Loosening the grip (on the ordinary)

 

Life - well, my life - is taking many detours as of late. First the diagnosis which I suppose put the rest in motion. Moving across the country (where I did battle with the 'worst winter we've seen in years') and then the most recent. Leaving my position, my career. It's only been a week and a half since I closed the chapter I so intentionally started in the summer of 2024.

So everything, or seemingly everything, that felt ordinary has slipped away through my fingers like sand. But that doesn't mean I'm fully able to accept the loss of what so many, including myself, take for granted.

The expression is, in and of itself, so completely true now: sometimes it's just Tuesday. But my Tuesdays look different now. 

I don't know what new life is trying to find me. I want it to include writing. I need it to include four-legged interactions. For now it includes daily meditations, movement, and as much human connection as I can make room for. I want whatever I am destined for to be both brilliant and ordinary. 

But I am trying to loosen my grip on that ache for ordinary. Maybe it's not meant to feel that way anymore, or for now. Leaning into the unknown, the unfamiliar, the uncomfortable may simply be what I'm designed to do in this chapter.

My therapist and I have decided to call it my sabbatical. That the loss and necessary closure of the career I have spent more than two decades pursuing is simply my life's road to rest and recovery. A break from what I know, and thought I loved most. Much like my deep desire to have a dog in my life. Now is not the time.

What I want is for my medicine, my treatment, to work as well as it is for as long as possible. And to that end it will allow me to explore new avenues, a new path that I will walk with - admittedly - shaky confidence but yes conviction too.
I want other things too. But mostly right now in this period of time I want the strength and resolve to accept my current reality with as much grace as I can muster while I quietly strive for more.

Love & Loss

 

I knew how nervous I was to officially adopt another dog five months ago, today - in fact.

I wanted to be loved by someone who I got all to myself. I wanted to love and care for someone.

Moving into a new home, and living all alone, was daunting. 

So I scooped him up, this tiny, malnourished and scrawny looking small pup who needed a lot and very little. He needed medication to clear up an ear infection, daily brushing to help his hair grow back longer and healthier, really good food and a probiotic to help his stomach adjust, and more patience than I've ever known so as to allow him a chance to be a domesticated, happy dog.

And he needed nothing but love.

But I admittedly carry a lot of anxiety, and I was always anxious about him - was I doing enough, was he getting enough stimulation, attention, and even fun. 

Deep down, as I sit alone on what would have been our five month adoptive-sary, I know I loved him enough and gave him more of myself than I give myself credit for. But I felt another family, the right family, could love him even more. They could fill his days with joy and carefree fun.

So yesterday I let that family adopt him. And it hurts.

And I'm not the only one hurting. I have to honor the love and care my parents also gave Chance these last few months. They grew attached as well. 

Tonight, there is a little boy who has a new dog. He has a yard to play in and a pet parent that stays home during the day so he doesn't have to often be crated and left alone. He has two older kids and a second pet parent to give him love, kindness, the care he really deserves. 

It was a privilege to be his bridge parent. The person who took a scared, sick, sad little guy and helped him become healthy, strong, happy, and trusting.

Sending love and light to my sweet Chance. May all your days be peaceful, may you always know joy.

Faith over Fear

 

Mondays usually hold something for everyone. Maybe you had an incredible weekend, so you're crushed it's over. Perhaps your weekend left much to be desired and you welcomed Monday as a fresh start. It's probably somewhere in between.

And sometimes its just a Monday. Neither here nor there.

Today is not that kind of Monday for me. Today marks the start of my final week in my current role.

The plan has been in place for awhile. The date too. Enrollment Management work is cyclical and for all intents and purposes our cycle has come to a close. So it's time for me to step away.

And for me there's something very, very sad about this week.

I ran into someone I haven't seen in decades over the weekend. They asked the question I now dread.

"What are you up to?" (aka what do you do for a living to contribute to the gross domestic product)

And the reality is it's time for me to 'do' nothing. Not literally. I absolutely will need to find something to do each day. But it's time for me to take a break from work and let my body rest. To simply be still in what is normally the quest for more at this time of life and work on healing. 

And it is a huge leap of faith. It was a choice. It doesn't feel like one, make no mistake. But I'm electing to choose to take care of my body (it makes it abundantly clear I must if I don't). 

And like I would feel if I were up on a tall diving board or high mountain (much like this image), I am incredibly scared.

Which is why I have a choice to make from this day forward, and especially after this week - fear or faith. 

I am fearful. One does not receive a paycheck if said one does not work. You do the math on that.

There's currently not going to be an answer to the question, at least not a simple one, 'what do you do?'

But I am going to work to choose faith. I am going to have faith because while what I'm fearful of is there anyway, there's a choice here on how to get from one thing to the next. And one thing I have faith in is that there is a next thing.

Cancer Hope Network

 

Yellow is not really my color. Or at least it wasn't. Now that I've discovered Sarcoma Research Foundations exist to find a cure and that it is designated by the ribbon color of yellow I'll probably be accepting it into my color wheel.

I've also discovered the Cancer Hope Network.

This lovely network of cancer survivors was designed to provide partnership and support to those still struggling with cancer (vs being in remission or cured). I've been matched with someone who is going to be there to say 'I get it' and be able to offer ideas and a listening ear with the perspective of what it feels like to have hopeless days, loss, fear, and unknowns because of cancer.

If you or someone you know has gone through cancer and they want to help someone going through it now, please recommend this organization to them as a volunteer opportunity. And if you or someone you know is a cancer patient, please reach out to this network and they will connect you with someone.

But look how many people are out there to walk alongside you.

Never Give Up

 

I learned just how true this is recently when I reached out, with the help of my parents, to a group of people who we thought might be interested in joining us in hope.

During my initial consultation with my Sarcoma Oncology Specialist at University of Pennsylvania I learned about their Sarcoma Research Foundation that is raising awareness and funds to help finance clinical trials and work towards efforts to eventually find cures for this rare type of cancer. 

I am overwhelmed beyond words at how generous you all have been and how impactful your donations will be to the work being done. 

When I was first diagnosed I truthfully didn't have hope. I couldn't see past the diagnosis and statistical prognosis. If I'm being raw in my honesty, I didn't see the point of my treatment.

But with time, tremendous support, many (many) hours of therapy, and excellent Palliative care teams I now hold hope carefully in the palm of my hands - like a rare gift.

Just ten years ago, I guess eleven now, my treatment - that's working beautifully - didn't even exist.

Today, I get to say I'm in metabolic remission because of the medical advances of the medication I'm on. And while I've shared the average efficacy is just nineteen months long, I feel it's possible (as do my doctors) that I could experience years of success with it. 

And now, when it does fail, I feel exceptionally hopeful there will be more options. 

Thank you to everyone who has contributed. There are not enough words to express how much it means and if you have not yet had a chance to donate and still want to here is the link.

Together, we have raised over $5,000 and I'm so proud of and grateful for it.

Don't let the hard days win

 

So I promised more blogs, and I'm thinking I might as well keep blogging about the real stuff - which I think I have to-date mostly (just admittedly infrequently) - than talk about anything else, even if it's easier.

The sun is shining more (it's not today as I write this but I appreciate the cooler temperatures), the trees and bushes are blooming, and I think we can safely say goodbye to winter weather. Normally that would be more than enough to lift my mood. But lately I battle that every single day. And I lost my normal awhile ago, so it makes sense that good weather doesn't cut it anymore.

It's true that almost all of us wake up 'on the wrong side of the bed' some days. Not every day is easy for anyone. And yet lately I find myself truly talking through how to have a 'good' day. A day without quite as much fear, boredom, anxiety, or sadness. 

I work with a therapist (missing V💜 a great deal, but grateful for my new behavioral therapy specialist) and we've been talking about depression vs. grief. It's been an interesting learning opportunity for me as I work through both.

Depression is a dark cloud that follows someone...essentially everywhere. You get good news, you hear something delightful, you learn something, someone shares their time with you - and yet there's a quiet, lingering feeling that the experience could feel lighter. That once upon a time it did feel lighter.

In its deepest state, untreated, it could pull someone under the covers or prevent them from daily tasks and self care. My particular version of depression doesn't do that. It does however come with a feeling that doing the things, whatever those may be, takes extra effort and thoughtfulness.

Then there's grief. I remember when I went through my divorce feeling deep grief. You lose something you so intentionally chose, that was woven into the fabric of your very being, and suddenly you're questioning if you are worthy of what it offered. Or what you thought it offered. 

Somehow, you begin to realize only that part of your life has dramatically shifted but there's a great deal that can or does remain stable. Not always, of course.

Get divorced and see how fast certain people disappear. Or perhaps you find yourself in a new home as well as relationship status. 

This time - older, wiser perhaps - feels like a different level of grief. And my therapist has truly helped me see that there's a great deal of loss accompanying my life circumstances at the moment. I intellectually understood that but her labeling it as such has opened my eyes.

So what does one do with that heavy emotion.

When the world feels like it has lost its' color you keep putting one foot in front of the other. 

Work really, really fing hard to smile anyway.

Make a gratitude list at the end of each day. Or the beginning.

Listen.

Feel the hard.

Let people carry you. And don't worry, for the time being, about paying them back.

Celebrate the smallest moments of joy when you feel them.

I will probably write a little more about this soon, as I am imminently approaching even more grief and loss. 

My position is ending in a couple weeks. My career may or may not be over. 

That in and of itself is tremendous heartbreak to carry. But approaching that date has been just as hard.

My promise to myself and those who love me is I will keep working diligently not to let the hard days win.