“Write what you know.” Mark Twain said that. At least, per the app Goodreads, Twain is the quote generator. When I decided to include that quote in this week’s column, I went down a “who said it” rabbit hole. There seems to be two distinct camps: Twain or Hemingway. Papa, the latter, gave a more explanatory version of the idea. “Write what you know, leave out unnecessary words, and don’t do it to be famous.” And really, doesn’t that just suit the two of them? Twain with his Americanaesque yet direct writing style of “this is where it happened and what it looked like and what was said” vs Papa’s ability to heat you up to a boil and then allow you to emotionally simmer. Both are beautifully effective storytelling styles. Sage advice, it is, regardless of the creator. I was thinking about that today, because I struggle with what to say, and I struggle often. It’s been over four years of weekly columns. I have enjoyed unburdening my soul, publicly. I write, mainly, about loss and illness and growing up poor in the country. It is what I know. But, that tiny violin runs out of songs, at times. Yet, who am I to defy the likes of Mark & Ernest? So, today, I had an idea. Let’s talk about the things you grasp on to when all the other things are imploding. I have vast experience in this area, though it may not paint me in the best light.
We women are masterful at treading water when life’s ocean tumps our boat over. Think about childbirth. There we are, doing the thing God enabled us to do, ushering life through our bodies. Organs are pushed hither and yon. Bones literally move. Tissue expands. Tissue tears. And, whether you labor with or without drugs, whether your c-section is prearranged or done in an emergency situation, whether you opt for that epidural or white knuckle it, whether that baby is premature or overdue, they tell us all the same exact thing. “Pick an object and focus on it.” Breathe. Focus. Breathe. Focus. It’s no wonder we take that understanding with us for the remainder of our existence. That’s called trauma bonding, and there’s nothing more traumatic than childbirth. It could be me, or it could likely be all of us, who takes that focus element to an art form. When things are at their worst, when we feel like we can’t hold on, we pick something, anything, and we make that thing the make or break. There’s a formula. “As long as ______ doesn’t happen, I’ll be ok.” Floating in the ocean? As long as the sharks don’t come, I’ll be ok. Having car trouble in a moment of financial strain? As long as the transmission doesn’t go out, I’ll be ok. Having difficulty dealing with the aging process? As long as my teeth are healthy and pretty, I’ll be ok. Watching your varsity football player go down in a tremendous hit? As long as he makes it back to the sideline, we’ll be ok. But, listen. Listen closely. We are not in control. I don’t often get overly churchy in this space. People tend to turn the channel knob on you when you speak of God. I received this advice from a friend of mine, “I don’t tell people about God. I just show them my happiness. I force them to ask me why I am so happy. Then, I tell them. Otherwise, they run.” Perhaps that is an incorrect action. But, maybe I can say what I need to say, and the knob will remain still. There is no use in fixating on any one “as long as” action because God will almost certainly take you past your silly human barrier. We are not promised an easy ride on this side of Heaven. In fact, high on our list of shared human experiences are loss, sadness, tragedy, terror, mayhem, and death. In other words, be careful where you draw that line in the sand because, if you are fortunate to life long enough, you will cross that boundary.
Here’s the part that could make you look for a different channel. I am petty, so very petty. I am materialistic and opportunistic and unrealistic. I am aesthetic focused and what other people think focused and physical appearance focused. I am a silly human being. I sat my sights on something in order to sooth my fears. It all came crashing down yesterday. For almost 15 years, I’ve been holding onto a thought. As the world raged around me, as my jawline slacked, as my midsection expanded, as my hair grayed, as my eyesight failed, I fixated on one thing. As long as my feet look good, I’ll be ok. See, I told you! I am petty as the day is long. Yesterday, I lost three of the post cancer, post chemo toenails I have been struggling to maintain since 2008. There, I said it. When the moment happened (I will spare you the details that accompany the total or partial loss of toenails) I was horrified. Then, instantaneously relieved. I crossed over that line in the sand. It was effortless. Nothing else happened. I am still me. I laughed out loud. I said to myself, “This is what I was afraid of?” I have accepted my familial role as the poster gal of: parental loss, child loss, cancer survival, GI imbalance, odd dieting, weird workouts, and excessive book reading. Knock, knock. Who’s there? Oh, it’s a new badge! Toenail loss expert – has a nice ring. I guess I nailed that one: toenailed, that is. Insert winkface emoji.
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