"Life begins," Sartre once wrote, "on the other side of despair."
I read that recently, and damn if it isn't true. It sure has been for me, and for my family.
I remember the time before. Before the cancer, and the adoption, and the stress, and the fear. So much fear. Fear of death, fear of loss, fear of the unknown, fear of what people think, fear of... fear itself, as Winston Churchill once spoke of. Before the Despair, I think it's safe to say that my entire life was dominated by fear. I walked, talked, and breathed from that place.
Of course I didn't know it at the time. I remember talking with Emily about how we were just waiting for the other shoe to drop, about how life had been a little too easy so far. I still believe that some people are swimming upstream in life and other downstream, but even those headed with the current have to face it sometimes. I think I'm a downstream fish. Even going against the current turned out to be for my good, because, it's just like Sartre said so long ago, life began on the other side the struggle.
Of course Cancer was the struggle. Or maybe that's not entirely true. Maybe cancer just opened my eyes to the struggle that was really occurring in life, and not just my own, all around me all the time. The Buddhists says that the live is to suffer, and they don't mean it in a depressing sort of way. I still can't wrap my head completely around the concept, but as far I understand, they mean that simply floating along through life life a wisp of cottonwood tree dandruff on the surface of the stream is no life at all, because you don't feel alive in the same way as if you're directing your path. And if reality is defined more by how we see it than anything else, then suffering really is an integral part of this life. Do you understand? Sometimes my thoughts are still a bit muddled. Even though I'm now on a "maintenance dose" of chemo, it's still chemo, after all.
Anyways, about the other side of despair. It's good here. I don't know what to say about it, really. You just notice things that you never would have before. The first, and most cheesy (but true!), example that comes to mind is flowers. I actually notice them now, and I actually stop and smell them. Building a fire to cook steaks outside when the heat index is 112 with my son, dripping sweat, is fun. There's a lot more room for people on this side.
I must say, I'm quite surprised to find that I like it here, without reference, ungrounded. I don't know who the hell I am anymore, and I don't much care. I don't think I want to try to rigidly define myself like I once did. I want to love people, I want to help people, and I want to climb things. It's simple, really. So why does it feel otherwise during the day-to-day? Perhaps because I spend so much of that time engaged in maintenance activities of life, like fixing the weed-eater head or doing the dishes. I need to get back to those basics. The bottom line is that there are things I should do and things I should not do, and I know what they are. It's not difficult to divine. I think I'll start behaving accordingly, so that I can spend more time loving and helping people and climbing mountains, all of which is so healing for me, now that I'm on the other side of Despair.
