Rookie soul

“In the Buddhist tradition, wisdom is a powerful embodied insight into the nature of impermanence (which frees us from mindless craving), suffering (which frees us from callousness and indifference) and egolessness or emptiness (which frees us from isolation and disconnection). Wisdom isn’t something we know abstractly; it is a transformative understanding that changes how we live.” - Sharon Salzberg

Pre-haircut, wearing my new "Bye Felicia"
bar necklace from Claire

On the lower right-hand side of by back I have what some people might affectionately call a tramp stamp. It's a tattoo of a Celtic knot representing wisdom. (At least, that's what the necklace on which I based the tattoo said...) At 24 years old, when I chose this permanent mark for my body, aspiring to being wise seemed like a life goal I could carry around for the duration.

Even so, I've never felt wise beyond my years. I like the idea of being an "old soul," or someone who is more mature than she is long of this world. But, in reality, I'm more of a rookie soul. Acquiring wisdom is a process for me - not a given.

I feel things intensely, and I learn through experiencing my emotions. Every heartbreak in life has shattered me profoundly, forcing me to reassemble myself in different ways. Collapsing friendships ate at my insides, no matter how inevitably distance or growth led to the decline. Words tossed at me in elementary school, high school, and even in performance evaluations are etched into my self-awareness. I carry around some heavy baggage because I'm always learning and never know when I might need something familiar to help me make meaning of myself.

So. This is totally my first time around the world, and most everything I experience feels fresh and new. For as much as I want to have life mastered, I'm Luke Skywalker in The Empire Strikes Back. I've had good teachers, my own versions of Yoda or Obi-Wan Kenobi, to shepherd me. But, the Force is a stubborn unwieldy weapon for me, and I'll probably spend the next four movies proving that I still don't have it figured out.

My Miranda angel - a beautiful stained glass piece
made for me by Ran's mom, Linda Giossi 

Anyway, cancer is kind of like the Force. I think I've about controlled this disease, and then BAM! My hair starts falling out (In fistfuls, people. Huge handfuls of hair for days), or I accidentally neglect to take the steroids that keep me alert in the days post-chemo. I climb through a tunnel to find another tunnel follows. None of this is to say that I cannot handle the endless amateur mistakes or be resilient in the face of repeated challenges - it merely is my way of being in the world.

This past week has come with a few gut-punches that are pushing me toward growth. Miranda's parents, Linda and David, came to visit earlier this week - a wonderful gift. Yet, the pain of losing such a vibrant 30-year-old soul to a cancerous glioblastoma brain tumor flooded me again, even as I battled my own fatigue and nausea. Miranda is always with us in heart and spirit, but mortality sucks. How can I possibly compare my own breast cancer - easily one of today's most well-researched, treatable, and high profile cancers - to what Ran and others like her experienced in their brains? Remembering Miranda's life really does kick me to keep fighting for my own. Linda gave me an amazing stained glass angel and reminded me that I'm going to be okay. Miranda's here with me, and she won't let me quit.

Comforting, thoughtful gifts to help me heal
from Graziella and Keith

The week's emotional turbulence continued, and last night we chopped off my remaining hair and gave me a buzz cut. I could not wake up one more day to a cloud of silky strands affixed to my pillow rather than my scalp, or endure the agony of running a brush through my locks only to discover it claimed more of my hair than not. But first, we went to get Mexican food to celebrate arriving at this stage in my treatment (those who know me well realize that only fajitas could prepare me for what was to come). The hair removal was an intimate experience - just my mom, dad, Sean, and me - although we recorded the shenanigans for my sisters and nephews to watch later. The scene was funny and poignant. Honestly, I was surprised I didn't cry. I felt things, and I felt nothing at once. I went to bed with an itchy scalp and a surreal sense of a new reality. As I dozed off, I could hear again my dad saying that I have a pretty face. I remembered my mom kissing me and repeating that she loved my head. Sean told me over and over that he's proud of me for being his tough girl.

Cancer is going to teach me lessons. I'm just the sort of rookie at life who will absorb the teachings and try to integrate them into my self-understanding. Sometimes it might be to slow down and practice boredom. Other moments, I'm prodded to reflect and let the tears fall. Every day, cancer is reminding me I'm loved and encouraged by many people. I may be a neophyte in this ring, but I'm not without champions. When I feel alone in this fight, a hand reaches out to me - from a friend, a kind stranger, a colleague, my family.

And, sometimes, it's my angel. We got this, she says. One fledgling step at a time.