blog, that I would have rapidly and gleefully shed the dark cloak of illness and rushed headlong into the joy that is life.  My transition back to “real life” following breast cancer, after all, while not exactly easy, had been steady and relatively smooth.  Not so this go-around.  In fact, these past months have been fraught with pitfalls and places that kept me stuck.  Looking back, though, the snares and times when it felt as though I was mired in quicksand have served to keep me still and focused.  I was compelled to review my past and, in doing so, came to realize that, like a dragonfly who flits across the surface of a pond, I too had been skimming, ever so lightly, over the surface of my life.  In an effort to avoid entanglements and intimacy with both people and experiences, I had succeeded in keeping deep commitment and passion out of my life.  So whereas some people develop their capacity to feel deeply, I had found a way to stay somewhat sedated and a tad numb, without the aid of alcohol or pharmaceuticals (although, as many of my readers know, I tried to achieve results with these as well!).  I thought that I was content, whereas I was just coasting, keeping emotional involvement at bay.  Wasting away in Margaritaville…without the margaritas.

     And then came the tsunami that was oropharyngeal cancer and the torrent of terror it brought with it.  I spent the year so heavily medicated that thinking beyond the moment was a huge challenge.  That, in my view, was a blessing and allowed me to feel, rather than think.  And I did feel everything ranging from panic and despair to immense gratitude and love for those who were carrying me when I couldn’t even put one foot in front of the other (literally!).  And as that first year came to an end and I gradually needed the pain medication less and less, until I no longer needed it at all, I was left feeling completely wrung out and empty.  There was no energy, neither physical nor emotional, with which to navigate.  Thinking was just too much effort.  I put whatever slight drive I had into my job which, of course, had to be done.  Beyond that, I felt listless and completely unmotivated.  I spent my time reading mountains of books and watching hours of Netflix sagas and films from every known corner of the earth.  But I couldn’t move and had no desire to do so.  It was difficult to contemplate even a run to the grocery store and I would put that off until I was nearly out of food.  Whenever I guilted myself into making plans with friends, I would dread it for days and devise schemes to get out of whatever was planned.  The idea of a long trip, or any trip at all, terrified and exhausted me.  Whereas my pre-cancer life had felt like a mindless meandering, this post-illness period felt as though I was stuck in concrete.

    Now, two years later, I am here and I’m waking up, emerging from the nightmare.  The emotional pot is beginning to bubble and I’m finding so many small moments of wonder and gratitude.  I’m even detecting sparks of renewed interest in doing the simplest things, like pickling vegetables and sewing a winter poncho, and have been taking kickboxing classes again.  Even more exciting is the strong desire to teach yoga again and, to that end, I’ve found a smart and compassionate teacher for a 100-hour mentorship in yoga therapy.  I am returning to the fold, to the sangha, and want to share with others the practice that I, personally, have found to be so healing.  The painfully-acquired lessons of cancer, I now realize, have settled in me like a deep well of wisdom that can only expand and grow.  And what should one do with the gift of wisdom besides share it?  Nothing else.  That is what it is for.

     This is my final blog post in this chapter of my lifelong journey.  The other shoe dropped, but I’m still here, stronger and wiser and ready for brand new shoes.  I’m hoping that my next connection with readers will be via my upcoming website, “Wisdom Well: The Yogic Path for Healthy Aging.” It is planned to launch in the Spring of 2019. So stay tuned!  Oh, and here’s a pic of my new shoes…