no 55

Being present is the unique gift of being alive. I’m back to let you know I’m okay.

Last week, I had to scan my daughter’s computer to find out why it was so slow. I ran safe mode. (Here’s a link on safe mode, for lo-tech people like me). It helps to be in safe mode when scanning for what might be off about your computer. But then, the machine isn’t able to do what it usually does.

That was me for a couple of months.

Scan after scan. Waiting for the diagnostic dashboard to give me something conclusive. Taking forever to find out. Everything looked the same on the outside. Knowing I’m unable to perform normal functions at normal speed.

The too-true threat of serious illness sent me into shock. I went silent on you, pretty abruptly, didn’t I? I’m sorry.

Thanks so much for being here. And for letting me back in.

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I’m alive

I wanted to tell you I’m alive. And well. I’m totally free if I’m clear in April. Relief.

Waiting for results, I felt powerless over the pull to go inward before reconnecting with the world around me.

Before I continue with today’s Afterimage, I just want to say— for anyone who’s fought cancer or a significant illness, or has cared for someone who’s experienced it— I can see what’s beneath your waterline: the iceberg whose existence was my ignorance.

I see you now.

:::

I’m editing from my cozy bed, where I’m trying to sleep off what feels like day fourteen of bronchitis. It’s only day six. Or is it seven? It’s ironic bronchitis feels a lot more deadly than anything I’ve experienced in the last months. At least physically.

In fever delirium, my brain grabs improbable ideas, health hacks, eating and exercise for a perimenopausal metabolism, a million ways to take better care of myself. I sleep in spurts of ninety minutes between cough spasms. The lack of sleep does a number on my mind.

When I’m fully awake, none of my dreams makes sense. Then I remember I’ve been on a journey to take my health more seriously, and to own it. I’ve also come to acknowledge what used to keep me in good health doesn’t work for me in the same way now.

Which is why after the cancer scare, I didn’t want to mindlessly migrate old habits into a new chapter of health. That’s led me to forage for new habits. The new habits seem less to do with measuring, monitoring, and repeating (for now, at this stage) than it does with adopting an attitudeandapproach to being alive. And to simplify.

If as children we add and as young adults we multiply, at fifty, I’m subtracting and factoring right down to the prime numbers in search of who I am.

What does this look like?

1. Simplify life, or learn how.Saying yes to what I want. No, to what I don’t. Practice saying yes or no— without justification. Being self-depriving, this feels like a spiritual practice more than a health routine. I like that this spiritual practice isn’t ascetic. I like that this spiritual practice isn’t ascetic.
2. Rest more! During the day. Over extended periods of time. More sleep. Take and apply great marriage advice to the most important relationship I have: the one with with myself. The advice is to have Date nights twice a month. Weekend trips once every two months. And a two-week getaway every two years. I’m using this advice as a starting point.
3. Fun is a vitamin, not a reward! Build fun, enjoyment, and play into life, instead of using it as an exceptional treat. I’ve deprived myself of fun over the years, growing up with the message that fun needs to be earned. It turns out it’s not true. I deserve joy. Play is good. If I want more rest and more fun, something’s got to give. Which brings me to:
4. Do less, be more. I continue to listen more deeply to and with my body. Offer kindness and joy, wish freedom from suffering for myself, the people around me, others, strangers, and people who make me feel uneasy. Then, to all sentient beings. Walk it back and imagine the faces of the people softening, including when I get back to myself.

I look forward to finding out what smart rest and joy look like for me. What is it to be in a state of being? I’m learning to create peace inside and outside of me. Maybe that’s it:

In so many ways, peace is health. Health is peace.

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A threshold: Fifty-one

I’m finally on the other side of bronchitis, laryngitis, and fever dreams. Was fever, silence, and total shutdown a way for me to purge before I start another turn around the sun? I turn fifty-one when I wake up.

Through fever dreams, I saw glimpses from the past year: People coming and going. People revisiting. The waxing and waning, changes in relationships and work, along with the changes in me. The wonder and delight nature and sunlight continue to give me. Meeting the multitudes within me.

In every flower or view I’ve captured is a person or people who’ve met me, supported, witnessed, and danced with iterations of me last year.

As a young animist Shinto-Buddhist girl in Texas, I learned to pray Baptist prayers to a white-haired American God. While I no longer believe in that version of a god, the practice of prayer and meditation, the art of the Q&A with the Universe has stayed with me.

Tonight as I cross the threshold into my first year in my fifties, I offer a nonverbal prayer-promise to the Universe that I might receive clarity, be an instrument of peace, healing, love, resilience, connection, and joy in my year to come.

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It’s been a dramatic couple of months. Thank you for waiting for the words to form. This period will likely be one I’ll come to recognize as a fork in the road, when I look back on my life.

I’m still figuring out the future of these letters to you as I go. For now, I’ll start with a letter each month. And when there’s something in between, I’ll reach out.

I love hearing from you. I’m behind in my replies to you, but I promise I will respond.

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