Room to Merge

Last week I had my first rush hour driving experience in many many months,  and in my new found "calm" I found myself observing a behavior I've witnessed many times before with a new found philosophical tilt.

Have you ever noticed how cars coming down an on-ramp to the highway will line up, almost bumper to bumper, as they attempt to merge with vehicles already on the road?  It's crazy to think that you'll be able to smoothly merge with moving traffic if you've failed to leave room for anyone else to take the place in front of you.  It's just counter-intuitive.  Then there's those yield signs - yield means to "give way", but on we go, bumper to bumper, only giving way at the last moment.  Heaven forbid someone
gets in front of us.

And that made me think:  life is like rush hour - we need to make room to merge and yield, otherwise we crash.

Right now I'm on that on-ramp from one road, my life before cancer, to the next, my life going forward; and I know it's going to be important to yield and merge.  I know if I don't leave room, some space in my life and in each day, to practice new behaviors, that merging into my new life will be difficult. And chances are, if I continue to drive bumper to bumper through my life, leaving no room for change, or dodging in and out of new behaviors, I will crash and burn.  But it takes time to create new habits and being in a state of "construction" may require a few detours now and then; like my recent surgery which put my exercise routine on temporary hiatus.  And, I know there will be bumps in the road, some "overheating" and possibly a few "breakdowns" along the way - the new hormone therapy brings a lot of new adventures.  But detours don't mean I end the journey or turn around and go back where I started.  Focusing on the destination, a new healthier life, enables me to keep moving in a positive direction.    

Merging into my new and improved, and heavily reconstructed life is going to take some time, and I'm thankful each day for all the people that are allowing me that room to merge.

Then there's yielding
Giving way.  Letting go.  

For me, this comes in the form of relinquishing control in some aspects of my life.  Or, more accurately stated, accepting the fact that I never really had the control in the first place.

"Control" is like a rainbow, but not as pretty.  We think we can see it,  but it always alludes us. Cancer taught me that, no matter what you do, there are just some things you can't control.  So we leave the rainbows to God; we yield, we let someone else take the lead, and we give way for change.  

And change leads to letting go.

In 6 short weeks my daughter will leave for college.  And as proud of her as I am, and excited for this new adventure for her as I am, I know it will be hard to see her go.

This year has taught us both so much, and if you had asked me last summer how I felt about her leaving for college this fall, I would have told you I was freaking out, terrified at how much I was going to miss her and worried about how she would handle so much change.

This last 8 months changed all that.  Cancer reminded me:
“If ever there is tomorrow when we're not together.. there is something you must always remember. you are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. but the most important thing is, even if we're apart.. i'll always be with you.”  
Christopher Robin was one smart kid.

So, while I know I will miss her, I also know that living apart is not the same as living without her; and letting go and allowing her to grow, is different than letting her go - because she'll always be with me, and I will always be with her.  

Merging and yielding...making way for the new, letting go and allowing change to happen.  Sometimes we are our own biggest roadblocks.  But all it takes to clear a jam is a little room to merge.

the road less traveled

At Cathedral of the Pines camp there is a spot high up on the hillside overlooking the lake and the camp; they call it 'Solitude' - a very befitting name for this very beautiful spot.  Taking a hike to Solitude is no small undertaking.  For awhile the trail is flat, you can walk along the dirt road and paths with no difficulty, but soon the path begins upward and the way becomes less trodden as you duck under branches and step over roots and fallen trees.  For the inexperienced hiker, the walk is challenging but doable; and the reward for the effort is beyond word.

There are many beautiful spots throughout the camp and the surrounding areas that don't require hiking shoes and can be seen with little effort, but hikers that set Solitude as their goal are guaranteed a reward.  

At times I wonder who found Solitude, and what made them seek out this new destination.    Were they headed for some other destination?  Were they wandering, with no specific destination in mind?  Or were they looking for solitude when they found Solitude?

Chances are, at some point, they made a decision to go off the beaten path and take on a more challenging trail.  They must have hoped they would find something new, something worthy of extra effort, worthy of the risk.   People rarely take the beaten path expecting to find something new and beautiful, the most they hope for is to reach their destination with as little effort and risk as possible.  

I've thought a lot about the journey that I've been on lately.  Like the walk to Solitude, it was challenging, but doable.   When I started on this journey, I had a specific destination in mind and I hoped to take the beaten path.  But sometimes we don't get a choice in the road that we take.  So instead, I took the road less traveled, and as Robert Frost wrote, "that has made all the difference".   

Had the road been easy, I may not have been motivated to change.  Had the road been customary and uneventful, I may not have learned the importance of giving up control and asking for help.  Had the road been short, I may not have had time to realize just how strong and capable my daughter is, and neither might she.  Had the road been other than what it was, I would not be other than what I was.

I started out with "life without cancer" as my destination, but I got something more important:

I got Life.

Today, I am cancer-free.  Tomorrow I may not be.  But I'll be here and I'll be a living testament to the road less traveled.  Living is what it is all about. 

Living for my daughter.

Living for my dreams and my goals.

Living for my friends and my family and my faith.  

Living to learn.

Living to love.

Living.

And on that road less traveled, I found a peace which comes from solitude.