Going Forward -- Turning Back

I started a blog posting (actually, I completed it) while I was in Tampa last Thursday while drinking scotch and watching "A Perfect Storm." For some reason, my Blackberry app failed to write the blog to this site. As usual, it was good that it happened.

The business trip went okay, but the evening did not go well. I cooked my own food (well, I microwaved it) and thought that I'd do fine. There must have been something in the processed beef, chicken, and/or gravy that affected my system. It surely could not have been the scotch.

Now, I have another chance to write what I wanted to say. It has been stewing in my brain for over a week and it is clearer to me now. It is about energy.

For as long as I can remember, I have remained calm and focused during a crisis. I tell my friends to watch out when it is over, though -- that's when I fall apart. This predicament in which Dorothy and I live is now a year old. For me, it has been months and months of intense focus -- firstly on surviving the chemo and radiation, then on living with an ileostomy, and finally on learning to use my insides again. Energy was directed toward activites to take my mind off the pain and humiliation -- recording and producing a CD, getting work done, etc. This last phase is taking longer than I predicted. Things are getting better, and I note the progress that is made week-to-week. But, I'm not finished healing. I wish I were.

My emotions live close to the surface now. In addition to the obvious reason -- surviving cancer treaments -- they signal the "after time" when I typically fall apart. This time, I feel more like it signals a turn back to an earlier time.

You see, my emotions used to run near the surface. I never saw that as a flaw, but much of the world did. I learned self control, which can be a good thing. Self control involved wearing a mask to filter out pain and my real responses to it. I put on mask upon mask, becoming innoculated against a dog-eat-dog world. Like chemotherapy, the mask blocks good as well as bad. I am steady as a rock, and, as Paul Simon wrote, "a rock feels no pain, and an island never cries." A land mass never says, "I love you."

In addition to experiencing more feelings, I move slower. People used to complain that I walked too fast. I was conscious of the fact, and I did it because I could. My body felt good -- I was 55
going on 27. Now, I feel like I'm 56 going on 57. That, too, is not a bad thing. I knew that things would change, so I tested my body by whitewater rafting, mountain climbing, biking, and hiking. When Dorothy and I walked through the woods, I would be on a hike and she would be on a nature walk. I wanted to feel my breathing and my heart pounding in my chest. She would stop to notice flowers, insects, and wildlife. I missed it all, but I felt good. Now, I want to walk beside Dorothy so she can point out what she sees -- what one can see when one looks closely at the world.

I have been out of balance for too long -- ignoring the yin for the yang. I want to relearn how to be part of the world around me. To reawaken the artist in me. You will soon be able to hear Blue Moon Revue's new CD, "It's About Time." You'll hear a lot of feeling that I never knew I was laying down on the tracks. My body is nearly finished healing, but my spirit has a long way to go.