What a month! And yet, I really should post a closure to this month - Pinktober, and share a little. It's been 9 years since I began this blog, and while it definitely waxes and wanes, it continues to be a source of reflection and perspective for me, and as I've heard from those who read this, I touch souls every once and awhile.
And that's where I'm at these days - reflecting and wondering about my "impact" on the world. I am not a fan of stories that begin with "two people were walking down the beach one day" because ultimately it turns into the "Jesus was carrying me" poem that drives me crazy. However . . . there is the starfish story (One day two people were walking along a beach covered in starfish. One person started picking them up and throwing them back into the ocean, saying they didn't want the starfish to die. The other said this couldn't possibly make a difference to all that would remain stranded on the beach. The person, while picking up another, said, "Made a difference to that one."), and it has had an impact on me.
But I move too far ahead. In my pre-cancer life I was heavily involved in various communities. Music, arts, education, folklore and with participating, I became friends with so many many amazing people, invited to or hosted readings, parties, concerts, and being the introvert I am, I could be a gracious host or companion, and place the focus on the event, whether it was a conference presentation, a book reading, a gig, a meeting with the city council, or a church party.
Since cancer, and even more so since beginning work in the Palliative Care clinic, and subsequently leaving UVU, I've pulled in, and it seems that my world has gotten smaller. I focus more on one-on-one conversations, sitting with a patient or the caregiver (often in silence), and more often than not, my job is not celebratory, but rather hushed and solemn.
Sometimes this can be a lonely space. Sometimes it's great to be quiet.
My sister is involved in many events in her city; she's really putting herself "out there" and making a huge impact in several communities. She's making a difference; she's an innovator, a creator, an educator. And it's her season to do so. This week as she shared with me some communications, events, communities she's involved with, I wondered, to her, if I could ever get to a point where I could, again, make a difference.
And then she replied, "You truly make a difference; have done so for many years, and continue to do so. . . . I'm glad you recognize moments where you say you're too tired. Be tired and do nothing if that's all you can do or feel. it's okay."
With the complete devastation that comes with cancer, the lengthy recovery, and then all of life on top of this, healing - body, mind, soul, takes so much time. And then compound this with all of the events of "regular" life and family and job, and no wonder I am fried and left wondering if I will ever see me again.
So I've been forced to wait, and watch, and recover - not just from cancer, but from some very heart-breaking gut-wrenching soul-searching mentally and physically exhausting events of 2020 and 2021. And as I continue to heal, my energy is slowly returning, I am beginning to see a little more clearly, and feeling, just a little, like I may want to step out and participate, again.
In the meantime, I am content helping others heal, by being that healing presence, that comforter, someone who can acknowledge the pain and the journey, and just Being.
When I come home in the evening and report on my day, I have to remind myself that although I didn't change any policies, create any events, present any papers, entertain hundreds, I did make a difference to one.
Looking forward while staying in the moment.
