|Swimming at Bigelow Hollow. That's me on the right, C on the left, K behind us taking the picture. Thanks dear friends for one of the best memories of my summer.|
There's something about emerging from cancer treatment into the life I was struggling with (at times) ten months ago. I don't feel much different. A little stiff and itchy in the area where there once was a breast. A little surprised by the short gray curls in the mirror where my hair was once long and brown. Other than that, it's the same old pile of unfinished projects which are both my albatross and refuge, the same deep-down angst. I want more collaborative work, more engagement with the world and its joys and sorrows. And I want less clutter. And less time in front of this damned computer screen.
It comes down to this: I'm not confident, as I once was, that there is a long road ahead of me. Therefore, the things that weren't working in my life before, the dissatisfaction I couldn't untangle without stepping outside my comfort zone or waiting years for circumstances to change (a boy off to college, a man free to reconfigure work and home) are feeling, not urgent exactly, but ripe.
I am ripe for change.
Yesterday I asked Jim to look over his work schedule, see if he can take a couple of days in September so that we can get away for a long weekend. We need a few long walks, leisurely talks, space to dream and think and maybe even plan. We need time to celebrate that we're on the other side of something hard and the landscape, though familiar, is fundamentally changed.
The story of my life is not over yet. I'm ready to write the next chapter.