Hearing those words, “It’s cancer” shattered everything I knew about myself.
Sometimes I feel like a glass vase that’s been thrown against a wall. I’m all these pieces of myself, and I can’t put them back together to make the same person. Gluing the pieces together to try and make the same shape seems impossible. I wouldn’t want that, anyway.
Instead, I’m trying to keep the pieces, but make a new shape that works. And fits. And feels right.
I used to run a therapy workshop called “Journey to the Self.” In it, I combined some of my favorite things: meditation, writing, and inner reflection. It amazed me that every session, despite having done this workshop several times and with the same exact exercises, I still discovered something new about my Self. But what I discovered was usually something overarching and abstract, not “small” and tangible. Not of the moment.
At 32, I feel like I should be thinking about other things right now. Like how to contribute to my 401k, finding a good school system for a one-day maybe child, doing my husband’s laundry, tending to our overgrown mess of a yard. But I don’t think about any of these things, ever.
Right now, I’m having fun discovering all the new little pieces about my Self that I didn’t see or value before. These simple bits feel so sweet and cozy right now. I’m reminded of the beginning of Amelie, when she sinks her hand in the barrel of dried beans. Those are the sweet moments I love and crave today. They are tangible, so present. They feel alive, and I like that.
The sweetness of this morning: devouring Cosmo at 7AM with coffee and a bubble bath, walking down an unfamiliar street in my neighborhood, saying hello to a man who doesn’t remember me but I know his name and that he owns the antique store down the road, writing on the porch and watching the fan gently blow the fern’s leaves.