all about the light

I am grateful for so much on this day of giving thanks -- it is quite overwhelming. I love Thanksgiving -- of all the holidays, it is my favorite. It invites us to do what I think we are here to do. Which reminds me of several years ago when I spent about 3 months painstakingly drawing up a personal mission statement. I talked to lots of people during that time about how they find meaning (some of you may remember my asking you), what their mission is, etc. etc. I gradually birthed an 8.5 pound mission statement which is still taped on my desk, and which still works to guide me now and then. But right toward the end of that period of time, I went to a lecture by Jonathan Kozol, and he was going on and on in his brilliant fashion, I half-listening, and then he said, "I mean, after all, what are we here for except to look for light and praise the light when we see it?" And I thought, jeez, THERE's a mission statement for you. I could have saved a lot of time.

I think I am coping quite well, overall. And then something teeny tiny happens and I can see that I am a little quirky. Yesterday, the bright red, schmancy REI running jacket that Laura and I had ordered for me -- and paid an extra $25 to have it get here in time for me to run in it 5 times before surgery -- came. Oh, boy! Our extravagant way of reminding me of health, freedom, movement, and (bright red) celebration was here and it was ----- the wrong size. At this, I melted for a few minutes, and my voice was of a disappointed 7-year-old who had to wear her brother's glasses instead of those nice baby blue cat-eyed ones like Emily Donovan had (true and traumatizing reference there). "I wanted a MEDIUM," I whined. Waaaah. I felt ridiculous, but there it was. My stress, bubbling up and over, just for a bit.

So I know that, for all the great compartmentalizing I am doing, cancer is on my mind at all times. A few nights ago I had what I think of as a little poke from Freud. I dreamed that I had bought a bus ticket (hmm, BUST ticket?), and that the bus company imposed a flat rate for tipping the driver. I was annoyed by this, and chastised them for having a policy that forced a flat rate for tipping. One of the managers scoffed rudely and snapped, "You think that's flat? It's going to get even flatter than that!"Somewhere in there, I guess my unconscious mind is trying to coming to terms with getting even flatter.

I have learned a bit about the distribution of emotional labor in the face of a life-threatening illness. As I wrote earlier, some people are angry about my cancer. I still am not aware of feeling angry at all about it. Stunned, sure, sad. Yeah. But not angry. So other people can, it seems, kind of do that emotional labor for me. I am grateful for that, too. Even as I learn that I would rather be sad than anxious (a driving force behind some important medical decisions), I know I do not want to be angry. So thank you, whoever is carrying a bit of that for me. Still, please set it aside as soon as you can.

The Chu family (we should be 17 strong) is having a therapeutic laughter yoga circle when we all gather here on Saturday. I am really looking forward to that. Years ago I got certified as a Therapeutic Laughter Yoga Leader, and ran a few sessions at school. Though everyone said they loved the idea, few came to sessions, and many of those that did had trouble letting themselves laugh hard in front of others. Maybe teenaged girls (and their teachers) wasn't a fair way to start. Anyway, THIS group ought to have a very good time.

I'll be in surgery Monday morning, but in the grand scheme of things, that's small potatoes (har). Looking for light and praising the light is what matters.

Oh! Here I will thank Gigi for the inspiration for what will be my parting message to the surgical team right before I am put under. I will ask them: "How do you keep a turkey in suspense?" -- wait for their quizzical looks (you can still see this in the brow, despite surgical masks), and say "I'll tell you after I wake up." Then off to the deep sleep of anesthesia. I have heard that laughing brains learn better. I hope they do surgery better, too.

I hope everyone has a fun, loving, restorative weekend. Let yourselves laugh easily, with your whole body. Do not be shy about happiness.

I send my deepest gratitude for your light.