"Today My Life Is Enough Just The Way It Is...And It Is Mine"

I had a really, really difficult day at work today. Something pretty awful happened.

And yet, something else happened today that was very positive, even extraordinary. Basically, I got through the horrible thing at work knowing that as horrible as it was, I was going to be okay. And I knew that I would be okay mostly because of today's reading from Anne Wilson Schaef's book Meditations for Women Who Do Too Much. I read it before I went to work, knowing what was likely to happen at work today, and I kept thinking about it as the day unfolded. Here it is:

How wonderful that we not only have the opportunity to live our lives, we have the opportunity to accept them! We have spent so much time and energy foolishly fighting things that we cannot change and butting our heads up against steel-reinforced brick walls that we have not stopped to ask ourselves if this is the hill we want to die on.


Part of learning to live our lives is developing the ability to accept what cannot be changed and learn to live creatively with those situations. Also, we need to discover what can be challenged and to move forward with courage when necessary. Acceptance is not resignation. Acceptance is serenity embracing life.

I was laid off today. But I am going to be okay.

Aw, What the Heck

“It’s impossible,” said pride. 
“It’s risky,” said experience. 
“It’s pointless,” said reason. 
“Give it a try,” whispered the heart.


I always think twice before publishing a post that includes any quote for which I can't find a reference. That's the scholar in me. But I saw this quote today on one of my new favourite, inspirational Facebook pages, Suzie's Daily Quotes, and I just have to share it. That's the daredevil in me. 


I love this quote. 


It reflects almost every major life accomplishment that I can claim for myself, and all of the minor ones.


Sometimes my heart whispers so quietly, I fool myself into thinking I can't hear the suggestion to give something new a try.


Other times, as I think about attempting the unknown, my heart leaps with excitement.


Once in a while, I really do give something new a try.


When I decided I wanted to begin a daily writing practice, I started a blog (the one before this one). When I decided that I was okay with being open about being a recovering woman online, I listened quietly to my heart and started this blog. A few weeks ago, another whisper told me to start my own Facebook page called She Recovers. Right now, hanging out on that page is my daily meditation practice. It's saved my ass a few times this past week.


Tomorrow I get my results for the "Is my cancer still gone" tests. I figure it's still gone. I'm not even worried. Still, when my oncologist gives me another all-clear and tells me to keep going, I will breathe a sign of gratitude.


And then I'll listen very carefully, to what my heart tells me to do next.

Money, Cancer, and Me

In June 2005, I was diagnosed with stage three colon cancer. Financially, the timing could not have been much worse. When I got sick, I had just completed thirteen years of university, culminating with a PhD in health care history and policy, and a huge student loan. My husband Allan had sold his auto body business a year earlier (with no real profit from the sale) and had been laid off from his most recent job. We were, quite literally, in the middle of an expensive move from Beaumont, Alberta to Victoria, BC– Allan had driven our belongings across the Rockies the very weekend I ended up in emergency surgery. Our house was on the market and sold eventually but for very little profit as we closed the deal about five minutes before the Alberta real estate market went wild. I had a job lined up at the University of Victoria for later in the year, but having cancer was clearly going to limit how much teaching I could take on. As financial uncertainty grew in the days following my diagnosis, so too did our resolve. Cancer was not going to screw with our plans, and after all, we told ourselves, we had great credit, should we need it. From my hospital room in Edmonton, we made the decision to go ahead with our move, and several weeks later Allan and I travelled to our new life and our newly rented apartment in Victoria.


Although we had a great deal of fear, we were still eager to begin the great adventure that we had dreamed about for over a decade. Emotionally, given the circumstances, it was heartbreaking to say goodbye to our two daughters and one of our two sons, all single, young adults who were remaining in Alberta. Practically, we were concerned about having enough money, and worried about not having support, as we didn’t know anybody in Victoria at the time. We needn’t have worried about the latter, as every effort we made to reach out to make new friends was rewarded threefold. Physically, I was able to get through the ten months of chemotherapy quite well, to the amazement of my oncologist. Overall, despite the obvious fact of cancer, our first year in Victoria was one of the best years of our life.


It was also one of the most expensive. Before cancer, the plan had been for Allan to finally work less and fish more, while I started my teaching career. We had budgeted for Allan to remain unemployed for at least the first year of the rest of our wonderful life. My chemotherapy treatments were time consuming and severely limited the amount of teaching that I could do in that first year. Fortunately, Allan was eligible for unemployment insurance, we had a bit of money from the house sale, and as a cushion so that I wouldn’t need to worry about money at the same time that I was worried about dying, we cashed in one of Allan’s RRSPs. If we had lived carefully and frugally, our financial situation might have remained relatively healthy for that year.


But we didn’t. Just in case it should turn out to be true, we lived each day as if there were no tomorrow. Unfortunately, over time that approach caused us to rely more heavily upon credit, than cash. As often as we pleased, we ate out for breakfast, lunch and dinner. We flew our kids out to Victoria multiple times, and entertained other company from Alberta and elsewhere throughout the summer and fall. We served gourmet meals to our guests, and Allan took people fishing four or more times a week that summer, an expensive undertaking with gas prices at an all-time high. While Allan fished, I shopped. I bought everything I thought we needed for the new apartment, including new furniture, and a lot of things that we didn’t need. On some days, I simply felt that having cancer entitled me to have that one year of living frivolously.


Irresponsible spending aside, not knowing how things would turn out that year also led us to appreciate every moment spent with family and friends, and to celebrate every experience in our new life. We truly felt that we had arrived in paradise, and we knew with complete certainty that we wanted to spend the rest of our lives here. When my oncologist told me in early summer 2006 that I was cancer free, I wept with gratitude. And yet, I was – quite frankly –surprised that I had apparently beaten cancer. There has been a lot of cancer in my family over the past decade, but not a lot of survivors. Elated as I was to learn that I would live, my recently concocted idea that my life insurance would take care of any accumulated cancer debt, had clearly backfired.


Over the past few years, I have reflected often upon the lessons that cancer taught me about life and money. I remain cancer free, and am working diligently towards being debt free. I still teach university part-time some semesters, and I also work full-time as an executive in the public service. Allan still loves fishing on weekends, but he has a full-time job building and repairing boats. We bought a lovely house, with a rental suite downstairs that will bring in revenue one day when our youngest daughter (both daughters followed us here from Alberta) moves out. I am not in hurry for her to go. We make a very healthy living, and are more conscious and aware of our spending. We have reduced expenses and try really hard to live on cash, not credit. To be honest, we still have work to do on sticking to our budget. But as we all know, all relationships take continued work. The key to my relationship with money, I have found, is that I need to take responsibility for my part, become and remain aware of my money management shortcomings, and be willing to work on what needs fixing.


Although it is an old cliché, what having cancer actually taught me during what I thought might be the last year of my life, was that money does not buy happiness. I used over spending as a strategy to avoid fear, but money did not buy me the true moments of joy that I experienced that year, nor will it buy what I most cherish today. Relationships with loved ones, and my relationship with myself, are what matter most in my life today. Spending time with my cherished friends, reading a good (library) book, enjoying a (home cooked) meal with Allan and my family, or hosting a (potluck) barbeque in our yard, these are the simple moments that fill me up like no purchase has yet or ever could. Today is a spending free day. Sitting on a pile of driftwood, pondering and then scribbling down these words cost me nothing, but it was an excellent investment of my time. It reminds me to be grateful that I am still here, still living this rich and amazing life.

It's A Happy Day

Last evening, I had an email from Gwen R. advising that I will be featured as Sober Blogger of the Month for May.

I am quite thrilled, honoured, humbled. I had no idea when I started this recovery blog that I would connect with so many wonderful people who are on the path of recovery and self-discovery and are sharing the message at the same time. I plan on posting about my go-to recovery bloggers this week, but a perfect starting point for others who want to discover this community of online recovery is Gwen's TwelveBeads Modem2Modem site.

May is my favourite month. My belly button birthday is in May (the 5th) and my recovery anniversary is as well (the 11th). I've spent so much time this past few months reflecting about where I am at, and where I want to be. Part of my process has been decluttering my home, slowing down and simplifying my life. I have come across a lot of reminders from my past that have given me pause. Mostly good pauses. I posted a few weeks ago about a couple of poems that I wrote way back in the day - before I came into recovery. A few days ago, I found the very first poem that I ever wrote in recovery. It kind of makes me giggle to think that I started this quest to learn how to live in the moment twenty odd years ago.

Yesterday

holds memories and lessons

quite a few

Tomorrow

has my dreams, my hopes,

of which some may come true

But

anything that isn't now

I try to put away...

And

look for all I need from

life, in all I have

Today.

I haven't quite gotten there yet. But I am pleased to be reminded that I have for a very long time, been committed to the concept of mindfulness and living in the moment.