The closer you look

Today is one of those glorious days that starts out as a blank white canvas waiting to become a masterpiece. Just hope I don't mess it up.

The trepidation creeping into my outlook is a familiar fear that has my mother's voice echoing in my mind's ear. "The closer you look, the more you see to do." In Mom's recounting of that mantra many times while I was growing up, it usually had to do with cleaning the house. She'd start on one chore and it would spawn three more. I encounter this axiom with multiple applications, not just cleaning.

This might be a good day to start downloading some computer files onto a new portable hard drive I picked up this week in preparation for eventually getting a new computer. But can I just start downloading files without reorganizing them? Or maybe I should explore the Memorial Day sales to shop for good deals on a new computer right now. And what about all those other great sales I know I will see if I head to the store?

Then there are the extra Lazy Susan turntables I have left over after picking up several for new cabinets in the kitchen. If I try to put one in the pantry, I will be tempted to clean out and reorganize all the shelves. Using one upstairs in the bathroom vanity poses the same challenge of turning into a much bigger job.

Outside tasks also beckon. The tomato plants in the garden need to be staked. But playing in the dirt in one corner of the yard could lead to an all-day affair. I know I will look around and see the flower beds need to be edged, and spent blooms need to be dead-headed. And while I'm at it, wouldn't it be fun to run over to my daughter's house and play in her flower beds, too?

Maybe if I don't put my contacts in today, I can limit my vision so I don't see so much to do.

Seeing pink

I will always remember the first Race for the Cure I participated in as a breast cancer survivor. It was still a fairly new and unknown event in Columbus as a group of us from work gathered at the start of the course. One of my coworkers looked from the white T-shirt she was wearing to the pretty pink hue of my shirt and commented innocently, "Oh, I want a pink shirt!"

Another survivor and I, who were acutely aware of the significance of our pink shirts, immediately started laughing. Oh no, you don't, we assured our friend.

It was understandable in 1997 that someone participating in the race for the first time might not realize the pink shirts were reserved for those who had faced breast cancer. But for those of us wearing survivor shirts, being able to quickly identify our brethren was amazingly powerful. We wore them proudly, and we walked or ran to keep others from having to join our ranks. We caught each other's eye and smiled in understanding, our own dreams for continued survival buoyed by each pink shirt we encountered.

Columbus' Race for the Cure has grown to one of the largest, with last weekend's 2010 race attracting an amazing 52,000 participants. Such popularity should bring great appreciation and deference for the significance of the pink shirts. I was dismayed, though, to quickly see we survivors had lost our status.

Pink shirts were everywhere, but not just the official survivors' brand. Some matching pink shirts were worn by small groups of people walking in memory or in honor of a loved one. Pink has become so synonymous with the fight against breast cancer, some just wore it as a way to show support for the cause. But no matter how well-meaning, the masqueraders robbed me of the simple joy of being able to reach across the throngs and connect with strangers who shared a profound bond.

I sent a note this week to the director of the Columbus race, congratulating her team for their success and encouraging them to restore the pink shirts to their rightful status for survivors-only in future races. They try to get that message out, she said, but it is not always received.

Looks like I have a new challenge to help tackle for the 2011 race. Let me know if you have good ideas for helping to Preserve the Pink!

Tea time

There's something about hot tea that is so different from its caffeinated cousin, coffee.

Coffee equates with the morning rush. Get up, gulp some coffee, get going. No time to dawdle. Time to move out and tackle the day ahead. If coffee beckons again later in the day, it is likely because of a perceived need for a wake-up boost.

Tea, for me, is all about taking a breather and slowing down. Weekend afternoons have become a favorite tea time for me. It's hard not to sit down and relax a minute with a cup of hot tea at hand.

It could have something to do with how I take my tea. With coffee, I add creamer and a bit of skim milk. They are as much to cool the coffee so I can drink it faster as they are to alter the flavor. A bit of honey or organic blue agave sweetener is all I add to my tea. I have to slow down and wait a minute to drink it -- first for the tea to steep in the hot water and then for the fragrant beverage to cool enough to sip.

Lately, I have started drinking tea at the office -- sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the afternoon. Maybe it's a subconscious message to myself that I need to slow down a bit at work, too.

Whatever you do

My children know how to complete the phrase that I started with the title to this post. I learned it from my mother and passed it along to Mandy and Ben. I hope they do the same. The entire saying goes like this: "Whatever you do, do with all your might. Things half done are never done right."

It has been great guidance for my life, but it struck me last weekend that sometimes it is OK to go halfway. Sometimes halfway is far enough to give you a good look at something, to tell you it would be better to stop right there and regroup.

Mandy and I were walking a half-marathon when we agreed doing half of the half would be enough. (I like the irony of it -- the notion of doing a half-marathon was already sending a message that occasionally half can be the whole.) The rain was insistent as we approached the six-mile mark and a point in the 13.1 mile route that was close to the finish line.

We knew we could finish; we had done it in October, but we also knew we hadn't trained as we should have, and we both had busy days ahead of us. We took the shortcut over to the finish line to wait for Andy to cross, knowing he could run the full 13 miles in little more than the time it took us to walk half the distance.

Not finishing was the right decision this time, but not being able to cross the finish line ourselves helped to rededicate us to preparing for the next time. Mandy has dug out the training schedule we used a couple of years ago. It will be fun to follow it again with a slight modification: this time we'll be taking along the baby in his jogging stroller!

Redirecting

As I signed into my blog this morning, an interesting milestone caught my eye. I have made 200 posts to this blog since I created it in October 2008 to chronicle my journey from Cancer 2.0 to good health.

When I started, this exercise was much-needed therapy for my psyche. The most important accomplishment of some days was to identify the beauty and grace of my experience and capture it for deeper reflection. Looking inward helped me to know many good things were happening even as I faced bleak prospects of difficult medical treatment and uncertain outcomes. And sometimes I tickled my own funny bone just to amuse myself. I didn't know my blog would also be good medicine for some of my readers, but that aided my healing, too.

Post number 201 seems like a good time to declare a new direction for this blog. I will still focus on striving for health but in a much broader sense. Surviving cancer is a small blip, an "oh, by the way" of my life. There are new daily challenges to celebrate. I am ready to expand and rejuvenate my dedication to personal exploration through this blog.

Next up -- the half marathon that didn't get completed yesterday, but for all the right reasons.