Giving Thanks

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

For the last several years, I’ve participated in what I call the “Thank a Day” movement during the month of November. You’ve probably seen it on social media. The idea is to post something you’re thankful for each day from November 1 through November 30. It can be as grand or as small, as vague or as specific as you want. The point is to remind us to embark on a daily search for something good.

Sometimes it’s a struggle to find something every single day. Especially these days, when the world seems to be going to hell in a handbasket full of molten lava. And last year pretty much sucked in countless ways for a hell of a lot of people. But I firmly believe there’s something to be thankful for every single day. Even if it’s just seeing a cute dog while you're out and about.

(Shout out to the magnificent German Shepherd I saw this morning, strutting his/her stuff like a king/queen.)

My “thankful fors” have ranged from the broad “I’m thankful for my family/friends/pets/job” or the “I’m thankful for my health/financial situation” to the oddly specific. I’m thankful for hot showers and strawberry shampoo. I’m thankful for the way the sun lit up the steam from my morning coffee. I am also thankful for the “undo’ button when I hit a wrong key and deleted this entry!

But there’s something I never, ever thought I would say I’m thankful for. And if you told me last year that I would feel this way today I probably would have kicked you in the shins.

I am thankful for my cancer diagnosis. Not for the cancer itself, but for the universe forcing me to reprioritize and put myself first. It gave me permission I didn’t even know I needed. Suddenly, everything took a backseat in my life except for my well being. I never used cancer as an excuse for being lazy (“I can’t do the dishes because I have cancer”), but it was a valid reason why some things needed to be set aside (“I can’t attend the Zoom meeting because it’s two days after chemo and I will be useless.”). Before cancer, if I were feeling under the weather or overwhelmed, I’d put my head down and force myself to do whatever I needed to get done. Any other way was simply not an option.

And I’ve kept that attitude, though I’m past the active treatment phase and am feeling back to what I’ve come to refer to as “the new normal.” I find my courage is greater. If I want to do something, I do it even if (sometimes especially if) it means doing it by myself. Now I schedule work around my life instead of the other way around. Before, I’d try to shoehorn all my doctor visits into that one day a week when I didn’t work until 1:00. Even if it meant waiting a couple extra weeks for the doc’s schedule to align with mine.

That’s terribly impractical when you have to schedule tests and chemo and radiation and follow-ups with various doctors. I still try to honor my work commitments, of course, but if I get a doctor’s appointment that doesn’t mesh with my work hours...I’m going with the doctor appointment.

(And I am beyond incredibly thankful to have a workplace culture that goes along with that choice.)

Cancer changed my entire viewpoint. “Someday” is now. I wasted my twenties. I spent my thirties caring for my mother. My forties? My forties are mine. I have a whole bucket list of things to get through. Let’s get going.

Change

Growing up, I had a list of things that I was never going to do as an adult. This wasn’t a whiny defeatist “I’m not able to…” list of grievances. It was a definite, matter-of-fact “this is how it’s gonna be” declaration. I suspect I was a very opinionated kid.

• I’m never gonna learn to drive.
• I’m never gonna get a tattoo. 
• I’m never gonna drink coffee.
• I’m never gonna date a guy who smokes.

<ahem>

• I drive to and from work on a daily basis.
• I have two tattoos and am contemplating a third.
• I’m drinking coffee as I write this.
• My boyfriend of nine years is an inveterate smoker.

I used to be able to eat a whole bowlful of cake and ice cream for breakfast the day after my birthday. This was a tradition my mother started by accident. “Janet, what do you want for breakfast?” “Cake and ice cream!” And she just went with it. Every single year on March 2nd, that's what I got to eat. This initially shocked my college roommates...but did not prevent them from enthusiastically joining in.

These days my after-birthday breakfast usually consists of a couple bites of cake and a mouthful or two of ice cream before moving on to something healthier. Anything more, and my stomach goes into full rebellion mode. It’d probably be better if I gave it up all together, but my sense of tradition still outweighs my desire for a happy tummy some days.

In college, my girls and I would get all dolled up and strut our stuff at the local bars. We’d hit the scene at about 10:00 and stay until the bars closed at 2:00 before going elsewhere for something to eat (seriously, burritos taste amazing at 2:30 in the morning). We’d go coatless in January, short skirts, mile-high heels, and some seriously NSFW tops. 

Now, I can’t remember the last time I wore make-up (thank you, masks). At 10:00 I’m getting ready for bed. Just thinking about being outside at night without a coat anytime between October and April gives me chills. And the only NSFW tops I have these days are my pajama tank tops. But I still like burritos. Some things will never change. 

Whether our childhood opinions fall by the wayside, we grow out of youthful indiscretions, or we start to slow down as we age, we need to accept that people change, for better or worse. And that’s a good thing. Because it’s when you stop changing that you need to worry.

I was originally going to end this post with a quote on how change is good, because it means you’re still alive and still learning. But then I found this one that, while it doesn’t exactly fit in with today’s theme, I like so much more.

"Man cannot discover new oceans unless he has the courage to lose sight of the shore.” - Andre Gide, French author & winner of the 1947 Nobel Prize in Literature.

Lapel...And, Yet

Kids have all sorts of favorite things. Favorite toy, favorite color, favorite animal, food, game, etc. I had all these (stuffed bunny, blue, cats, PB&Js, Candy Land), but I also had a favorite word. I have no idea where I first heard it, or how I glommed onto it. I’m pretty sure I didn’t know what it meant, until my mother pointed one out.

Everyone, my favorite word as a kid was...lapel.

I know, I know, so weird. But something about that word just fascinated me. I loved saying it. Luh-pelllllll. Sometimes I’d wiggle my eyebrows as I rolled those ells a little long. I remember my mother’s tan corduroy blazer that had lllluh-pellls. And I remember her telling me that’s what those funny flaps of cloth were called. My fondness for the word became a running joke that lasted well into my adult life. When I modelled my new coat for her a year or so before her death, she said “I llllike the luh-pellllls.” 

Over the years I’ve run across some other words that I think are pretty cool: 

• Lucubrate - to write or study, especially late at night
• Defenestrate - to throw out of a window, preferably a high one
• Exsanguinate - to drain of blood

Whenever my college friends annoyed me, I’d good-naturedly threaten to defenestrate them after I exsanguinated them. My roommate’s then-boyfriend was one of my favorite targets. His peak moment came when he turned to his roommate and said “I’m gonna exsenestrate and defenguanate you!” I laughed for days.

Sometimes even the smallest words have huge power. I forget the exact context, but a colleague said she didn’t like it when someone used the word “but” in a sentence. Such as “I’m sorry to bother you, but…” She felt that the “but” negated the apologetic tone. As if the speaker was “I’m sorry about interrupting you...I’m going to do so anyway.” 

She preferred the word “and.” “I’m sorry to interrupt you, and I have a question.” “Forgive me for intruding, and there’s someone here to see you.” I admit it feels a little awkward at first (at least it did to me), but the tone of those comments totally changes with that one little word. 

Another tiny little word is “yet.” “Yet” can be used to reframe how we think about almost everything. “I don’t speak Spanish” turns into “I don’t speak Spanish yet.” “I can’t play the guitar” becomes “I can’t play the guitar yet.” “I haven’t kissed Johnny Depp” is “I haven’t kissed Johnny Depp yet” (hey, I can dream, right?). I particularly love this concept because it makes pronouncements like this more optimistic and less dead-end. It reminds me that it’s still not too late to do whatever it is. 

SIDE NOTE: I am hugely entertained that spellcheck flagged “lucubrate” and suggested I use the word “explain” instead. Never!