|Millie is a Youtube fan in this one - hilarious. More of my videos here.|
The apple tree in my backyard is afroth with blossoms. I open my eyes in the morning and gaze at it through the picture window in my bedroom. For the moment, anyway, I feel lucky about my life. I have a husband who loves me without reservation, a stepson with whom there is little of the typical teenage drama, a network of loved ones who care about me and show it. An apple tree and a garden and creative work. Not to mention the cutest poodle in the world. And, gosh darn it, for the most part anyway, I like myself too.
It helps that my hair is coming back, that my energy isn't bad, that I'm counting down so quickly now to my last chemotherapy treatment - just three more to go.
When I first found out I had cancer I thought about the the relationships I want to deepen or repair, my unfinished projects, the gifts I want to give. I weighed the measure of it all against the prospect of a shortened life, letting go of the parts that involve watching loved ones age, and my own romantic visions of old lady-hood, deep wrinkles and rocking chairs.
Eight years, I heard myself think. I can do it all in that time. Just give me eight years.
It stunned me to realize that all my goals and dreams seemed doable in such a short window of time. It surprised me that I was capable of such a humble wish. But most of all, it spurred me. Whether my life turned out to be short or long, there were things I really really wanted to do. It was time to get busy.
I am busy.
And I'm realizing one more thing: If everything I ever want out of life can be accomplished in eight years, then I'm thinking way too small.
How about you?