Heroic?

So the other day I was sitting at Caper's with my newest CTI co-leader Bill. We were talking about various things, some related to the workshop we were leading, some just life. And suddenly, quite out of the blue, he said "What you went through, and how you behaved around it, and chose to see it, well, I think that was heroic." Instead of flipping to my usual, "Oh thank you, that is so kind" I actually stopped in my tracks, dead in my tracks, which doesn't happen to me all that often. His comment really made me pause and think.

You see to me, it wasn't heroic, it was just what I had to do. I think of a heroic act as being something that takes courage, and you choose, intensionally, and commit to, and take a stand on an issue. Me? I was just scared, fighting for my life, doing what ever I could, making decisions from how I felt in each moment. Didn't feel like courage. Didn't feel intensional or conscious. It wasn't something I committed to, it was something I was running from. Running scared. It wasn't a heroic act, it was a necessary act.

But after he said it I stopped and got to see it from that different perspective (how perfect, since we were leading Balance). He spoke of how people he had loved died of cancer, of how the fight can be long and hard and grueling, and can break your spirit long before it breaks your body. It is a bit insidious and even cunning. And I came to see that while I did just do what was before me, and I did just do what was necessary, I also did make decisions from the mind and the instinct of a hero. As best outlined in Joseph Campbell's view and work. The reticent hero, who goes because there is no other choice. Who doesn't know s/he is courageous, but starts with a tentative, tremulous opinion and sticks to it, and grows stronger in it the more opposition s/he is faced with. I chose to fight instead of give in (please note the difference between giving in and surrender). I chose to remain as awake as I could at every turn. I chose to live as fully as I could through out the process. And I chose to engage my community and friends, creating allies in the fight(a classic and important part of the Hero's Journey).

Bill's off hand comment helped me see, again, that heros aren't born that way, they are made. They choose, and take a stand, and do their best, and hope it turns out well. The are scared and do it anyway. And maybe some days they don't, but when it really counts, they find the courage, some where, and they just do what has to be done.

I write all this not to pat myself on the back (although I think we all know I am not adverse to doing just that), but rather to acknowledge those people who are fighting the fight right now. To our aunts, or our mothers or fathers, to our friends or our children. Cancer feels like a choice-less situation. But no matter how hard it is, how hard the diagnosis, how hard the treatment, how hard the day, there is always one choice you can make. And that is how you will live this one day, this one precious day.

To Fight or Not to Fight

Over the years (and the experiences, and the relationships) I have, consciously or unconsciously, intentionally or unintentionally, given up parts of myself. You know, acted and behaved differently than I really am. I think it is human nature. I think it comes from that universal, deep seated view that there is something fundamentally wrong with us, and if we get found out for who we really are then we won't be loved anymore (I refuse to pin it on Eve, so let's just say it is an ancient curse). And so we fold ourselves into human pretzels to make sure we keep getting the love. The trouble is what we get loved FOR varies depending on the person doling out the love, and so it gets complicated. And we lose more and more of ourselves as we go through life trying to please everyone, and not get kicked out of Eden.

And by extension some of all of our life's work is to return to ourselves, or to be more exact, our Selves. To remember and to honour who we really are, what is really important to us, and to quit fighting our True Nature. I keep thinking that that work should get easier, or maybe that the layers, once removed, like shirts and shoes, should stay off. But, more like skin, that sheds a layer and keeps growing back, or a garden, where the weeds keep coming back, it needs regular maintenance. Regular tending. Regular work. Damn I hate that. Isn't there just a pill to take. A vaccine (not, as we all well know, like I would take one of those, even if there was one). An easy, simple once in a lifetime remedy. I want a garden where you just plant a tree, once, and then it takes care of itself. Forever.

Anyway, back to the main point. As it turns out, my True Nature is quite feisty (in case you missed the crib notes). Fiery, impatient, short (not in stature, but in temper), mouthy, sassy, challenging, defiant, even obstreperous, occasionally bitchy, a bit hard, demanding and definitely a fighter. To name a few. Of my not so popular characteristics. Or at least the ones I try to hide from the world. You know, fold on the inside of my pretzel so people don't need to see them at first blush, or ever, depending on my success rates. But here is the thing (and this sure isn't news to the people close to me) all that stuff, those things that are the darker side of me, well, they leak out eventually. When I try to hide them, push them away, put them underground... eventually... they leak out. And get all messy. Which is way worse than just letting them out in the first place, in their natural clean, crisp state.

Really what it comes down to... is letting myself be. Be me. Just like that. Only it is harder than all that, but probably worth the effort. So it is not about not fighting (which we have already established is my nature). I could no sooner give up fighting than give up breathing. So instead it must be about choosing where to direct that fighting spirit that is inherent in my being Signy. Where do I put that fire. And I will tell you, it is not about directing that fighting into fighting my True Nature (that place that I have been directing it for years turned decades now). I think I need to put it into fighting FOR my True Nature. Fighting for me. Standing up for me. Speaking up. Speaking my truth and letting the chips fall where they may, and the heads roll. And just see what that feels like. I am betting it feels pretty damn good. Whose in?

The Evils of Water Bottles

I am sure we have all heard the rumours about water bottles, and estrogen leaching into to water from the bottles, and well, let's face it what happens then, especially in relation to breast cancer (but lo, don't think the humble breast is the only one at risk!).

Well here is an article about just that topic. I don't know if the sources are reliable, but more information, more inquiry, more questions are never a bad thing, so give it a read and you be the judge and adjust your behaviour accordingly.

Post Run Post

Ahhh, the run. Well this year, the walk. I have been doing it for 7 years in a row, and each time is special, and precious. This year, because of walking instead of running I got to pay attention to different things. Instead of trying to catch my breath there was room to have my feelings. And to notice the other people and to connect and really experience the warmth and community of the run. Now was that ever special.

As it is every year, it has a carnival atmosphere, and as my mother pointed out, what a gift that is... to transition a thing that for some must be ladened with tragedy or fear or anger, into something that allows us to laugh, to see some lightness, to feel a part of, even in our grief or pain, and know there is something out the other side. There were groups with pink boas, with pink crowns, with pink belly dancing outfits. Some survivors, you could tell us by our pink t-shirts. A few gals in process, you could tell them by their pink heads, all freshly bald.

Naturally I cried. I cried with gratitude for my live, and the chance to live it. I cried for those women who didn't get to live the rest of theirs. I cried for my aunts, not lost to breast cancer, but cancer nonetheless. I cried for the lives of the people dearest to them, whose hearts broke, who are still suffering, while their loved ones mayhap look on, unable to comfort them, unable to hug them and hold them.

Yes, this event is always special. And this year the specialness was to do the run with my mother, and all her sisters, for this year they could be, and all were, with us, together, here in Victoria, in our hearts and minds, and swirling around us in spirit, celebrating for and with us. Ladies, you are not forgotten.