Good Morning Thinkers!

Advice for the New Year

You find advice in the darnedest places.  Kevin Kelly has been recommending "true films," and his latest is "Kintaro Walks Japan." (This one's even free on Google Video).  Here's Kevin's description ... but note the life advice in red.  And ask yourself:  Why not?

A restless young Californian sets out to walk the length of Japan in order to impress his half-Japanese girl friend, whose father walked the length of North and South America. What makes this autobiographical travelogue worth watching is the sheer fun and exuberance of the hero, nickname Kintaro, as he pulls everyone he meets into his movie. Smile, you are part of my adventure! Walk all day for months? Life is beautiful! Kintaro inspires fun every step of the way, in every frame of the movie, as he plays with film and life, and jokes, bonds, learns, and shares his walk. His joy is incredibly contagious. Once in your life you should do what this guy did. Make a fool of yourself and see what's down the road. Feeling low? Watch this! And as a bonus, this light-hearted documentary shows a mellow side of Japan very few gaijin ever see. (It doesn't say anywhere in the film but Kintaro (real name Tyler MacNiven) won the $1 million Amazing Race 9 reality TV program.)

Light and Dark

I've made an agreement with myself ... for every post triggered by my situation, I'll post something uplifting.  This one, which actually relates to both the dark and the light, comes from my friend Roger von Oech's blog.  Roger is one of those brilliant people who always seems to be exploring nooks and crannies that the rest of us overlook.  One of Roger's explorations was into the life of the ancient philosopher, Heraclitus -- he even wrote a book about him:  Expect the Unexpected or You Won't Find It: A Creativity Tool Based on the Ancient Wisdom of Heraclitus . 

In a recent blog post, Roger lists this Heraclitus quote:  "It is disease that makes health pleasant, hunger that makes fullness good, and weariness that makes rest sweet."  I think we can extend that to:  it's death that makes us truly appreciate life.  Would we even be conscious of life or light if it weren't for it's opposite? 

As we move rapidly to the end of another year, we welcome the New Year and honor the old in a series of retrospectives and "best of" lists.  Perhaps we need to also pay homage to the "worst of" the old year so that we can be truly grateful for the gifts of the year. 

One of our family rituals is to do a "burning bowl" ceremony.  We put a candle and a little water into a large bowl and then everyone writes something they would like to let go of on a slip of paper and then puts it into the flame and burns it.  This is repeated until everyone is done.  This year I am going to burn ingratitude.  It would be easy to focus on the darkness of Richard's death rather than the incredible gift of his life and our 27 years together.

Passages

On November 27th, an era ended for me.  After a long struggle with prostate cancer, my husband passed into a different dimension.  And, while we had been advancing toward this passage for three years, I still find it hard to believe that he went on this journey without me.  The phone rings at night and there is a flash of thinking that he's calling to say he's on his way home.  Or, I come home after being gone for awhile and walk in expecting to see him in his chair.

Slowly I begin to adjust to being in a new world ... a world not run by the dictates of the medical industry.  No three-hour waits in the doctors' offices, no prescriptions to fill three times a week, no medications to dose out every four hours, no more constant worry about pain and whether or not to try the next painful, debilitating treatment.

It's a strange world where time is all mine; decisions are all mine; responsibility is all mine.  It's a lot to deal with when I can't seem to even handle the pronouns.  After a combined total of 40 years of marriage to two husbands, "we" is the reigning pronoun.  Telling a story to a neighbor, I hear myself saying, "We really like ..." only to realize there is no we, there's only me.  I give someone directions to "our house" and wonder how I'll ever call it "my house."

On top of losing my best friend, I'm not sure of my own identity.  I am no longer a wife ... now I'm a  widow.  But, what does that mean? I get invited to a New Year's Eve party by someone I've just met.  Does she know I'm coming alone?  Do widows even go to parties?

Perhaps the worst part of this whole thing is that the one person who could help me sort it all out is Richard ... but he's gone.  I ask him what to do and the answer comes back, "Just keep breathing." But, it doesn't sound like his voice and it provides little comfort.