I have just finished the first section,
“Italy,” in Elizabeth Gilbert’s memoir, Eat, Pray, Love. I feel a
connection between the main character, Liz, and my own life. She’s a published
writer; I’m a want-to-be-published writer. She experienced depression before,
during, and after her divorce; so did I. She is a seeker, searching for
healing, faith devotion, and authentic love; me too! One of my favorite lines
so far – and the lines that struck a chord of connection for me – comes at the
end of the Italy section: “The easiest, most fundamentally human way to say it
is that I have put on weight. I exist more than I did four months ago.”
In her travels, Liz Gilbert has just finished
the first leg of her year long journey: four months in Italy, four months in
India, four months in Indonesia. In Italy, she gained back weight lost in the
years of divorce and depression, and then added a few more as she allowed
herself the pleasures of eating, making friends, and learning to speak Italian.
I am like Liz. At the end of my four rounds of
chemo, “…I have put on weight.” I too “… exist more than I did four months
ago.”
And like Liz, I just finished the first leg of
my own, year long journey. My healing has been different – and almost opposite
of the emotional healing she found in Italy. My healing from breast cancer has
been more like a tearing apart – more like a divorce as a surgeon tore out
cancer cells and an oncologist has sought to destroy any that might have
remained, hidden somewhere in my body.
During the past four months I have been more in
problem-solving mode and less in deep search of my self. I learned that
“chemo-brain” is real as I have been unable to focus on quiet things like
writing and making deep connections. Even my prayers have been more like bursts
of fireworks than basking in the quiet presence of my Higher Power. My brain
has been like a squirrel on steroids, hopping from tree to tree in search of
sustenance, more like the squirrels in my parents’ backyard, taking time to
tease and torment dogs – other creatures of God to be sure, but creatures who
appear to think so differently from the squirrel.
I have spent my squirrel-ier days hopping from
task to task: lesson planning, grading, and learning about my students within
bursts of hanging up their pictures and artwork. (Teaching really is the
perfect job for the A.D.D. brain, as we are constantly required to flit from
task to task.) Reading one book at a time, however, has been a greater struggle.
So has the mountain of paperwork I’ve collected to turn into insurance. Yet,
I’ve been able to play those crazy word games with friends, text message, keep
up with politics, and post messages that reveal my liberalism and irritate my
conservative friends. In that way, I’m like the squirrel, flitting and flying
with possibility while incessantly claiming to my more grounded friends that they must be wrong and cannot see as clearly
from their fenced in perspective.
It is in the quiet and white space of a Sunday
afternoon that I know more deeply that my political posts and yipping will not
bring us closer to a genuine understanding of each other’s perspectives. It’s
like we are playing football politics right now. And it makes me sad. I sense
that we have lost credibility with one another – that our minds might be
permanently closed to the ideas represented by the “other side.”
Nonetheless, I’m grateful to be able to put
this feeling into words. My mind and ability to focus are returning to me.
Being able to sit quietly with this thought and challenge – gives me hope that
a solution will arrive one day, walking up to open the door that, at present,
stands closed between us.
Liz, from Eat, Pray, Love, will continue
her healing, but now, I predict, in a spiritual way – as she learns more about
a voice that speaks with her in her most despairing moments.
As my mind and focus return to me, I hope and
pray in the coming weeks of radiation and physical healing from the chemo, that
I too will be better able to hear that voice. The voice that speaks to me of
love, healing, guidance, and goodness.