Attitude of Gratitude

 

I once thought the whole "attitude of gratitude" concept was malarkey. But then, in one of my down times, I decided to try noticing things in my day for which I was (or could be, if I was so inclined) grateful. To my surprise, the exercise helped. A lot. 

Noticing the good parts of my day showed the all-of-life-is-black part of me it was wrong. As I kept up the practice, the black lake slowly receded, shrank to where I could easily see it was just a part of life - not all of it; not at all.

I am grateful Kate has been able to apply the lessons she learned in cancer round one to cancer round two. I am grateful she is in a time place of life where she can afford to step back and take care of herself; to help her body to heal as best it can.

She has finished 12 of the 25 scheduled rounds of radiation. (Almost halfway there! Go, Kate!) She tells me she ends each session feeling like someone punched her in the sore spot on her chest; the tissue in the entire area tightens up. She then goes home and spends the next several hours stretching and rolling and repeating until she's regained her range of motion. She then does the whole thing again the next day. (Stretching the scar tissue like this, as it forms, means she will hopefully come out the other end of this wringer still able to breathe freely; able to move her shoulder. Fingers crossed, candles lit.) 

I am grateful morning comes. Every day. So far, at least. Morning comes and I get another chance to have a good day. 

I am grateful Sylvester is here with me. Over the past few years, I've grown to like our 20 minute, morning walk and sniff session. His presence assures I get up and at 'em, then outside to greet the day. Every day. Like it or not. (It's good for me.)

As winter's cold settles in, I am grateful for a reliable furnace. For the delivery of electricity and gas I can (usually) take for granted. I don't have to wonder if today is an electricity-on day, because barring a big storm, all the days are.

I am grateful for you - the You who is reading my words, bringing them to life. Your presence lets me know I'm not alone - not in my struggles, not in my joys. I feel seen. I feel heard. Since Covid, I know how important these things are.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Hot Yoga Lesson

When Kate came into town earlier this year, she asked me if I would help her find a place to do hot yoga while she was here - the discipline is one of the best ways she knows to help her troubled back loosen up. I was happy to help, asked around a bit, found her a place to go, and worked with her to sign up for a class or three.

I had tried hot yoga once a decade or two ago and swore I'd never go back, but when she came home from her class with her back clearly feeling better, I decided to give it one more try. I like to do things with Kate when I can, and perhaps I had changed. Perhaps a different style of class would be better.

So, off we went to class together.

I am not a great fan of hot and sweaty; my goal was simply to stay in the hot room for the entire ninety minutes, to do what poses I could do. I made it. I stayed.

At the end, I laid down for savasana and was pleasantly surprised to find every inch of my skin awake with a pleasant tingle. I am alive, it told me. I did a hard thing, it feels good to have done it.

*sigh* Just like that, I was hooked. I started going to class most Saturday mornings.

I took a break from yoga while I was in California. Still, when I came back to class two weeks ago, I expected to pick up where I'd left off.

Wrong. I barely made it through class. I spent over half my time sitting on the floor, trying to convince my lungs they could relax and take in a full breath. SO frustrating! During savasana, I was discouraged, sad, asking myself why I was there putting myself through this torture. If the magic tingle happened, I wasn't in a place to notice it.

This past weekend, class was a hard sell. WHY did I want to do that again?????

I convinced myself to go to class anyways, and as class got moving, was amazed to find I'd brought a whole new me. Yes, I was hot and dripping sweat, but when we got to the spot where my breathing had locked up the week before, nothing happened. I was able to continue moving and breathing, stretching and loosening all the parts. The magic part at the end returned!

??????

I've been pondering these disparate experiences all weekend. How can so much change from one week to the next?

I'm taking this as a lesson in the importance of showing up. A Notice from the Universe to me that life is not static; from week to week, it changes at levels I can't sense. A Reminder to not let failure yesterday stop me from taking a chance on succeeding today.

Take one more step.

Election Blues (Act II)

Man, oh Man!

Turns out over half the voters of this country don't care if their choice for president creeps me out, and has since the moment he stalked Hilary Clinton during their second debate, eight years ago. (Granted, most of those people don't know me from Adam (Eve?), and thus couldn't have meant to upset my apple cart with their choice, but that's not germane to the issue.)

Like the last time he was elected, my gut knew this was going to happen, which is why I intentionally didn't peek at the results Tuesday night. I wanted one more night of peaceful sleep. (Not Yet!)

I've been grappling with depression all week. Good thing I have an impressive array of tools in my coping chest; I've needed every last one of them.

I've looked for, and found, beauty each day as I take the puppy out for his morning stroll.

I've been using my yoga breathing exercises to still my mind when it wakes racing in the night. They help ground me in the here and now, so I can drift back to sleep.

I've been reminding myself I survived, we survived, last time he was elected; we will most likely survive again.

I never did stop giving to my resistance charities of choice - The ACLU, Planned Parenthood, Gabby Giffords' anti-gun group, and Harvesters, my local food bank.

But, since the morning of the election, I can't bring myself to read any news stories touching on politics. This is exactly opposite to my reaction last time, when I began devouring the news, all the news. I'm back to reading just the style section, the advice columns, the comics. The good news part is that I now have an extra hour and more each day to pursue other activities, any other activities. (I've been trying to wean myself from the news-rabbit-hole habit for quite some time - I guess there's a silver lining to this cloud, too.)

I don't know if ignorance is bliss, but for now, I do know a lot less knowledge of what's going on in Washington D.C. will mean a lot less pain in my soul.

So, I am working to focus on the here and the now.

Today, Kate had her first dose of radiation. (So hard!!)

Today, the November sun is shining, the leaves on the trees outside my window are working to outdo one another with their brilliant displays of yellows, reds and oranges.

Today, I went to yoga, and it was warm enough on my way home to drive with the top down.

Today, I'm getting pizza for dinner. (Life is short. Eat pizza.)

Tomorrow, I will work on making it through tomorrow. Today, I just need to make it through today.

One step at a time.

Resetting

While I know my presence in California has been most welcome for Kate and her family as she embarked on this latest detour in life, this past week it was time to come on home.

I need to vote! 

And, as Kate began to feel better, her energy returning and her pain (mostly) under control, I felt the tug of my life back in Kansas City. I missed the dog, my people at the gym, my own bed.

All the same, it's been a bit of a shock to my system. I left town in late summer, then stayed in late summer weather for the month I was in California, thus lulling my body into thinking time had taken a short break. 

Then, on my return to town, I stepped off the plane into a cool and rainy autumn day. Instead of the vista I'd become accustomed to, one of blue sky over brown grass, peppered by the green of the magically resilient trees of southern California, I was greeted by gray skies highlighting the yellow to orange of the turning leaves on the trees. 

Time had moved on after all.

I've been home almost a week, and still, when I wake in the night, it takes a minute to orient myself, to figure out where I am. I'm guessing parts of me decided to take a later flight; they'll arrive any day now. Probably.

My heart is divided. Part of it is back in California, tracking Kate's healing, doing what I can to support her on this difficult path. The other part is here, rediscovering the parts I love about the structure of life I've been working to build since I retired.

The past few days have been a blur of catching up on the tasks left undone while I traveled. Thanks to global warming (silver linings exist), I've had a bit of time to clean up the yard. I've started back at the gym, my body welcoming the return to the stretchiness of the yoga classes. 

One step at a time.