I want to remember these moments. These subtle, daily moments that have come to represent my not-totally-healed self. I fear forgetting them on my onward march toward wholeness.
Being shy of my baldness, the myriad stacks of caps that sprout around the house serve as my one consolation to suburban sprawl. When my wife or daughters leave things out and about in the common areas of the house I’m offended. When I do, it’s purpose-driven. Of all the things I hope to remember, I’d like to forget that double standard.
I’d like to remember my pill pile that I visit every morning and evening. Several of them I take because I’m taking several others of them.
I met the lovely Hope yesterday and realized I need to be thankful for littler things. The lovely young Amal (“Hope” in Arabic) hasn’t found a bone marrow match and fears the return of her cancer, which it’s done once already. Her hijab is a constant companion, just like my baseball hats.
I understood, vaguely and briefly, that I am sometimes too busy rushing toward my ideal self and avoiding the inevitable learning curve that comes from being slowed down by illness beyond my control. Just like losing my job or all the ridiculous things that have jumped in front of me, I want to learn and grow and change from having dealt with them. But in so many ways, I feel like I’m the same old crusty Rodney.
On good days I tell myself that that Rodney guy was pretty cool and ask why I’d want to change him. At bad times I wonder how I’ve gone through so much without so much as an upward tick on my self actualization meter. In pushing toward finding a new career and total health, I sometimes seem to forget the now. And now is loaded with learning.
Moments form steps. One step at a time.