What Really Matters

After a hiatus for a little family vacation by the beach, I'm back, ready to launch a new group of students into the world of academia, send my little ones off to school, and get back to sharing my story.

So I thought I'd start with an area of the cancer experience that seems to dominate our understanding of what it means to be diagnosed with a major illness. Well, I'd rather focus for the time being on how that experience - being faced with my mortality - focused my perspective on what really matters in MY life. To understand my reaction and what followed, you need to understand a bit about more about my back story.

The big questions of life have accompanied me for as long as I can remember. Though I grew up Catholic, I was fascinated by all religions and how they helped others grapple with life's big questions - What are we doing here and what is our/my purpose? How can I live a life worth living? What is the meaning of Evil? Though my spiritual autobiography and faith journey I'll reserve for another time, I studied comparative religion as an undergraduate and then went on to graduate school in Buddhist Studies. Though not a practicing Buddhist, my philosophy on life, especially on the meaning of suffering, has been deeply impacted by my exposure to Buddhist psychology and philosophy academically and through my husband, who is a Buddhist. After spending some time after graduate school pursuing a professional path that I was good at, but didn't love, I returned to academia as an academia advisor and adjunct professor before transitioning to life as a career advisor at a prominent university. I've thoroughly enjoyed every minute of helping others answer those big questions as they transition from undergraduate education to their next step after.

So when I was diagnosed, I had already spent most of my personal and professional life answering and helping others to answers these big questions. I was highly aware of mindfulness and though I'm known for moving way to fast in life, I tried to sink into my conversations with students and simply be present. Nevertheless, when I received the call from my surgical oncologist at work and she informed me that I had joined the club no one wants to join (ie breast cancer club), I felt like I had been sacked.

What does one feel at that moment? Many things - most not linear or logical. Almost instantly my first and deepest fear emerged... Would my then 7 and 2 year old children remember me if I died? Who would care for them? How would my husband cope? How could I mother?

Perhaps the feeling that persisted and still does to some extent, is not dissimilar to the feeling one has when was has been home bound for some time due to a new baby or illness and who emerges into the world for the first time. You see everyone moving through their lives and you wonder - do they realize how precious, extremely precious life is?

What I learned is that there are the early questions and the ones that come on gradually. The first focused on family - Could my husband cope with two kids on his own? Would he still love and desire me after my body had been altered? Would my 2 year old daughter have a living memory of me if I died? How could I preserve some semblance of normalcy for my children? Also, after giving my dear parents so much trouble as a teenager, how could I go and get cancer and potentially die before they did? What would it mean for my niece who has another Aunt who was diagnosed with cancer in her early thirties as well?

And yet, as time went on, I was more convicted that I was doing the work I was meant to do on a daily basis. The Reverend Michael Himes describes life as a process of "giving oneself away" through the gift of our time, resources, hearts, bodies, intelligence and time to those people, causes, and ideas which we hold most dear. I found that I largely was "giving my life away" in ways that satisfied me. With one exception -

Too little art - poetry - literature!

Who knew?

This came to me only fairly recently in my journey, perhaps a year and half ago (ie a year and a half into the process). You see, I used to paint and draw as a young person. I dual majored in art history in college and took many studio classes, but I gave it up largely after college. I read nonfiction almost exclusively. My artistic talents went into cooking, having babies and other pursuits. However, one day it came to me - more poetry! I want to create again. And so, this has been part of my journey. Perhaps I'm trying to get at the core of the human experience that cannot be easily described in words. It's the space between the words - the interaction of the concepts and ideas. It speaks to our heart when we view a painting because we all on some level experience suffering and encounter the vast lack of our control we have over our own lives. We pretend and create systems to try to organize and control what we can. However, the bump in the road will come despite the best map. My suffering, fortitude and gratitude for the smooth parts of the road connect me with everyone who suffers through the bump - and that arguable could be all of us.

Perhaps my need for more art is linked to that connectedness. I'm searching for real, heart connections to the experience of others in the things they cannot describe in narrative language alone. I probably am also searching for reminders of that moment of clarity that I experienced three years ago.

And thus poetry. So bring on the recommendations.

Have you ever experienced a moment like this? What was your surprising reaction?