Tomorrow at 12:50 AM, I turn 54 years old. Many women do not want anyone to know their age. I remember turning forty and all the angst that led up to that day -such a waste of energy now looking back. By fifty, I had wised up a bit and celebrated my birthday by going skinny dipping with friends. But now things are even more clear. When you have survived cancer, there is a crack in the door of egocentrism that can squeak open to reveal a great deal of light — if you allow it in. I now celebrate my aging with gusto, even if that means a slowing metabolism, greying hair, hot flashes, and an ache here and there (and here and there and here and there!!!).
I am so profoundly thankful for every day of health, for the joy of spending time in the company of really good people, and for my adventures, of which there are many. I am glad that I am here on earth enjoying these things, even when I get tripped up by a modicum of anxiety and fear, probably on a daily basis.
A writing coach is assisting me with the immense task of authoring a book. As I stumble about trying to figure out what the focus should be, what to leave in and what to take out, she says, “Your account of your cancer treatment is too cheerful. I want to hear more about your pain, what you endured.” Continue reading