Ambushed at 5AM

Oh the mornings that I wake up early, to thoughts of, well no, not thoughts, but feelings, feelings of dread, and forboding, and anxiety. It is so hard, and so unfair, that they sneak up on me, when all my defenses are down. I can't even identify what the feelings are, you know, because I am asleep. And by the time I wake up they have settled into my bones like a chill and I can't seem to shake them with a simple cup of tea.

And out of the forboding, if left untended like garden weeds, grows panic. And not panic about a specific thing, like getting an assignement in on time, just panic that life is off track, that I need to do something to fix it, but I don't even know what "it" is, because really nothing much is wrong. It is just a feeling. And feelings aren't facts. But try to remember that in the hush of the early morning, when there is no one around to remind you.

This feeling is reminicent of (although quite a bit watered down) the panic attacks I had for months and months post cancer. And instead of getting any help then, I just believed the thoughts and feelings and assumed that something was wrong with me.

Now there are other tools to use. I get up, as fast as possible. I get busy, with things that fulfill me (like writing, for instance). I call friends in the Eastern time zone (that trick I keep with me from cancer days!). I read inspirational material. I create some structure for my day. I remind myself that feelings aren't facts, and that everything is ok.

And yet, on the days when there isn't even a whiff of cancer nearby I sometimes wonder why I get these feelings again? But even entertaining such thoughts lures me back to the dark side. So I am better to just step away and get on with my day.

I hope yours is a good one!!!

Yes, We Can

Wow, for the first time since I have been tracking the details of the latest American primary race (and let's just say, for the record, that by and large I try to avoid paying attention to American's and their politics, so long ago has my hope for change run out) I had a feeling about it, instead of a thought.

You see there are lots of places for thoughts. White women, black man, republician moderate. So confusing, and exciting, even inspiring. But I haven't felt anything yet. Least of all hope. Hope of change, hope for a better tomorrow, hope that they might pull their collective heads out of their... sand, and notice that the world is mad as hell at them and they need to start doing something different. Anything different. No, I have long since buried that feeling. Under the rubble and the wreakage of the wars they wage.

And today... a feeling, in fact a flood of tear. And yes, dare I say it, when it stands exposed and vulnerable like a bud on a tree come too early, risking frostbite to get a look at the sun, yes... the feeling is HOPE. Hope the way a sibling cracks open with deep gratitude at the possibilities that emerge, like at the end of a cold winter, when a dear sister or brother (and in this case nation) has recognized they have a problem and has admitted themselves into rehab. I couldn't have made my brother nation go to rehab, he has to choose it for himself. But oh can I celebrate it, and support him, when he chooses to do the right thing. Hope poised to crash over me, like the crest of an ocean wave, with so much more force behind it that I can't even imagine how wide or deep it runs. Oh my god. Things could change. They could be different. There could be a good life after Bush. There could be a new way.

Please lead us out of the dark, we are all desperate for some sunlight, and just waiting for someone with enough muscle and heart to take the risk, and try something new.

What touched me so deeply? This video... check it out.

Hrafnhildur

That is the name of my cousin. The one who died of breast cancer on Feb 7th, 2004. Four years ago today. Too much loss, I say. Too much for one family to have in so short a time. And from one disease. Talk about room for survivor guilt. And fear.

When she died, four years ago, I got my first tangible taste of "wow, this disease is real, people actually die from this". Not that I haven't known people to die from it before then, but somehow this was so much closer to home. In so many ways. And it rocked my world. What made me different from her, that I survived? And then again, at the time, I only had 3 years clean, so what was to say I wasn't next. Yikes. And again, I get to remember that my being alive is a miracle of sorts. Not something to take for granted and keep demanding more.

And so I remember today how precious life is. I remember the hard way. I am left feeling a bit scared, humble and small. Wondering and thinking: What hope do I have in the face of a disease as powerful and pervasive as cancer. And yet I know that I am the hope for so many people. In fact, I am even the face of hope for some. The ever willing, ever striving survivor. My cousin had a hard life. From the outside there seemed to be lots of pain and lonliness, but I wouldn’t know for sure because she never let me in, and why should she, some distant cousin in Canada. I guess that is something I need to remember, when I am staring my fear and own mortality down, we are very different creatures and there is every reason to believe that there will be very different outcomes.

Survivor Guilt

Today is the day my aunt died, a year ago. And, as you know, I am sensitive to anniversaries. Sensitive to time. So my body felt it, as usual. Mostly in the form of heart ache. And like there was this dark, thick, greasy film on everything in my life. Kind of suffocating me. And I got to wondering, and thinking... this is no ordinary grief, pushing feelings up from my heart, into my awareness and attention. Yes, there are elements of that, but there is something else here too.

And then it became clear...

I have survivor guilt.

A feeling of "Why me?", "Why did I get to make it? Why did I get to stay alive?". She deserved to live just as much as I did. But I am here and she isn't. How can I make sense of that? There is no logic to it. She was trying hard to live, giving it everything she had, really going for it, just like me. This randomness of life, it seems unfair and cruel and a little bit scary, because it means that I didn't DO anything to survive, I didn't earn it, because apparently you can't, so it was just dumb, blind luck. Which leaves me feeling vulnerable. And out of control.

It also drives me to feel like I should be accomplishing more with my life than I am. In being reminded how mortal I am, and how little time I really have, well, I should be pulling up my socks and getting more done, damn it. Which is discouraging and hard to feel, since really I am doing the best I can with what I have. And frankly am doing tons. Just this last weekend I led 20 people to some profound life changing experiences, that won't just impact them, but all the people around them. That's big stuff. But on days like today, it just doesn't feel like it's enough. And the only comfort I get is knowing that today will pass, and so will this feeling.