Creating a New Vision for My Future

Birth, death, and rebirth

What a ride these past few years. There was one moment in particular. I had already been diagnosed with a tumor in my left breast and now Mayo was putting me under more intensive diagnostics. Rut roh. I had just received a contrast mammogram and the techs were doing their poker face “nothing to see here.” But I knew the way they scrutinized it that something was up. Sure shooting.

We just want to take a closer look with an ultrasound, the tech says. Oh, bloody hell. I know this language. It’s the same gobbly gook as when they say “this may be a little uncomfortable.” The tech informed me, they would be doing an additional ultrasound on the other breast. This was after a contrast mammogram.

So I gathered up the dreadful pink gown around me and headed to a new glowy room. I tried to pretend I was on the Enterprise zipping around the universe. I hoped onto the table. And the dread only grew. She was spending faaaaar too much time scrutinizing one area in particular. Click, click, click went the mouse. It was like a photoshoot of terror.

Okay, the doc will be in in just a moment, she says.

Pretend you are Ten Forward and Guinan is going to appear with an exotic beverage.

Pretty sure Ten Forward didn’t have an ultrasound and table though so my mind’s attempt to distract fell flat.

I was glad I didn’t have to wait long.

The doctor emerged. And there’s that damn poker face again. Oh shit. Now, he’s giving me the compassionate face now.

He places a hand on my arm. There are three more tumors in your right breast, he tells me. We will need to biopsy those.

I tried to keep my shit together but I was quickly losing ground. But there’s a good chance, they’re nothing right? I mean, c’mon, the majority of biopsies are benign, right? RIGHT?!

And that’s when he told me,

This is just a bump in the road. One day you will look back and realize this. You will be fine.

The fear in me wanted to shout, liar, liar, pants on fire! But there was another part that leaped at the hope in those words.

It was like a splash of water on a thirsty soul.

A bump in the road. I would use this as a mantra over the following year of treatment.

My spiritual formation helped me see it in a broader context. Birth, death, rebirth. Repeat. It’s evident in every facet of life.

A cancer diagnosis forces you to look at your mortality and I was no exception. I’ll call it the Big Death. Lights out. Face down, no bubbles. Dirt bath. She’s dead, Jim.

Then there are the Little Deaths. The are part of life’s endless waterwheel turning and turning. Inflow and outflow.

The loss of a dream. Divorce. Grief over the road not taken. Financial despair. Or the loss of my breasts.

It’s been over two years now and the doctor’s words continue to echo in my heart. He was absolutely right. It WAS a bump in the road. I am still here, very much alive and cancer free.

The task at hand now is stepping more fully into the present moment. It is time to embrace the extension of life I was given.

Smacked down but here I am, popping back up, like a child’s inflatable. On some days, it’s more like crawling up. And there are still other days when I just say fuck it. That would be the part when I would reach for a bottle of merlot. (Don’t miss my wine habit, not even one little bit.)

I’m in this new place now. My soul asks, “Now what?”

What is the new vision for my future… for now? It feels nice to shift to these questions. Oh sure, the dark ruminations and fear still come when my guard is down.

The late poet Mary Oliver puts it more beautifully. Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?

The question “What do I want to DO?” it is undergirded by a deeper question. How do I want to LIVE?

With constant fear and anxiety? Or with deeper peace and love? To reengage with life at a frenetic pace while realizing there’s more sand in the bottom of my hour glass than is at the top so I’d better be quick about it? Or to release expectations, be accepting of what is, not live as a victim continually mourning the what was.

Do I climb to a mountain top, attend a chakra alignment workshop, and maybe, eh, I dunno, grow dreadlocks and become an eclectic philosopher? If I want to embrace my Christian roots — perhaps go on a pilgrimage to the Mull Monestery, off the coast of Scotland? (Oooooooh, that does sound wonderful.)

It is fun to dream but I am still too much of a pragmatist to linger there too long and take action. I still have bills to pay, after all.

But I’m looking at ideas with a different energy now. Having my ADHD properly medicated is also hugely helpful in actually COMPLETING projects instead of abandoning them for the next shiny object.

The pace with which I am doing things is slower as well. My track record has been to stir a big vision, work like mad… and then get overwhelmed and quit.

Now, I’m looking at my goals with a baby step mentality. It wars with my GIT ER DOWN drive. In all honesty, that drive feels much better when harnessed with self-compassion and its certainly more sustainable.

My goals at present are simple. Write, write, and write some more. I want to use my experiences and voice to help others as I have been helped.

I will continue to write here on Medium mainly focused on recovery from infidelity, divorce, and forgiveness. And then over at Substack, where I write a weekly newsletter called Uncluttering ADHD. I am especially excited about this as this has clearing all manner of clutter has long been a passion of mine.

My big audacious hope is that I can create a steady income, given the economic vulnerably I face. But even still, I want my driving motive to flow from a heart to help others.

My shingle is out as well for life coaching and spiritual direction.

Music has become a healing tool for me. Over the years, I’ve played keyboard or guitar in a church setting. But my abilities have been plateaued for many years. Wanna play a three-chord wanker in the key of G for Jesus? Sure. I can jump in. Want it in Bb? No problem.

But I wanted more. I commit to at least an hour of practice most days. Guitar scales. Debussy, a little Billy Joel on the piano, or whatever tickles my ears. Sometimes I feel frustrated because a 60-year-old brain doesn’t learn as quickly as a 20-year-old brain. But I remind myself, this is okay. It’s good for my brain and my soul.

I won’t be in any concert halls but toy with the idea of doing an open mic in a coffee shop eventually.

I’m saving the best for last as I ponder my new vision for the future.

His name is Tom. We are old high school friends and reconnected via the internet. I wasn’t looking for anyone. Nor was he after his 28-year marriage ended several years ago. But yet here we are.

We both bear the scars and bruises of life, but who doesn’t by the time you hit the late 50s?

We enjoy deep talks, 12-year-old humor, ore freighters, nature walks and music, music, music. (He is an accomplished professional musician. His main instrument is guitar but he can play, to quote him, “What do you need me to play?”)

Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning, says the Psalmist.

And the cycle continues. Weeping/joy, death/rebirth, old vision/new vision.

If you are experiencing a dark night of the soul, take heart. The darkness isn’t there forever, even though your emotions may be screaming, BULLSHIT! Things will never improve!

But it will. The light at the end of the tunnel is just waiting for you. (And it’s not a gorilla holding a flashlight.)

What about you? Do you have your own Phoenix story rising from the ashes? What sort of new dreams are you considering as you enter your fifties and above?

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