Turn on the news and it becomes obvious that we live in a broken world. Between television and social media, one cannot ignore the many controversial issues that tear people apart. For some reason, this summer has been particularly terrible. From innocent black people dying to hatred against same sex marriage to the many other issues that plague our nation, one can become totally overwhelmed with the injustice and lack of understanding in this world. Truly, it is difficult to fathom in this day and age. I cannot help but be reminded every day of how short life is - whether you live to be a teenager or into your 90s. We're all here just for a blink of an eye. I'm sure everyone reading this understands and feels the weight our nation has been under recently. Individuals armed with guns are taking innocent lives in small town movie theaters and churches. Where are we safe? What can we do about it? How can we make it stop? Where can we seek refuge from this destruction, anger, and derangement?
And those are the big issues that affect the world. What about our own little, individual problems and woes? This summer, I have swayed back and forth between confidence in myself as an artist/ my future and feeling like a complete and utter failure. I'm trying so desperately to get back in the saddle, but I have found it terribly difficult. I say I'm going to take care of myself, go to a doctor, get a therapist, clean the house, write a screenplay, read a book, etc... and some things get done, but some just don't. I'm sure you can all relate to this dilemma because we never feel as though we have enough time. And with school fast approaching, I am trying desperately to get myself in gear and hoping the task will motivate me to focus and find that happiness once again.
But cancer is ever so prevalent in our lives once again as we approach scan results Monday morning. There we find out if the chemo is working (for the time being) or if we need a change in treatment. It's amazing how cancer can fade into the background when things are going well. Of course, Jon isn't 100%. He still needs to gain weight and I know, physically, he is not where he was at the beginning of the year, but I think he's improving. But it's hard for me to say or declare it one way or another.
And of course cancer is the reason I cannot (for good) get my life "back on track." Whenever I do, I'm just afraid it will sneak back up on us and attack. Even with this last scare in May, things were going so good. I was on fire with a feature screenplay I'd written and my head was filling up with thoughts on making a feature film and being successful. Then, BAM. It once again all came tumbling down. But, I'm starting to think that's just life. A (brilliant) professor and mentor once told me that plays were just "sculptures made of snow." Here one night and gone another, melting into our memories. Maybe that's all life is, as well?
Don't let my somber tone fool you completely. We have had a very happy summer, mostly just retreating from the world a bit. Vacation was amazing and (if all goes well with scans) we are planning a trip to Jon's hometown and possibly a trip to see our dearest friends in LA before school starts. And Jon and I are pretty much happy and content whenever we are together. We once had a party for two in an ER room watching The Breakfast Club and eating vending machine food... so we know how to overcome.
Most importantly, thank you all so much for contributing to our GoFundMe campaign. I can never tell you how much this act of love and kindness means to us. Basically, just imagine you at your loneliest and saddest moment and then imagine your best friend or favorite person on earth walking in the room and giving you a thousand hugs and kisses. That's kinda what it feels like but even better. You all reminded us that we are not alone and that we are loved. And that our happiness and health matter. I want to sit down and write thank you letters, but goodness knows I still need to do that for my wedding, and when I think of all the people I need to thank, the list becomes overwhelming. And honestly, I know spending precious time with Jon is what you all would rather me be doing, so even for that... I thank you. If you see me, let me give you a big hug and whisper thank you in your ear. It means so much to us. We have a good amount saved (for the clinical trial possibility that awaits) and the funds have gone toward paying for important medications that insurance wouldn't cover. At 28 and 29 years old, there is absolutely no way we could have come so far without this help. Thank you!
And finally, please join me in taking a moment to think of all those in need of love and prayers right this very moment. There are so many. Whether they are battling cancer like us or dealing with some other tragedy, please take a moment to send out love and compassion. God knows our world needs it. With abundance. And, as always, hug the ones you love extra tight tonight.
With (so very much) Love,
Robyn
Thursday, July 30, 2015
Sunday, July 5, 2015
Waves of Grace
Ever since the diagnosis that shattered our perfect little world, I have had a constant, tiny voice inside my mind whispering, "Be in the moment." I have tried and failed time after time to accept the challenge, but the painful truth that I believe every human being, or most, must come to terms with is that we can never truly be fully in the moment, for it is a part of the beautiful, sorrowful truth of the human condition. The yearning to see life beyond the physical and grasp it's meaning... hold it in our hands but for a while, is impossible. Perhaps the ability to live in the moment comes with wisdom or age. Perhaps those that are truly enlightened succeed at this nonviable task. For my twenty something being, who has faced a good deal of life's extreme highs and lows, I still find it difficult, but a pursuit worthy of the struggle.
A true vacation, one with little to no trace of doctors and appointments and cancer, is the closest I have come. I find being thrust out in foreign surroundings in a new city forces you to let the worries of the world fall away. That is what I have done for the past week, and what tends to be easier for me to do when at the beach. This week has, and will always, reside inside it's own perfect little bubble. Nothing came before and nothing after - at least that is how I have felt. That simplicity of thought has been divine and a much welcome vacation from my usual state of anxiety and dread. I have been out of school for an entire month, but have somehow filled that time with constant movement. Be it cleaning or preparing or working or just stressing. And who can blame me? The past two - three months were chaos. This vacation forced me to sit down, like a child put in the time out corner, and just be.
How often do I write of the concept of "letting go?" In some way or another it comes out in every blog and journal entry I ever write. And I think about it constantly. If I were to ever become famous, scholars would study it as one of the ever present themes of my work. (Haha) "Letting Go"is another one of those abstract, self-help book notions that one must work extremely hard at to comprehend. I can sit in front of my tv and watch Oprah talk about it all day, taking copious notes, and once I think I've finally got it, something devastating (or not so devastating) happens and I immediately want to be back in control. Recently, I watched an amazing interview with a strong, modern day heroine named Jen Hidinger. She's somewhat a celebrity in the Atlanta social circle and is the genius behind the development of Staplehouse and The Giving Kitchen - both in honor of her late husband, Ryan Hidinger, who passed away from gall bladder cancer last year. She said that early on in the diagnosis they both decided to "let go and let be." I want to sit down with her and ask a billion questions, but the main one being: How? How in the world is this accomplished?
As our vacation draws to a close, I can say I once again came close. But that's me, constantly knocking at the "let go" counter but never truly buying in. And that's okay. I went out for a solo sunset beach walk yesterday and found the peace I needed to accept this. Surrounded by families and rowdy fourth of July rednecks (I am, after all, in Panama City), preparing to gear up for the night festivities, I stood alone in the tide. I closed my eyes real tight, let the world and the rednecks drift away, and I cried. About knee deep in the salt water with my feet quickly sinking into sand, I couldn't see which type of wave was about to crash. Was it light and gentle, or hard and dangerous? I had no idea. But, just for a moment, I was okay with not knowing. And then I thought, maybe the answer to my dilemma is quite simple. Maybe, somehow or someway, I should think about letting go of letting go...
A true vacation, one with little to no trace of doctors and appointments and cancer, is the closest I have come. I find being thrust out in foreign surroundings in a new city forces you to let the worries of the world fall away. That is what I have done for the past week, and what tends to be easier for me to do when at the beach. This week has, and will always, reside inside it's own perfect little bubble. Nothing came before and nothing after - at least that is how I have felt. That simplicity of thought has been divine and a much welcome vacation from my usual state of anxiety and dread. I have been out of school for an entire month, but have somehow filled that time with constant movement. Be it cleaning or preparing or working or just stressing. And who can blame me? The past two - three months were chaos. This vacation forced me to sit down, like a child put in the time out corner, and just be.
How often do I write of the concept of "letting go?" In some way or another it comes out in every blog and journal entry I ever write. And I think about it constantly. If I were to ever become famous, scholars would study it as one of the ever present themes of my work. (Haha) "Letting Go"is another one of those abstract, self-help book notions that one must work extremely hard at to comprehend. I can sit in front of my tv and watch Oprah talk about it all day, taking copious notes, and once I think I've finally got it, something devastating (or not so devastating) happens and I immediately want to be back in control. Recently, I watched an amazing interview with a strong, modern day heroine named Jen Hidinger. She's somewhat a celebrity in the Atlanta social circle and is the genius behind the development of Staplehouse and The Giving Kitchen - both in honor of her late husband, Ryan Hidinger, who passed away from gall bladder cancer last year. She said that early on in the diagnosis they both decided to "let go and let be." I want to sit down with her and ask a billion questions, but the main one being: How? How in the world is this accomplished?
As our vacation draws to a close, I can say I once again came close. But that's me, constantly knocking at the "let go" counter but never truly buying in. And that's okay. I went out for a solo sunset beach walk yesterday and found the peace I needed to accept this. Surrounded by families and rowdy fourth of July rednecks (I am, after all, in Panama City), preparing to gear up for the night festivities, I stood alone in the tide. I closed my eyes real tight, let the world and the rednecks drift away, and I cried. About knee deep in the salt water with my feet quickly sinking into sand, I couldn't see which type of wave was about to crash. Was it light and gentle, or hard and dangerous? I had no idea. But, just for a moment, I was okay with not knowing. And then I thought, maybe the answer to my dilemma is quite simple. Maybe, somehow or someway, I should think about letting go of letting go...
“I thought of you and how you love this beauty,
And walking up the long beach all alone
I heard the waves breaking in measured thunder
As you and I once heard their monotone.
Around me were the echoing dunes, beyond me
The cold and sparkling silver of the sea --
We two will pass through death and ages lengthen
Before you hear that sound again with me.”
“Because there's nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline, no matter how many times it's sent away.”
“We know only too well that what we are doing is nothing more than a drop in the ocean. But if the drop were not there, the ocean would be missing something.”
“There was a magic about the sea. People were drawn to it. People wanted to love by it, swim in it, play in it, look at it.” ― Cecelia Ahern, The Gift
“She would be half a planet away, floating in a turquoise sea, dancing by moonlight to flamenco guitar.”
“She loves the serene brutality of the ocean, loves the electric power she felt with each breath of wet, briny air.” ― Holly Black, Tithe
“Her happiness floated like waves of ocean along the coast of her life. She found lyrics of her life in his arms but she never sung her song.” ― Santosh Salwar
“I'm always happy when I'm surrounded by water, I think I'm a Mermaid or I was a mermaid.
The ocean makes me feel really small and it makes me put my whole life into perspective… it humbles you and makes you feel almost like you’ve been baptized. I feel born again when I get out of the ocean.”
“There's nothing wrong with enjoying looking at the surface of the ocean itself, except that when you finally see what goes on underwater,you realize that you've been missing the whole point of the ocean. Staying on the surface all the time is like going to the circus and staring at the outside of the tent.”
“I have been feeling very clearheaded lately and what I want to write about today is the sea. It contains so many colors. Silver at dawn, green at noon, dark blue in the evening. Sometimes it looks almost red. Or it will turn the color of old coins. Right now the shadows of clouds are dragging across it, and patches of sunlight are touching down everywhere. White strings of gulls drag over it like beads.
It is my favorite thing, I think, that I have ever seen. Sometimes I catch myself staring at it and forget my duties. It seems big enough to contain everything anyone could ever feel.”
A big thank you to Jennifer and Waves of Grace for making this special time of peace, healing, and togetherness possible. And thanks to our dear friend, Paige Smallbone, for nominating us for this adventure. We are eternally grateful for your kindness.
With love,
Robyn
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