On Gratitude

It's been more than a couple of weeks. I know. And right now, the only excuse I can muster is cancer. Having cancer sucks. It's not like in the movies where having been given this unfortunate diagnosis, I'm suddenly overcome with worldly wisdom and oh yeah by the way the great love of my life has suddenly found themselves in my path, not caring how sick I am just how beautiful my soul is.

It's never like in the movies. It's mostly being tired and nauseous and dizzy and never having the energy to participate in my own life. 

It'll get better. It has to. My body will get used to the chemo and I won't be so sick all the time and I can eventually resume my normal routine.

At least that's the theory.

I started my new chemo med a couple of weeks back (December 27th) and I wish I could say that it's going well so far but the truth is that my head hurts and I'm constantly tired and throwing up is my least favorite part of everyday. 

Sorry, I know this isn't exactly a fun, light-hearted topic but it's what I have to work with.

Let's talk about liminal spaces.

In lit theory, liminal spaces often act as placeholder or the physical manifestation of a "jumping off" point - a place for the protagonist to either start or occasionally end their literal and metaphorical journey.

Examples include churches, airports, train stations, or empty spaces such art galleries, abandoned buildings, or a parking lot. For writers, this physical space often imbues the reader with the feeling of being alone, of being isolated. In a liminal space, a person really dive into their personhood: who am I? What am I doing here? What is my purpose?

When I was initially writing this blog, I was sitting in an airport, it's grey speckled walls reminding me of the importance of spaces we create to find ourselves. I've been doing a lot of that lately - the introspection. Often, it's addled with questions fundamentally rooted in the "why"  of what I'm going through right now. Why me? Why now? Why do I feel this way? Humans have spent years, lifetimes meditating on the why of our existence. And maybe it's just because I've been overwhelmed (in the best way possible) with love and care lately but I think I've figured it out.

We live for others.

I'm not a religious person by any means but if I've learned anything over the last several weeks of life it's that people show you their true colors when the time calls for it. And what a beautiful cacophony of sound I've seen! "How are you? What do you need? Is there anything I can do?"

And if the abundant support hasn't been enough, my mom and best friend Casey Sue also spent their precious time putting together a surprise party for my 30th birthday. A surprise party! For me! To walk into a room full of people who love and care about you is a feeling unmatched by so many other things.

Mom, Me, and my sister, Lauren

I won't say that the last month and some change has been easy because it hasn't. Adjusting to my meds has been really hard and I've been really sick and there have been more occasions where I was convinced I wouldn't be able to do this than occasions where I was certain of my own path. 

I'll be the first one and the last one to tell you how important self preservation is but what a joy it is to serve others. And in the time since my diagnosis, I've been lucky enough to be on the receiving end of that love. The people in my life have served me, helped me, carried me through all of the hard stuff. That's our purpose. Through loving others and caring for them, we get to see how full and beautiful the world is. Through service to the people we love, life, in all it's difficulty and strife and chaos, becomes worth living.

Despite the abundant love I've been receiving lately, I'm still not jumping for joy about my life right now but at least on the days when I don't want to be present, I have enough people to remind me why I should.

So, with all that being said, thank you. Honestly, I couldn't get through this without you.