Meeting Me Where I Am

It’s been quite a long time since I’ve published a blog post~ February 24 was the last. As I consider life over these past months, I’m left with one word- exhaustion. Physically, emotionally, mentally and spiritually- I’m just plain tired. And for the first time in the history of me, I’m okay with that.

Let me back up a bit so ya’ll can catch up. In March 2013, my father was diagnosed with throat cancer. Just prior to the diagnosis, my sisters and I had undertaken a very diligent, organized and intentional care-taking regimen involving both of our parents. Much- if not all- of the week to week appointments were the arena my older sister chose; my younger sister tended to many day to day details; she’s an extraordinary caseworker. Given limited resources, I made the three hour drive one weekend a month loaded down with healthy meals from my freezer stock. My reasoning was that at least I could control what was available for them to eat. After the diagnosis and subsequent surgery (which found the tumor inoperable as it had wound it’s way around the windpipe), appointments with doctors, for chemo and radiation- they all kicked into high gear. Beth, Barb and I knew we couldn’t do it all on our own, so we summoned a team. For a couple of months I worked and slept with my phone at my side- the three of us were tethered by text and email messages with constant updates to each other.

In the middle of this darkness, a ray of light also entered my life- I fell in love. While I suppose that timing is never “perfect” for meeting a partner, this was truly an unlikely time. Despite the amount of strength I know I possess, the gratitude I’ve felt for the arrival of another rock to stand beside me is immense. His home became a refuge where I could go to attempt relaxation; weekends, when not on the road, I could be found at Ronnie’s Spa. When the time came, he was a strong shoulder to lean on as my son honored his grandfather by singing “Amazing Grace” at the memorial service.

If you know my father, you know that life on anyone’s terms other than his own just won’t do. Chemo and radiation treatments didn’t last long- he didn’t like being “zapped” and feeling like a limp noodle. Though never given a prognosis, we saw a quick deterioration; at times we (Beth) was able to rally his spirits- usually involving a glass of chablis- but the bursts were short lived. The troops gathered to celebrate Dad’s birthday on June 2; then two weeks later, on Father’s Day, he passed.

While putting together this post, I found the following dated June 11, a week before his death: “I sat down last night to write a blog post. Okay honestly, I sat down last night to write an obituary, but wanted to procrastinate by writing a blog post. In the end I chose to do my duty as the “daughter who writes” and put together a first draft for my father to edit. You see, my father is dying of lung cancer. His life is pretty touch and go these days, but yesterday was one with much clarity and lucidity. In a pretty non-stop fashion I received text messages from my younger sister who sat by his side. I imagined the smiles and laughter in the living room where the two of them were sitting approximately 200 miles south. One message read something like, “All grand kids mentioned in obit. US Army 1954- 1956. Grad WMU 1957. Lawson YMCA, First National Bank then started in real estate in 1965.” What a surreal experience to transcribe these life events. When I received the text that read “Picture should be the one of him in red plaid sweater”, I literally laughed out loud. Of course my father knows just what he wants; he always has. Like Carlo Rossi by the jug. And chocolate. I am truly my father’s daughter.”

Driving north on Father’s Day, I experienced my first anxiety attack- while driving 70 mph+ on 131. I made it about ⅔ of the way to Traverse City before I had to pull over. Grateful to get off the highway safely and into the nearest gas station, I called My Rock, my sister and my daughter. Humility isn't something I do well; with no other choice I told them that I needed help. I cried and napped on and off for two hours as I waited for them to arrive. And they did.

I’m pretty certain that there is no “normal” way to grieve; each individual brings their own set of stuff to that table. Me being me, decided to overload the table. In July I decided to take a job transfer to the Lansing area- the timeline for working full-time in the new office was the end of August. I set about doing the stuff necessary- both personally and professionally- to prep for the move; the big question was “What about the house?” Bottom-line- I still own it. After finding an apartment in the Lansing area, I spent the months of August and September driving between the two offices weekly. Interestingly, the driving stuff was complicated by vertigo- a lovely residual effect of the increased anxiety. I had to ask for help again- The Rock was there, as was my boss. Together we all worked it out. Again, with the humility and acceptance. And added learning that I don’t always have to have all the answers.

So here we are, the first week of October. I’m sitting at the kitchen counter-top in my little one-bedroom 500 square foot apartment. Alone, well, except for the cat (that’s another story). The vertigo, though not all gone, has drastically diminished so I’m able to drive safely. From time to time I find myself crying; why doesn’t really matter. I just do it. Because to not to would mean imploding. And I’m writing again- that’s always good.

I'm often asked by folks that I meet here why I’d want to leave “paradise”. My answer? Because I could. For the first time in over 25 years I was able to make a decision where I wasn't compelled to consider what was best for four other people- my offspring. As a matter of fact, they were by-in-large supportive of it being my turn for an adventure. You know what’s really funny? I find myself doing the same things here in Haslett that I did in Traverse City; I go to work, go to yoga, shop and cook. Same stuff, new people and places. It’s a surreal mix of old/new. As my dear friend and yoga teacher recently reminded me, it’s 99% mental. I think that means that it is what we decide it will be. And I’ve decided that it’s time for some rest, along with another box of tissues.

Letting Go With Love

I need to be completely honest here: I find it much easier to let go with hate, especially when that which is being let go is a relationship with another human, personal or otherwise. Competitive to the core, I’m able to come up with a list ½ mile long of why I am the better person, why I deserve more or better or faster or, or, or…Making things so black and white allows me to come out on top, with the halo. But you know what else I end up with? Sometimes guilt, sometimes shame and sometimes I’ve given up any opportunity to ever approach that person again with my pride intact; all the bridges have been burned. Then what am I left with? Yup. I’m left alone with me, and a new pile of manure to attend to. Hmmm, I trade one pile for another.

Sooooo…., what if I attempt this spiritually enlightened idea of letting go with love? No setting up teams, no losing- everyone wins. The first element that needs to change is my perception that pain, loss, discomfort and sadness are bad emotions to be avoided at all costs. Now, bear in mind that in order to continue to change this perception, I must also give up all of the coping mechanisms that I’ve adapted over the years to “deal” with these feelings. I gave up the drugs and alcohol long ago and continue to give up “eating” these emotions. Within the last year, my body has shut down a bit so that I am not always able to workout to counteract this stuff. I’ve been left with feeling. Ugh. How interesting is it that when left alone to feel, I’ve decided to turn back to a competitive scenario- the human psyche is interesting indeed.  

I wonder if this would be easier if I didn’t use the extremes of “love” and “hate”? Maybe I need a different phrase. Maybe, just maybe the concept is as simple as trusting; trusting myself that I’m making the right decision, and that I’m hearing positive direction from the Universe [Yes, this hole just keeps getting deeper.]

Let’s simplify this concept and apply it to the kitchen. Today I threw caution to the wind and made soup created completely without a recipe. My general modus operandi is to check through the recent saved recipes to see if one catches my attention. Today I decided to challenge myself and not go to the store for ingredients; instead I had to use what I had on hand. The resulting aroma is now wafting through the house- a wonderfully flavorful vegetable soup with chicken and quinoa. I started by heating some olive oil, adding a couple cloves of garlic minced and a handful of chopped red onion. This is one of the best smells ever! (My friend West has referred to the aroma of sizzling garlic and onion as Chanel #9) Next I went to the produce drawers where I found carrots, parsnips, zucchini, yellow squash and fennel. I eyed a couple of tomatoes on the counter; thinking, as grandma always said, that the color would be a nice addition. I decided to go with some chopped spinach from the freezer instead. Into the pot along with the veggies went a couple cups of chicken left from yesterday’s rotisserie, some rosemary, thyme, sea salt and pepper. In the end when the pot was bubbling nicely, a cup of quinoa was added, the flame was turned to low and the top put on the stock pot. Mission accomplished.  

Trust. I knew that I’d be able to put together a pretty good pot-full of yumminess, but this result is gastronomically awesome- much better than anticipated. It’s a big step to compare the act of trusting my cooking instincts to that of trusting my instincts in regard to human relationships- the emotions seem so much more where real when other people are involved. However I will allow myself this cooking success, knowing that I’ve arrived here by building upon each experience with the soup pot- taking a risk each time. And ultimately isn’t that what we do when we allow people into our lives? We trust in the risk and trust in the lesson. Oh yeah, there’s always one of those.

Peace, Love and Vegetables

Driving down the road the other day, I noticed a bumper sticker on the car ahead of me. It was one of the symbolic types, no words, just images. I was focusing so hard that I almost forgot to stop with the rest of the traffic at a red light. After slamming on the brakes, I was able take a good look. The peace sign was easily recognized; as was the heart- I presume the statement intended was “love”. But the last symbol befuddled me; I just couldn’t figure it out. It looked like a head of broccoli. Seriously? Now, I’m a broccoli lover from way back, but I’m not sure that my adoration is sufficient to capture on a bumper sticker. So I started thinking- what would make sense in this instance? Well, “vegetables” of course.

“Peace, Love and Vegetables”, now that’s a statement I can stand solidly behind. I’ve stated before that the deeper I delve into my yoga practice, the more healthfully I want to eat. Now that we’re past the heavy holiday season, I’ve made a devoted effort to get back to clean eating- nothing processed, nothing “white”. For the past two weeks I’ve gone so far as to try to keep intake to naturally micronutrient rich foods (yeah, cool term that I learned by watching the documentary “Sick, Fat and Almost Dead” and reading a little by nutritionist, Joel Fuhrman). Micronutrients=vitamins & minerals. The foods dominating this category are green, leafy vegetables; broccoli, radishes and cabbage are next; then come fruits, nuts and seeds, beans and legumes, and whole grains near the end. Meat and dairy are at the bottom of the scale. More information, along with a cool chart of these so-called “Superfoods” can be found at www.eatrightamerica.com/erni-superfoods.

To help me on my journey to consume more phytochemicals (yeah, hit the link above), I recently purchased a juicer. Now, you need to know that I still eat veggies in their whole form; this fiber is important to flush the colon and keep things running smoothly. The juicer allows me to take in even more of this ultimate, natural medicine in the form of colorful veggies. This naturally occurring, readily available food provides the vitamins, minerals and phytochemicals necessary to normalize and boost the immune system and to enable our body’s detox and cellular repair mechanisms that protect us from cancer and other diseases.

If what I eat can keep me healthy, more energetic and more efficient, logic dictates that I ought to steer in that direction when choosing what goes in my mouth.  I can change my thinking so that what I eat is fuel for not only my body, but also for my mind and spirit. Well, there we go.

Mark Epstein, M.D. takes this “food as fuel” theme one step further in a refreshing fusion of East and West entitled “All You Can Eat” found on the Yoga Journal website (www.yogajournal.com). While many ideas are explored, one rings true for me- espousing that perhaps those of us who are addicted to food ought to eat more. The addiction, of course, is born of an unhealthy obsession. Some of us may be reaching for food to pacify an emotional need; if we keep ourselves from reaching, we inevitably will binge. But obsession could be healthy. Like a fixation with yoga, a focus on food could eventually lead to a sense of peace. Essentially, the idea is to eat more often, not necessarily a larger quantity. If a slow and steady stream is maintained, the “need” or desire or compulsion to overindulge may be dissuaded. To be obsessed with food need not be a shameful act; actually it may be preferred as we learn to listen to our internal selves, all the while being kind and gentle.