Ever gotten a new scar right smack-dab on top of an old one?

That's called luck.

Ever been calm before, during, and after a storm?

That's called persistence.

Ever felt excitement over your own definitions?

That's called happiness.

Well, surgery went well - the recovery was more unpleasant that I expected but still worlds better than my last one. I suppose that I'm still recovering with no heavy lifting and such. Trying to regather my momentum and such as such as such. This blog and other writings have begun to stagnate, and that's where I'm at. I need to create something new - it's been months. So that's just what I'm going to do.

pre-Op

I finally found it: it's not a fear, it's easy to live with, and it's the worst thing that you could ever do to yourself. It's never having lived your life in the first place. It's worrying about how you should be and never getting to know yourself. It's diverted dreams, thwarted passions, and lost time. It's not for me.

My SuperBall travel began in April, and I thought it would be about conquering all of my fears: snipers, sexual confusion, rejection, social anxiety, heights, dancing, everyday confrontations, automatic cowardice, being ball-less, feeling sorry for myself, etc... Instead, I've come to cherish and respect those fears, how they can bring my surroundings into sudden focus and force me to move against that paralysis of petrified indecision. I'm reminded of this as my third surgery in less than a year is days away.

It's a minor surgery to correct a growing incisional hernia from my February operation, and it's bringing back that same pure fear of being unconscious under the sharp, probing tools of highly-trained strangers.

The first emergency surgery was, well, on the same day that I found out about the tumor, so I had about four hours to mull that over before being put under. Instead of taking the time to process that, I orchestrated a long overdue break up with my girlfriend two days after the surgery. I focused on that and my redesigned anatomy rather than contemplate that powerlessness I felt on December 28^th.

I got to decide whether or not I'd go with the second, more intense surgery, which involved being opened up from my waist to just below my sternum by surgeons who needed to rearrange my organs to cut out my abdominal lymph nodes. I chose that over the uncertainty that would come with cancer surveillance, basically intensive check-ups every couple months over the course of five years. I was proud of that decision and started fantasizing about traveling afterward, but despite all the acceptance of potential side effects, I didn't make my peace with that second round of powerlessness on February 8^th

I'm getting a third opportunity to address that with this next surgery. Another distraction that has come up is this gut feeling that my luck has run out, that this next silly operation will go awry, that I don't get another chance. When I think like that, it immobilizes me, like my other fears before I named and embraced them. This continues until I realize that there is nothing I can do about that; I have to accept that powerlessness and focus on the parts of my life that I can control. And then something strange happens: I feel happy, I feel free, I feel like I can finally LIVE. I've got a book to finish and a marathon to run. I can't wait; I've already started.

Throw some $$$ at the beast

I had a cheerful check-up on the 14th, which involved a simple, no-nonsense blood test. My Oncologist grinned at me after he'd cupped my SuperBall. He said that I looked great; I suppose that I did compared to when he saw me back in January. The blood test results came back negative - enough said.

More importantly, I had a crisis of conscience over the upcoming November NY Marathon. At home, as the restlessness of small town suburbia set in, I recalled saying that I'd run it with a fellow Mudder during my April visit; we had sealed it with a pinky promise. I'd never done a marathon before, so I was horrified when I went to the NY Marathon site and saw that registration had ended in April. No matter - I'd get a guaranteed entry by running for a cancer charity, since I'd planned to do that anyway.

Yeah, even the registration for many of the charities were closed. I looked at the American Cancer Society. I could run for them if I raised $3500 before the end of November. Otherwise, I would be charged the remainder. Still, I put my name on the waiting list of several charities.

And so I saw myself going to Kinko's and printing out flyers in addition to starting a multimedia campaign. I'd put them in mail boxes. I'd contact my local newspaper. I'd solicit donations from nearby businesses. I speak to family, friends, and strangers. I'd raise that $3500 - why not make $5000? I'd do all of this and train for a marathon in less than 50 days. I would do this and be reminded of how awesome I am. Everyone who heard my story would know of my awesomeness as well.

When I talked to those who knew me best, they said I should wait. Hey, that was OK. I'd show them, but I'd be charitable after I proved them wrong. The thought of sacrifices and struggles corresponding to success filled me with such hope and purpose. And if I failed, then I would do so beautifully.

On the Monday after my check-up, I received my promising blood test results, and I also got an email from one the charity wait lists. I now had a spot, which held the same $3500 time-sensitive requirement. Plus, some facebook friends (who happen to be actual friends as well) told me that I should go for it. Yes, the Universe was telling me that I should go for it.

Yeah, yeah, it'd be like one of those motivational sports movies where a group of misfits and their down-and-out coach make it to the championship (and learn some important lessons along the way), except I'd be the entire team. And it'd be about me. Me. ME.

What a load of Bullshit - using a cancer charity and a silly race to stroke my sickly ego. This was supposed to be about raising money for cancer research and support. It was supposed to be about cherishing my health and improving. It couldn't be about trying to fill a hole - it had to be about digging deeper.

I need more time if I want to do this right. So I plan on heading to NY in November, but I'll be watching this race from the sidelines.

Instead, I registered with the LiveStrong charity for the Austin Marathon in February. My goal is to raise at least $2000 by then.

Not sure if anyone still reads this, but check out my donation page here - yes this is a link that you should click on

Thanks.

wait for it

AUGH - I've been learning about patience in so many ways recently. Here's to learning more.

Not the bridge post

Well, sorry to leave anyone who may be reading hanging, but this is not the post about sleeping under a bridge. I've decided that this journal has really become two blogs: personal, sedentary reflections and a travel blog of sorts.

So this blog is going to stay pretty much the same, but I'll be taking out the travel posts to put in a new flashy blog with pictures and whatnot and go public (probably in a few weeks). This will now be the realm of brain farts and mind murmurs.

My check-up is today in about two hours. I'm not sure how I feel about this other than calm, since there's not a cloud in the sky.

I should be web writing, but I'm gonna save that for later and give some of my better doodles a long-awaited coloring.

Homebound

Well, I suppose one fear that traveling can't help me with is the fear of staying put, being stuck with myself.

It's time to go home and deal with that. Yes, this means living at home with my parents for a few months as I finish up school... but I only have this one life, and I'm squandering parts of it.

I understand the warrior at the end of the trail idea a little better now. I'm a mess, and I'm going to bring that mess with me wherever I go. It's time to abandon what I think I know and follow a different path... this scares the shit out of me.

But peace isn't connected to any emotion - these emotions are clouds passing through a clear blue sky. I can't discard them, so I have to see them for what they are as they pass and focus on the blue beyond.

What prompted this?

Well waking up piss-drunk and lost in a field in Austin, Texas without my glasses after having traveled the Greyhound for 5o+ hours and then spending the night under a bridge, of course.

More on that one later, dear reader.