Waiting Some More

I hit my uncertainty limit last week. Not knowing when the next chance would be to know something had me spinning my wheels. Other than checking my phone every fifteen minutes, making sure I hadn't missed an important notification, I got NOTHING done. I wasn't able to get off square zero until I heard they've found a thoracic surgeon and have an appointment set for this coming Friday to discuss what surgery and the next steps will look like.

While I was busy wringing my hands, I had someone upstairs working on my long-delayed shower repair. This is the first time I've ever hired someone to do a job, and then just sat back and let them do the work. Weird!

They finished up last Friday, there were several problems with the finished project. I texted them - they are back today, not arguing, just fixing the issues. I guess this is why I went with the expensive crew. They stand behind their work.

And, on Saturday, the problems gave me something to be mad at. I needed something to be mad at. I stewed. I fussed. I obsessed. I took pictures. I rehearsed arguments inside my head. And then, finally, I let it go.

I wasn't really mad at them anyways. (I was pretty sure they'd come back and set things right.) I'm mad at cancer for messing up Kate's life once again and it's so hard to be mad at cancer. It's such an amorphous target - no known cause, no guarantees it can be banished to the ether where it belongs. Its appearance is so unjust unfair unkind unreal unwanted. 

And despite everything, I still want life to be fair. I don't want to acknowledge my inability to control anything but my reaction to what happens in the world around me. 

I'm grateful for my yoga classes. I arrive scattered and spinning, then somewhere in the breath and movement, I get a glimpse of balance. By the end of class, I'm remembering to breathe; have been reminded my center exists, even if I can't always find it.

Be Here Now.

I'm working on it.