A mid-summer Monday morning. After a weekend away, I’ve spent a couple of hours setting the house back to rights. Emptying jars and vases of their dead flowers, vacuuming up the scattered petals, watering plants and deadheading lilies, gathering laundry into a hamper and getting the first load going in the basement.
The kitchen is quiet. Beyond the windows, which are all cranked open to their fullest on this steamy day, cardinals and blue jays vie for turns at the feeder — unaware, for the moment anyway, of the blueberries ripening on bushes just a few feet away. As always, it’s a race between me and the birds to see who will get there first to harvest the small crop. (Usually, I lose. A watchful catbird is already hopping along the top of the chaise lounge in the yard, taking stock of the bounty.)
I must confess I’m feeling a bit unsure about what to write here after a few months of not writing at all. No excuses for the silence, other than that I’ve been busy elsewhere. To offer a full “report” would be impossible for me – and tedious for you. Yet, sitting quietly on my kitchen stool, I discover there are a few thoughts that have been waiting their moment to emerge after all. I can’t say everything that’s on my mind, but I can say this: I feel softened by the season, slowed down in my thinking but perhaps a bit more raw and open in my emotions. Life has been tender and lovely and bittersweet, suffused with beauty, laughter, and tears.
There have been no big revelations, but rather countless variations on this one small truth: joy and sadness are not opposites. In fact, they co-exist, all tangled up together in the same day, the same moment, the same unguarded heart. Knowing this, it’s become a little easier for me to trust that where I am is exactly where I’m meant to be: open to what life hands me, feeling my feelings (even the painful ones), sensing what needs to be done in any given moment, doing it, and moving on.
The view that greets my eyes when I look up from my writing — a panorama of delicate, blue-tinged clouds and hazy, shadowed mountains — is silent but insistent, drawing my attention away from the screen in front of me to the pulsing, irresistible world of living, breathing things.
So it has been for months now.
Given a choice between my computer keyboard and the weedy, burgeoning garden; between making a good meal for hungry loved ones or holing up alone with my thoughts; between taking a long walk with a friend or sitting at my desk crafting sentences, I’m pulled inexorably these days toward love and life and shared moments. The world beckons in all its intoxicating beauty. And I’m reminded with every passing shower, with every unfurling and fading daylily or blooming nasturtium, with every candle lit and extinguished, with every summer dinner prepared and eaten on the porch, with every golden sunset and every soundless moonrise, to be even more deeply present.
My friend Lisa, diagnosed just over a year ago with an inoperable brain tumor, has been having a good summer. After months of worsening symptoms last fall, she responded remarkably well over the winter to a drug that works for only a few. Her tumor stopped growing. There were no side effects. Most of her symptoms disappeared. It seemed miraculous: she danced at her son’s wedding, visited her mom in Florida, planted flowers in the spring, went to the beach with her husband, reorganized the guest room and created a photo collage in the hallway at her house.
Week by week, she even began to feel like herself again. Like herself, but different, for living with a terminal diagnosis changes everything. Illness demands a subtle but profound shift of attention. No longer able to race from one thing to the next, we have little choice but to slow down. Relieved of the constant pressure to produce and perfect and display our achievements, we are free to tune in to a different frequency. Knowing time is short, we begin to take heed, to appreciate the little things, which of course are not really little at all – a hug, sunshine after rain, a cup of good coffee, a poem read aloud, a hand to hold. We have a clearer sense of what really matters and a powerful yearning to more fully inhabit the moments we do have left. Instead of taking life for granted, we’re suddenly stunned by the simple, inexhaustible miracle of being. The great, gorgeous dance is ongoing. And yet now we know this one thing for sure: we ourselves are here but briefly — and only once.
“I’m never bored,” Lisa said one afternoon from her spot on the living room couch. “I could look out this window and watch the sky forever.” I think I understood what she meant. Paying attention leads to wonder. And wonder gives birth to reverence. When life itself hangs in the balance, even the familiar becomes precious, imbued with beauty.
Over the course of this last year, I’ve had the incredibly moving, humbling honor of being at my friend’s side through good days and hard ones. And so I’ve also been privileged to observe this deep, essential transformation as she adjusted to living in the present rather than for an imagined future. Bearing witness to her soul growth, seeing her gradually let go of resistance and open to a quiet faith in things as they are, I’ve sensed a kind of subtle, internal shift in myself as well. Thinking about mortality, confronting the truth of it, inspires here-and-now living. Why waste any more time and energy regretting past mistakes or fearing what’s around the corner?
I notice it’s become easier to let a lot of inconsequential stuff go. Things that once annoyed me are surprisingly easy to ignore; there are more important things to think about. Worries that used to keep me awake at night no longer do. I feel less need to control, a bit more willingness to trust that my own life, too, is unfolding according to a pattern that’s perfect — but that is also beyond my understanding or design. As my yoga-teacher friend Pam used to say at the beginning of class, “Things have already worked out.”
They have. They do. They will. Meanwhile, everything I need today, I have.
A while back, Lisa asked her doctor about the possibility of returning to work this fall. Gently, he reminded her that the drug that was working so well right then could offer her only temporary respite. It was a treatment, not a cure. “I think you should use this time,” he suggested, “to go home and do the things that make you happy.”
What an assignment.
I suspect I’m not the only one who would struggle with that. Don’t most of us spend too much time trying to figure out what we should be doing and how we should be feeling, rather than listening to and trusting our own inner compass? We live in a culture fueled by the notion that happiness is “out there” somewhere — something we need to earn or acquire rather than quietly cultivate from within. Happiness, we’re led to assume, depends on our accruing certain possessions, living in a particular place, advancing in a chosen career, landing in the right relationship, being recognized for our achievements and good deeds, piling up some savings, having a clean bill of health, and going somewhere nice for vacation. Just keep reaching for it, every advertisement churned out on Madison Avenue insists, and someday, just maybe, if you work hard enough and play your cards right, happiness will be yours.
Lisa’s task these days is a bit different. There is nothing to buy and nowhere to go. There’s no job advancement or fancy vacation in the offing. There’s no magic pill that will make her brain tumor go away, either. Yet I think it’s fair to say she has fully embraced the challenge the universe has sent her. Each day, she wakes up and finds joy in living.
Everyone who loves her wishes our friend’s prognosis could be otherwise. She is held in the hearts and in the daily prayers of many, and there is no denying the sadness and pain of this journey.
But pain can also an invitation to be present. And joy, as poet David Whyte suggests, is not only a “deep form of love,” it is also “the raw engagement with the passing seasonality of existence.” In allowing herself to be joyful — here, now, and in spite of everything — Lisa is giving all of us a tremendously powerful lesson in how to find meaning and purpose in today. What matters, she reminds us by her own quiet example, isn’t what happens, but how we choose to respond. We can let today unfold. We can feel today’s feelings, solve today’s problems, enjoy today’s gifts. We can laugh and scatter darkness. We can smile and make someone else’s day better. We can choose happiness over despair, joy in the moment over fear of the future, faith in what is rather than fantasy about what might have been. To live this way isn’t just courageous, it is profoundly, extraordinarily generous.
The sun is high in the sky. It’s hot outside. And suddenly my cell phone is ringing. “Hey, we’re going swimming at the pond,” Lisa says. “Do you want to meet us over there?”
“I do,” I say. “I’m on my way.”
Katrina:
Your writing moves me in a way I cannot describe. It makes my heart ache, my soul laugh and it cuts deep into me in so many ways.
I look forward to your posts.
Please continue to write that which I find so difficult to express.
All the best,
Amy
Oh, absolutely, yes. Reading this with tears streaming down my face because once again you’ve spoken with truer and more poetic words the contents of my own heart. Thank you for reminding me what life is about, as you do so often, far more often than I bet you realize. xox
“Joy can spring like a flower, even from the cliffs of despair” AML
I’ve been missing your writing, thank you for posting, and inspiring me.
Yes, once again your words capture a parallel life. I, too have been by a friend’s side this past year. As she passed in June, I am slowing in my busy summer to truly miss our chats, miss her input into life’s choices, miss her needing me. She chose Joy and that has been our lesson, too. Blessings to you and Lisa for this journey.
A poignant and beautiful read. Your friend has been in my thoughts and I have wondered how things have been going for her. Thanks for updating us on her journey. It sounds like she has a lot to teach us. She is lucky to have you by her side, offering an open hand.
Beautiful…..thank you for sharing and as a writer as well, I have not been writing that much this summer either with similar thoughts, I am so thankful you shared with us. XO
Thanks so much for sharing the friendship you have with your friend. It is again a reminder lesson in what really matters for all of us. Wishing you many more special moments with your friend…we have missed you this summer!
Thanks for your letter and your wonderful way of expressing thoughts that resonate with all of us! ‘Miss you here in La Cañada! Hugs❤️
Oh my dear, you are SUCH an amazing gift! Thank you. For using up some of your precious life to illuminate mine. For putting words to what’s happening in my heart. For sharing your beautiful soul. I stand in awe of and gratitude for the gift that you are. xo
“Paying attention leads to wonder. And wonder gives birth to reverence.”
Thank you for sharing these wondrous, reverent and reverential moments with us. More so, for being wholly present in every single one of them, for Lisa and all those whose lives are touched by hers, and yours.
Once again your thoughtful reflections inspire me. I’m putting aside my to-do list today in favor of sitting on the back porch with my dogs, reading a book, and listening to the birds sing. In short, I’m going to do the things that make me happy. Thank you for reminding me how important it is to do that while I can.
Thank YOU Katrina for sharing your amazing gift.
I’m thankful you shared with us and feel blessed.
Thank you for putting my thoughts into words. My year has been a difficult one indeed. My dear sister in law suffered miserably from throat cancer which finally took her life in June. At only 64 and other wise healthy as could be, cancer robbed her and my brother of a long awaited and much deserved retirement together. Your touching words reminded me of all the important things I learned during the painful year of suffering and grief . What a pity I needed to be reminded.
So many beautiful, important thoughts here. How lovely to have such a friend and to spend this time with her. As one who has always relied upon the wonder and sustaining comfort of simple things, in a life now very quiet, I look forward to those things still. They mark my days, keep me grounded, and when the inevitable busy escalates briefly, I cannot wait to get back to the simplicity I crave. Thank you for writing.
Thank you for your gift. I so look forward to reading your thoughts.
I’m so glad to see a new post. Your writing always makes me so much more peaceful. I can actually feel my mind, and my breathing slow down when I read your writing. Thank you for sharing.
Here by way of Lindsey, and I’m so glad I’ve found you. Thank you for sharing such a moving story that shows, in fact, how joy and sorrow can co-exist. In always reaching for the “big” happiness, we can so often miss the ongoing happiness that is right in front of us.
I had been missing your words and thoughts, Katrina, and was so glad to see you had a new entry. I love words, and you are extremely gifted with using them. You make me feel and think and consider so much. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
What a gift to you and your dear friend that you are available to bear witness to the joy of experiencing the wonder of the ordinary day. Along with that also comes the comfort and support during the pain of the moments of pain and struggles. You have long been a gift to all your readers as you always know the right words to teach us these valuable life lessons. Love and Blessings to you and your family and friends. Namaste
Once again you have blessed me with your words. As I read through the comments I noticed something very special. You have a way of bringing out the best in our people’s thoughts and writing. I don’t usually read or enjoy comments after reading an article or blog. But today was different and I feel like you bring like minded people together. I look forward as always to reading more from you.
Thank you so much for your beautiful words of inspiration. I have a friend who was recently diagnosed with Stage 4 lymphoma. I am forwarding your message to her because I know it will inspire her, too. I always looks forward to your blogs and feel the truth of your words deep within my being. You are a gift to the world.
Thank you for sharing this. My Lisa was called Molly and she, too, taught me so much about being in the moment, opening my heart to what is – painful and joyful – and being awake to all of the blessings in the world. Being close to someone who has a terminal illness is – or can be – life changing, and I always felt happier and more alive in Molly’s presence because of the simple, open, appreciative way she chose to spend her days. I am happy for you and your friend that you have this time together and that it is bringing you both so many very good things. May we all endeavor to live as Molly and Lisa have shown us. Thank you so much for this beautiful reminder.
I have missed you so….wish I could give back for all you give.
I missed you! So glad your friend is feeling better; I expected to read something sad due to your absence.
My husband, age 62 , has recently been diagnosed with a rare type of leukemia . He will have a bone marrow transplant at the end of aug . It takes so much courage to go through what we’re going through and your blog will help us each and every day – choosing happiness over despair . Thank-you so much !
I love hearing from you when you post on your blog. I feel like it is just for me! Thank you for sharing your precious words … I feel like our lives run parallel and whenever you write, it’s always what I need to hear. Thank you from the bottom of my heart … <3
“I think you should use this time,” he suggested, “to go home and do the things that make you happy.” Amen.
So glad to hear from you. Missed you.
I have been feeling sorry for myself the last two weeks as I have been unable to walk much because of a painful bone spur on my knee. I miss getting out and doing things.
I am determined to be more independent but it’s tough. I try to appreciate the small things that I can do. I was able to get out to visit with my brand-new great nephew for a few hours today. Tomorrow, a friend will pick me up to go to the funeral of my best friend’s father. Sometimes, I have to be bold and get out of my comfort zone by asking for help. It’s better than sitting here feeling sorry for that which I cannot do. There are so many wonderful things to participate in, sometime we just have to be willing to accept that assistance.
Katrina, so happy to find your writing in my inbox today. You always speak from the heart. Thank you for sharing.
… And joy, as poet David Whyte suggests, is not only a “deep form of love,” it is also “the raw engagement with the passing seasonality of existence.” …
I love your reflection on the way joy and grief are inseparable. Thank you so much for sharing your heart again here — you are so gifted at naming the feelings we’re all experiencing.
You not only have a gift for beautiful writing but also for standing by and offering invaluable support to your friend. Thank you for the reminder to appreciate the present, which can be so hard to do sometimes.
Thank you for this lovely heartfelt post. I recently shared a similar experience with a dear friend with a two year journey through many ups and downs of cancer. Sending blessings to your friend.
My sister has just finished a year of treatment for Stage 4 vaginal cancer and now has “no evidence of disease,” although she does have after-effects from the treatment. Just as she finished treatment, my sister-in-law was diagnosed with Stage 3 pancreatic cancer and has been told that it is terminal. She has chosen to discontinue the chemotherapy that was making her so ill. This beautiful post helps me live with the joy and sorrow that is so much in my life right now. Thank you.
Katrina, I have missed your writing this summer and even double-checked your blog last week to make sure nothing had slipped past me! I have also kept your friend in my thoughts – what joyful news that she is enjoying the summer. Thank YOU for sharing your musings on life and its beautiful, messy tangles. I am always happy to see you in my inbox.
Missed your gloriously simple words that resonate with my longings…Namaste.
So glad you’re back!! Your words are inspiring, reflective, comforting. Hope you are well.
I wish I had something great to add to the comments here, but I don’t. Yet this post moved me to tears (amid joy) and I had to let you know. Seeing a post from you show up in my reader is always a treat. This one was a meal. Thank you, Katrina. and prayers for you and your friend.
Thank you for the reminder that wonder and reverence are born in the stillness of the present. In a few weeks, my youngest leaves our house for his own adventures, and I felt a little foolish, taking so many moments this summer to just allow his presence to wash over me. Not a lot of activity or conversation, just a lot of sitting quietly together, with me soaking up those mobile details of cheekbone and forehead, big blocky hands– and oh, the mourning for the small dimply ones–but then back to now, because now is what we have and it is to be savored.
Your writing brought tears to my eyes, opened my heart just a little wider. Thank you.
I have been diagnosed with 2 different types of cancer in the past 2 years, Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia, and Bladder cancer. At this present moment, I have beat the bladder cancer and in so many ways I cannot believe how fortunate I am.
I have started meditating every day, practice yoga at least 4 times a week, then realized I am in a state of running the remainder of the time, trying to prove to myself and others that I am fine. You have reminded me in your beautiful, gentle way, to stop and smell the roses, both literally and figureatively. Bless you Katrina. Lisa is a very fortunate woman. I pray for her wellbeing and total contentment.
You and Lisa had just been in my thoughts recently as I imagined you were drawn in to your life if you were not writing. . . Thank you for your writing as always, as many have expressed, you write so beautifully and tenderly from the heart. I am glad you allowed yourself to be drawn away from the computer. . . and so happy you had a little space to write as well. Grateful for your support of contemplative reflections in my own life as I eagerly read yours. . .
Every single word of this post feels familiar, but the words: ‘Don’t most of us spend too much time trying to figure out what we should be doing and how we should be feeling, rather than listening to and trusting our own inner compass?’ hit me hard. How many times does my mind wander to what may never be, worry about what could or could not happen, try to predict the inevitable uncertainty of my future and the future of my young daughters. In moments of clarity I know that there is nothing to protect other than this very moment, there is nothing to offer other than the intensity of my presence right now… life is so fragile, for those with illnesses like Lisa, but also for us all… one day we are here, the next we have vanished… physically, emotionally… for too many it is one in the same. Shouldn’t we all take up the same assignment as prescribed to Lisa and wouldn’t this assignment be so much easier to complete if we transformed it from going home and doing the things that make us happy to going home and doing the things that will make someone else’s life happier? ‘To live this way isn’t just courageous, it is profoundly, extraordinarily generous… to the outside world and most of all, to ourselves. Thank you Katrina for demonstrating to us that love and happiness and life is to be cultivated from within, however, it can only manifest true significance once spread and set free. with love and respect, Danni http://www.freefamilyontheroad.wordpress.com
So beautiful – I have missed your thoughts and writing these past couple of months but I am glad to know that you are taking the time to live and love your life for all that it is! Enjoy!
Katrina, I am so glad you are back. I have missed your beautiful words that touch me deeply every time I read them. I, too, have been thinking about your friend Lisa. And what a wonderful and compassionate friend you are. You and Lisa are teaching each other about how to live to the fullest. That is what a terrific friendship does in life. We are all here to teach and assist in each of our journeys. Your writings are so timely to teach and remind me of how I want to live my life. I need that wake-up to what is important. I am trying so hard to appreciate the simple things and to live in the moment. I am making a point to live more mindfully in everything I do. Your piece spoke it all so well. Life is crazy, hectic and so materialistic! We need to help and support each other to be happy right now!!! So thank you for a lovely lovely piece that touched my heart and soul!!! You are an inspiration!!
I am so grateful too for your words. I have been trying so hard to be present as I care for my husband with early onset dementia and a movement disorder. I so identified with the little girl in Inside Out, the new Pixar movie, when she just had to say,” I am sad.” My daughter and I noticed that the emotion-“Joy,” had blue hair like her counterpart, “Sadness”. It does take a sadness in your life to know and really experience joy. My friends and their care of me and my husband give me joy in this difficulty. I know that Lisa feels the same way about you and all her friends. You are a blessing to her and us, your readers. (-:
I’m new to your writing and your blog. Thank you for this. It was a gift that I very much needed.
Katrina, your reflections are beautiful. Thank you for sharing your most inner thoughts with us. Reading the comments on this page shows me how many people, including myself, with whom your thoughts resonate with. Blessings & prayers!
I am writing to you with much gratitude. Your thoughts touched my heart today.
Russ is waiting for a stem cell transplant and even as we keep our hopes and spirits up,
we continue to experience set backs. We do our best to stay mindful of the beauty of each day. Thank you for confirming the importance of this way of greeting each day.
My best to you and your family.
So good to hear from you, your words help me more than you will ever know!!!!!
Blessings to you and Lisa
I read this poem by Mary Oliver and your post on the same day.
We shake with joy, we shake with grief.
What a time they have these tow
housed as they are in the same body.
Your words touched a raw spot in my heart, so I will keep them close and refer back to them often.
It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been quiet in this space, I always love to read whatever you have to say when you come back. Lifting prayers for Lisa and a wish for a continued soft summer to you.
If we had a phone conversation , it would be filled with not the actions or duties of daily living but our response and insight related to them. Joy and sadness co-exist, we must find beauty in now. Thank you always for your thoughts, words, and staying connected and present to all that really matters.
Glad you are back Katrina, I missed you
I had to wait a few days to read this because I wanted to have time and quiet to appreciate the beautiful way you speak to our human hearts. I am doing a meditation class with Jack Kornfield and Tara Brach and have been made painfully aware of the ways I shove feelings away. The flip side is that when we are present to the storms, we also are present to the inevitable joy on the other side. As always I marvel at how you are able to capture all of this in a few paragraphs. Thank you for this.
So many beautiful reminders of living life today, and that we always have choices. Thank you for sharing. And healing thoughts to your friend.
Your words that happiness is to be found somewhere “out there” in doing, accruing, proving we are doing something worthy of happiness hit home. We moved this month and my “Family Life” column of five years for my local paper ended with the move. I am now a stay at home mom of 3, ages 10-14, in the middle of summer with no structure or built Community to add shape to our new life. The days stretch before me empty and I feel Myself searching for something to give meaning and purpose beyond caring for home and family. I keep reminding myself that for now it is enough and what is needed. I have everything I need today
Ms. Katrina, my family and I have had a summer much like yours. I cherished fleeting moments with a precious life-long friend until the time came all too quickly to say goodbye. Within the blink of an eye, we had to say goodbye to four additional beloved friends and family members, within just days of each other. I’ve been on an emotional roller coaster of late and am ready to get off for a bit and take a rest. Please know you and your friend, Lisa, are in my thoughts and prayers. Cherish EVERY moment! They pass by all too quickly.
Thank you so much for reminding me to live in the present moment. All to often I am worrying about the tomorrow’s and rob myself of the today’s! My prayers and thoughts are with your friend Lisa and realize that we can all learn from one another. To be told ” to go home and do what makes you happy” made me think, “what does make me happy?” Some food for thought for today:-) I am happy that I get to read your writings, that is for sure:-)