Letting Go

 

    12-31-20. We made it, y'all. The year from hell has finally come to an end. Do I expect to wake up tomorrow morning and everything return to normal? Absolutely not. But, if I've learned anything in the last 12 months, it's that there is always sunshine after the rain and the universe does a really good job of correcting itself.

    Today has been difficult. The side effects from my oral chemo are so inconsistent and unpredictable. I can feel great one day, and then literally not move from my bed the next. Or I'll be ravenous one afternoon, then not feel like eating for two days. This has been so maddening because in my head I should be back to normal. Why I think this, I do not know. Even though I'm not hooked up to a machine pumping liquid chemotherapy into my body, I have to do a better job of reminding myself that my body is still processing serious medication. I'm not popping six Tylenol every day... I'm ingesting six pills of chemo to kill off any rogue cells that are floating around in my body. But still, for someone who wakes up every morning with a to-do list in her mind (come on guys...I spent yesterday working on my own planner to fit all of my random needs), it is beyond frustrating to be incapable of checking off items.

    At the end of every year, I think of a word that I want to guide me through the upcoming year. That word came to me on Tuesday night as I was sitting by myself on the beach at night under the light of a full moon. It was such a God experience. He made Himself even more known when "Send Me The Moon" by Sara Bareilles came on my phone at random. I adore her as a singer, but had never heard this particular song before. I am unsure of its exact meaning, but I'm choosing to view it almost as a hymn. It was so fitting for the moment. The waves gently disappeared into the sand, and the moonlight was so bright I was easily able to see off in any direction. I was quietly praying aloud to God thanking him for all the lessons of 2020 and asking for guidance in the upcoming year. Suddenly I found myself saying, "And please help me learn to let go..." when I trailed off with my words. 

    Let go.

    That was it. My phrase for 2021.

    Let go of expectations.

    Let go of preconceived notions.

    Let go of excuses.

    Let go of others' moods affecting my own.

    Let go of comparison.

    Let go of the crippling fear that my disease comes back.

    Let go of the emotional trauma I've experienced since November 2019. 

    This is going to be challenging for me since I, admittedly, enjoy a certain level of control in my life. Although typing that makes me giggle. I had no control in 2020 and still survived. Regardless, unlearning my tendency to build up expectations for others and experiences will surely bring me more joy. 

    I am aware I cannot expect a total overhaul immediately on January 1. I will fail. I will fall into old thinking. I will get lazy. However, in previous times I would just throw in the towel and revert back to my old habits. This year will be different though. I've TRULY learned that nothing is guaranteed and life is not meant to be a passive experience. There have definitely been moments where I've envisioned myself on my death bed and question whether or not I've lived a fulfilled life. I've not. Nowhere close. I've accomplished a lot, yes. But most of those things weren't accomplished out of pure joy. Control brings out the negative parts of my personality which, unfortunately, typically dominate me. Joy brings out the parts of me that I've buried for too long.  

    2021 is going to give me the opportunity to start living life looking through the windshield instead of the rearview mirror (especially after January 30 when I finish my last dose of chemo!). I know I still have a ton of emotional baggage from my treatment that I've never taken the time to unpack, but I will get to that at a time that feels right. It's not that I harbor ill feelings, it's just that I've been in such a "nose to the grindstone" mindset where every day felt like war. When you're in survival mode, the moments creep on but also fly by simultaneously; there is no opportunity to begin processing what is happening because you're just attempting to keep your head above water. 

    Peace out, 2020. You will not be missed, but I also thank you for the many many lessons you taught me each day. The best gifts are not always wrapped up in pretty paper with big bows. But then again, it's not what's on the outside that counts. 

    Blessings to all of you in 2021!