Author Archives: kahht

I'm an everyday walker, a passionate learner, and en educator creating experiences that grow eco and digital literacy. I'm living with stage IV colorectal cancer and type 1 diabetes, hoping to eek out as much life as possible before the cruel world takes me.

Crisis and Action

Puberty hit me differently than most. I spent the prime summers of my teenage years in the woods. The days were filled with forest games, forging trails, and mud baths. The nights were spent around campfires or sprawled on smooth rocks next to the gentle woosh of the river. I fell in love with nature during these summers. It wasn’t the Taylors or Alexes that I wanted; I longed to connect with the Engelmann spruces and Douglas firs.

Ironically, my love of nature did not drive me toward a career in ecology. Quite the opposite; In the months beyond summer, I would create computer games, design websites, and fiddle with breadboards in my spare time. And that was the passion I followed as I matured.

Nonetheless, I could not sever my bond with Earth. I didn’t have words for it at the time, but I understand this love as biophilia now. The term put forth by Edward O. Wilson is defined as the human’s affinity for other life and the natural world. 

When I received my diagnosis, my first instinct was to bathe in wild lakes and forests. I felt the powerful force of life surge through me, the force written into the DNA of every organism that lived to bring me here today. Starting with the single-cell lifeforms that divided billions and billions of years ago to these beautifully complex ecosystems that continue to find creative ways to sustain and persevere another tomorrow. Throughout my treatment, I’ve prioritized time with these incredible systems. I’ve rekindled my love with the natural world into a bright and steady glow. 

Alas, with love comes pain. I once heard it said that to give oneself to love is to accept the eventual pain when the day comes for one to leave and one to be left behind—what some take as a worthy price for the most euphoric of human emotions. And so, extraordinary measures are taken to extend and protect life, the seemingly most innate instinct in our being. 

In the month I got my diagnosis, the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) began issuing its sixth assessment on the science around climate change, its impact on our world, and what we can do about it. Here I was in August 2021: dealing with my own personal health crisis as news poured in about the escalating health crisis of this planet I deeply love.

Since then, I’ve undergone the medical treatments to shrink and eradicate my tumours (I’m still going). Like many interventions, the medicines come with a price: loss of sensation in fingers and toes, fatigue, and lowered immunity. So too, may we need to accept some losses in mitigating the most severe consequences of climate change, or else there may be much more to lose. But technical solutions are not the sole course of action available, so I’ve learned.

There are so much more than technical interventions in healing. I’ve seen presence, engagement, community, meaning-making, and hope work as some of those interventions. They’ve helped me through this time and could serve in confronting even global crises.

“So let’s resolve ourselves to live meaningfully, honestly acknowledging the truth that life is fragile, time is fleeting, and death is certain—and rather than ignore, avoid, or deny these realities, may we engage this time with greater clarity for our values, a deeper sense of gratitude and appreciation for what we do have, in richer authenticity to ourselves and others, so that we might invest in those relationships we deeply cherish and seek to make the world a better place.”

Daryl R. Van Tongeren

Presence and Engagement

“We must reinvent a future free of blinders so that we can choose from real options.”

David Suzuki

There is no use turning away from reality and pushing away discomfort. It seems fine at first, but it is much more painful in the long term. It’s said avoidance “dilutes our lives by robbing us of the urgency of a finite existence.” (Daryl R. Von Tongeren, Ph.D). Furthermore, Buddhist teacher Frank Ostaseski teaches that “Suffering is exacerbated by avoidance. … Our attempts at self-protection cause us to live in a small, dark, cramped corner of our lives.” 

Presence is the practice of being in the moment and appreciating the little things. This practice fills life with meaning, purpose, and wholeness. That meaning is so vital in the difficult times. As psychologists Joshua Hicks and Frank Martela have proposed, “We should slow down, let life surprise us and embrace the significance in the everyday.” 

From my own experience of practicing mindfulness, I can attest to and offer a different advantage. As I look back over my life, it is filled with these savoured moments and feelings: warm winds on my face during morning rides, rich risotto in a dim and lively restaurant, raucous laughter around a board game table. These gentle memories remind me of the meaning of my life while also giving me comfort that I’ve lived life well.

Engagement starts with presence. It is standing with our problems and reactions. It’s what allows us to choose meaningfulness day by day. Researchers have seen that this focus can allow negative emotions to coexist with action, instead of letting the emotions paralyze us. To do this, psychologist Susan David offers a reminder that “Emotions are data, they are not directives.” And feelings can be explored by investigating the function they might serve, allowing the emotion to be worked with and through. So too, looking deeper into problems we face, even globally, can give more hope and meaning to our lives. 

While presence and engagement are excellent first steps, there’s deeper work needed for our planetary healing.

Community

“There’s never a clear point at which a being begins or ends, and that’s why we are all lichens: a being made up of multiple separate symbiotic organisms.”

Donna Haraway

There is a robust community among cancer patients if one should choose to pursue it. I’ve found great solace and connection with these friends. I’ve also been blessed to be in caring communities in my life beyond cancer. The power of community is incredible when others are there to lift and support the glow of each other. It breaks the walls of loneliness, makes connections, and moves us forward together. There’s hope, support, and meaning in the community… if done well.

Paul Born, founder of the Tamarack Institute, offers that we cannot settle for shallow communities or fear-based communities. These are rooted in turning away or against others. We must strive for deep community. Community, where stories unite us, time together is enjoyed, care is taken, and a better world emerges from our work. It is not passive work; it requires diligence and care, but the rewards are vast: connection, joy, and emergent good.

A “raft” of ants can cross a body of water that would be an insurmountable obstacle for one individual. Credit: Tim J. Patterson via Wikimedia CC BY-SA-3.0

Sarah Jaquette Ray, whose interdisciplinary pursuits have made her an expert on coping with climate anxiety, speaks to the importance of community in movements. In a recent LA Times article, she recommends, “We need to start where we are, use the talents we already have, and plug into groups and communities that are already doing the work. Building community around action should be our measure of success, and it can happen right now.”

Building a community cannot wait until the crisis is at the doorstep. Anyone can start today by working with organizations moving action forward and even by just reaching out to our neighbours. It can begin as simply as sharing ourselves, sharing a story.

Meaning-making

“The more one forgets himself—by giving himself to a cause to serve or another person to love—the more human he is and the more he actualizes himself.”

Viktor Frankl

Meaning-making weaves tightly with presence and engagement. Meaning builds as we appreciate the small things and know how our actions serve greater problems. In challenges as enormous as climate change, it is often more meaningful to focus on what choices and leverage points we do have control of. 

Crisis and grief, such as comes with the threat of cancer or planetary extinction, can lead people to find more meaning in life. Grief leads to meaningful shifts in behaviour, such as spending more time with family, being more charitable, volunteering, or deepening spiritual practices. Furthermore, this meaning can surface through community or counselling work with methods such as storytelling (storytelling to cope with grief around climate crisis is abundant).

In his highly popular book, Man’s Search for Meaning, Austrian psychiatrist and Holocaust survivor Viktor Frankl reminds us of the importance of engagement in finding meaning: “What man actually needs is not a tensionless state but rather the striving and struggling for a worthwhile goal, a freely chosen task. What he needs is not the discharge of tension at any cost but the call of a potential meaning waiting to be fulfilled by him.”  Luckily, Frankl reassures us that simply our actions and responsibleness towards our everyday choices give life that meaning. 

Perhaps that worthwhile goal is a liveable planet. Those actions and choices can be as simple as choosing sustainable transport, buying local and buying less, talking to loved ones, and pushing decision makers toward sustainable choices, away from fossil fuels. Add to that the power of community action; Hope for a better world is palpable.

Practicing Hope

“Hope is a verb with its sleeves rolled up.”

David Orr

A meme circulates from time to time, saying “When people think about travelling to the past, they worry about accidentally changing the present, but no one in the present really thinks they can radically change the future.” The intervention to this, I believe, is hope.

“Hope is a Discipline” – Mariame Kaba. Credit: @em_swami

For some, hope can feel defeating. But the future exists in the practice of hope. We can begin—today—to live stories of hope; Planting metaphorical seeds for the future we want to see written. But to plant those seeds, we need the hope that they will grow, or else what’s the point? 

Whether in the world of cancer or climate emergency, we can practice hope by engaging, choosing our actions with purpose, and becoming active in communities. We can have personal daily practices of mindfulness, presence, storytelling, and joyful connection. We can allow ourselves to fall in love, even though it may be painful. We can fall in love with every precious moment we get to spend among the trees.

Collected Resources

Creating deep community and why that matters:
Born, Paul. Deepening community: Finding joy together in chaotic times. Berrett-Koehler Publishers, 2014.

How does meaning emerge from grief and crisis:
Brody, Jane E., “Making Meaning Out of Grief.” New York Times, 2019.
Lee, Virginia, et al. “Meaning-making and psychological adjustment to cancer: development of an intervention and pilot results.” Oncology nursing forum. Vol. 33. No. 2. Oncology Nursing Society, 2006.

A psychosocial healing strategy offered to cancer patients:
Cunningham, Alastair J. Healing Journey. Key Porter Books, 1994.

The importance of meaning in adverse situations (and life in general):
Frankl, Viktor E. Man’s search for meaning. Simon and Schuster, 1985.

For more on biophilia, look at the work of Edward O. Wilson: 
Kellert, Stephen R., and Edward O. Wilson, eds. The Biophilia Hypothesis. Island press, 1993.

On the causes of our problems and our interconnectedness:
Haraway, Donna. “Anthropocene, Capitalocene, Chthulucene: Staying with the Trouble.” AURA, 2014.

How appreciating the little things can add depth and meaning to life: 
Hicks, Joshua, and Martela, Frank. “A New Dimension to a Meaningful Life.” Scientific American, 2022.

Speaking about different points at which we affect a system and make change:
Meadows, Donella H. “Leverage points: Places to intervene in a system.” (1999): 980989.

For lessons about turning toward suffering, welcoming everything, and showing up whole (as well as more on living fully): 
Ostaseski, Frank. Five Invitations: Discovering What Death Can Teach Us About Living Fully. Pan Macmillan, 2017.

To read more about how problem- and meaning-focused teaching helps youth (and us) deal with climate change:
Ratinen, Ilkka. “Students’ Knowledge of Climate Change, Mitigation and Adaptation in the Context of Constructive Hope.” Education Sciences 11.3 (2021): 103.

About dealing with climate anxiety through communities of action:
Ray, Sarah Jacquette. “Op-Ed: Is Climate Anxiety Bad For the Planet.” Los Angeles Times, 2021.
Ray, Sarah Jaquette. “A Field Guide to Climate Anxiety.” A Field Guide to Climate Anxiety. University of California Press, 2020.

Different ways to look at and practice hope:
Tippet, Krista (host). “Future of Hope.” On Being, 2021.

On living life fully by escaping existential avoidance:
Van Tongeren, Daryl R., “The Problem of Existential Avoidance.” Psychology Today, 2020.

Holding Pattern

There hasn’t been much change to my routine in the last few weeks. Not much news either, as I find myself in a sort of holding pattern. I am finding it difficult to write about myself amidst all the world’s heaviness. To find focus, I put together a playlist. Let’s start this entry there:

As I said, it’s difficult to focus solely on healing my own body when it feels the larger body of the Earth is also undergoing existential threats. It’s never seemed this heavy before. Is it the fatigue from two years of navigating a pandemic? The sight of love being co-opted and abused—a movement of toxic love-bombing? Is it the magnitude of information streaming from the internet? Countless streams begging for attention? Is it the sheer power of human technology? The exponential growth lines shooting away from our organic presence? The ability of these technologies to wipe out cities? To poison the Earth even more? Perhaps all these factors mark the equation for my current melancholy.

I can make out the reflections between my personal healing work and my response to global issues that threaten life on a much more global scale. So, I strive to choose my actions intentionally with each day I can get up. I balance my tasks, finding both challenges and relaxation. I welcome all my emotions, knowing they are arriving for a reason and that they shall ebb and flow as terrible as it is in the moment. I remember to breathe.

Still, I feel discombobulated. I don’t always get it right. I lose my temper. I scream. I yell cruel words. I make mistakes. I always hope I find my way back to my centre. I’m not seeking any unattainable perfection, no perfection at all. I’m just hoping that my actions result in a net positive, one day at a time.

Adaptation

I’m three-quarters through chemotherapy… hopefully. Nine cycles down, three to go. Then an MRI will dictate if I can go for liver surgery or if I need to pursue another course of treatment. My cancer responds to the chemo very well, so the surgery seems likely, and I am thankful. This is the persistent crush of uncertainty. It’s not something particularly new for me to manage, but it is still tricky.

Each round of chemotherapy seems to bring different issues. I don’t know why. Currently, tiny islands are forming on my hands as gravel-sized pieces of skin peel away. It’s beautiful in a strange way (and, thankfully, not uncomfortable), but also most definitely gross. Fatigue fluctuates. Nausea comes and goes. A dry mouth seems likely. A random bloody nose. Intense tingling reactions to the cold seem constant. At least half of my days see me feeling in relatively good shape, though, and I can freely sing and dance and pursue projects. Yay!

I’ve been keenly navigating these ups and downs. The invisible virus plaguing us for two years adds to the uncertainty. Even the weather—perhaps giving me the chance to spend time outdoors—is uncertain. I’m strengthening my skills to accept what I can’t control, adapt for what I can control, and fertilize the stories I want for the future. It’s been like this for years and requires an adaptive and aware way of seeing.

Adaptation and awareness are skills like any other; they require building and work. I’ve known intimately how fragile life is and how quickly things can change. This awareness I’ve carried with me for some twenty years has given me a specific approach to time management; An approach especially helpful as I’ve been navigating this journey. It’s an appreciation of the moment and gratitude for what I have. A short-term outlook to what’s within my reach—a seize the day kind of way filled with joyful hope and dreaming and doing. And a long view of how intricately interwoven our lives are with this planet and all people. A vast expanse of possibility that my precious life feeds and manipulates even at this tiny, human-sized scale.

I have had to adapt so much these last few months. I sense that our society will have to become accustomed to adjusting in the years ahead. If I could offer advice from my experiences, I’d say it starts small (“small is all,” as adrienne maree brown would say). It begins with gratitude for even the tiniest things: laughter, kind words, a ride to the hospital. Enjoying the small actions I can do: volunteering, helping a friend. A both-eyes-open awareness and consciousness help offer a perspective of what is beyond my circle of control and what is in it. It makes me aware of the vast unknown that is constantly expanding, and approach it with curiosity. It helps make informed decisions, even difficult ones. I allow myself to grieve my losses even if the loss is temporary. I adapt: my workouts move into my living room, volunteering moves online, I make movie nights in the den a festive event, I video-call my husband nightly, and we share a secret virtual hug ritual. I don’t put an end to hope. I keep moving and nurturing the stories I want to see unfold and the communities making them happen. I bathe in the abundance of life around me. For if one cannot find the joy of life in the most difficult moments, what kind of joy is to be found when things get better?

I’d like to acknowledge here the work of adrienne maree brown, who’s informed my thinking about intentional adaptation, resilience, and so much more. Her book Emergent Strategy outlines much of this in the context of strategic social change, and is a delight to read with a dedicated group of friends.

Keeping Busy: Ten low-cost things to do while stuck at home forever

I’m flipping my format for this post. In the last few months, I’ve struggled to keep myself occupied. There was a series of days in late November where I languished with boredom. I wouldn’t have it though, no more funnelling television into my brain. I needed hobbies. Of course, I must be aware of health-risks in public spaces (Covid and the flu), as well as manage my own abilities brought on by side-effects of treatment. Furthermore, being on medical leave means reduced income, adding limits to certain activities. Nonetheless, there are plenty of distractions. 

I’ve compiled a bunch of activities below that I really enjoy. Most don’t require leaving the house, or even much money. Admittedly, I’m a bit of a weirdo and eccentric so they might not be for everyone. But I’m also known to partake in the acclaimed and tried and true at times as well. in the end, I hope my suggestions may help someone who finds themselves languishing on a medical leave or just bored.

1. Watch television:

I’m pretty over television at this point, but it does help to pass the time. Services that offer these shows will vary widely by region. If you’re in Canada, CBC Gem is free and hosts a surprising abundance of quality shows, including the first three on this list. Otherwise, you may have to do a bit of searching to find a (paid) service. Sorry I can’t help more.

Here’s what I’ve enjoyed recently (that’s not too depressing):

  • Chewing Gum (comedy, offbeat, British)
  • Pen15 (comedy, for 90s kids)
  • The Great British Bake-Off (reality, feel-good, baking, British, lots of episodes)
  • Westworld (sci-fi, drama)
  • Fleabag (comedy, drama, brilliant, British)
  • We Are Lady Parts (comedy, music, british)
  • Halt and Catch Fire (drama, nerdy)
  • Mr. Robot (drama, great ending)
  • Atlanta (comedy, drama, music)
  • Twin Peaks (crime, surreal)
  • How to with John Wilson (comedy, documentary-ish, new york)
  • Ted Lasso (feel-good, comedy, sport)
  • The Orville (sci-fi, comedy)
  • Firefly (sci-fi, adventure)
  • Taskmaster (comedy, game-show, british, lots of episodes, free on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/c/Taskmaster)

2. Play video games:

I’m not a huge video game person, but boy do I love Untitled Goose Game. It’s stealth and adventure and a good dose of humour. I just wanted to mention that. You may have to pay a bit of coin, but it is hours of entertainment well worth the buck.

3. Do citizen science:

Find projects on scistarter.org. There are lots of science research initiatives that don’t need you to leave the house, with varying degrees of commitment. None of them require much expertise so you can dive right in, have fun, and help out scientific discovery!

4. Go for walks:

If you’re not completely housebound, AllTrails lists walks you can take even in city settings! They provide difficulty and the community often leaves comments on current trail conditions. I’d be remiss not to caution you to only try for what you’re actually qualified to take on; Too many people overextend themselves and require emergency rescues from not being properly prepared for their hike. That said, as someone on medical leave, I’m personally not taking anything particularly difficult at this time.

5. Or workout indoors:

If going out doesn’t work (read: treatment side effect), here are a few sites I’ve tried that offer accessible workouts that can be done indoors and don’t necessarily need equipment or a ton of space. I’m keeping the list to the lower intensity stuff as there’s enough healing to do when on medical leave that adding the stress of intense workouts needs to be handled carefully.

6. Read books:

First, find a library near you! Books are very accessible. My library has ebook apps as well so I don’t even need to leave the house to have tons of books delivered to me.

These are some books that have really stuck with me over the last few years (in no particular order):

  • The Gift: How the Creative Spirit Transforms the World by Lewis Hyde (nonfiction, arts, philosophy)
  • Invisible Cities by Italo Calvino (fiction, fantasy)
  • Parable of the Sower and Parable of the Talents by Octavia Butler (fiction, sci-fi, dystopia)
  • Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury (fiction, sci-fi, dystopia)
  • Split Tooth by Tanya Tagaq (fiction, poetry, canadian, adult)
  • Life of Pi by Yann Martel (fiction, fantasy, adventure)
  • Packing for Mars: The Curious Science of Life in the Void by Mary Roach (nonfiction, science, humour)
  • Far From the Tree by Andrew Solomon (nonfiction, psychology, parenting)
  • On Looking: Eleven Walks with Expert Eyes by Alexandra Horowitz (nonfiction, observation)
  • Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer (nonfiction, nature, science)
  • Between the World and Me by Ta-Nehisi Coates (memoir, race, culture)
  • Homegoing by Yaa Gyasi (fiction, historical)
  • The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas (fiction, young adult, social justice)
  • The Five Invitations by Frank Ostaseski (nonfiction, philosophy, self-help)
  • The Body Is Not An Apology: The Power of Radical Self-Love by Sonya Renee Taylor (nonfiction, feminism, self-help)
  • The Marrow Thieves by Cherie Dimaline (fiction, sci-fi, young adult)
  • How to See by Thich Nhat Hanh (nonfiction, spirituality)
  • From The Ashes by Jesse Thistle (memoir, canadian)
  • Tree: A Life Story by David Suzuki and Wayne Grady (nonfiction, nature, science)
  • The Break by Katherena Vermette (fiction, canadian, adult content)

7. Learn something:

If you know me, you know I’m a learning fiend! So naturally I’ve tried a lot of different learning platforms:

Coursera and edX have a wide selection of courses and excellent platforms to inspire learning. Their courses are free, with the option to pay for a certificate and other features (like unlimited access). These sites offer courses mostly from universities so focus on the sorts of things you might find in a university: science, business, health, literature, philosophy, etc.

There are lots of resources online to help you learn to code, including the two sites above. There are also dedicated sites like FreeCodeCamp and Codecademy. Also, game-making tools like Unity (used to build hundreds of games like Untitled Goose Game and even Pokémon Go) have tutorials so you can create an app/game in no time at no cost (if you want to get more complex though, you’ll need to start purchasing additional tools and collections) . Compared to Coursera and edX, these are more casual and open ended.

You might have access to kanopy (i.e. through your library); This streaming site has several courses made by The Great Courses on a wide range of subjects from history to cooking, science to self-help. The courses are a little less interactive than the previous suggestions, but they are full of content and if you choose to follow along with their suggested activities in a class like cooking, drawing, or meditation, it can be really engaging.

For more creative-oriented learning there are lots of subscription and pay-per-class sites like Skillshare, Udemy, Domestika, and CreativeLive. I’ve used the first two and turned out some interesting projects from the classes I’ve taken and grown my skills at things like Photoshop, hand-lettering, writing, and storytelling.

8. Socialize:

Even thought it’s challenging to do big events when managing a compromised immune system, not all hope is lost. Sites like EventBrite.com and Meetup.com offer easy ways to find happenings in your area and beyond (seriously, don’t limit yourself to local when the world is available via these amazing wire networks). Both allow you to filter for online and by price. You can even subscribe to hosts that appeal to your interests to get updates when they open a new event.

If you just like chatting with people, the Clubhouse app offers real-time voice conversations around various and wide-ranging topics. It’s pretty cool to both eavesdrop and participate with people around the globe.

9. Do crafts and make art:

There are several relatively low-cost crafts to keep someone busy. Of course, there is some money needed for supplies, whose cost will depend on how much you want to dedicate to it. That said, you can learn almost any craft for free through YouTube and other online resources (see the learn something category above). I’ve tried a lot of these hobbies over my time, and have added what seems to be a good resource for learning each. A quick search online will turn up many results if the one I provide isn’t your jam.

10. Learn a language:

I’m sure everyone’s heard of this by now, but if you haven’t, get yourself over to Duolingo and learn how to say “I want a sandwich” in Klingon.

BONUS. Volunteer:

I’ve found volunteering has really helped lift my spirits while being stuck at home. It lets me apply my skills to help others without the pressure of it being work. The people I’ve volunteered for have been really understanding and flexible to accommodate my needs. I used a very local-specific platform (Volly) to find volunteer opportunities, but the Canadian government website seems to offer some help in this domain.

Rays

The grief that’s been holding me for five months begins to crack. I see more light pushing through where the substance gives way. Grieving takes time. A shrouding. A breaking. A healing. New growth finds purchase within me, reaching into the illuminated places. Learning how to laugh and dance and sing and read again, with joy now. Growing into these lightened spaces where cancer doesn’t hang like a black cloud.

I still think about cancer a lot. There’s always an appointment on the horizon and side effects from treatment reminding me of my condition. It’s a long, persistent presence. There’s the uncertainty of what the coming months will bring. I wonder if it will always be this way—if the grieving will someday fade to an hour a day or a week. I wonder how joy will show up tomorrow or in a month. Settling into uncertainty is challenging but something many of us are learning. Treasuring the present. Dreaming a tomorrow. Taking small steps.

It’s been said many times, but the holidays are challenging for people moving through grief. There are many ways it manifests. For me, the absence of the usual joy that giving brings me and the burden it places on my scattered chemo-brain has been a struggle. Missing holiday gatherings that are too risky for my immune system sucks (not that these are happening with Covid, to be honest). I desperately want to spend time in the warm lakes of companionship. All of this is on top of navigating ever-colder weather that I’m painfully sensitive to because of chemo.

While laughter touches more of my days, I broke down last week. Thursday evening was set aside for card writing and present wrapping. My heart was heavy, and the usual joy these activities bring was nowhere to be found. I couldn’t concentrate, and even the simple task of signing my name felt overwhelming. I hadn’t planned carefully, and I sensed cards were in short supply. It was too much. I found myself shaking and crying. Thank goodness for my excellent partner. Even though it was late, he and I decided to go to the mall before it closed and see Christmas lights. The first display we saw was the twinkling moose standing at least twelve feet high. We marvelled and enjoyed it. After leaving the mall, we drove through the community, catching glimpses of decorated houses and inflatable figurines propped up on lawns and balconies. It was an act so small, but it broke me out of the doldrums this time. I’ve since been to two more malls for holiday decor admiration. It’s silly, but it’s helping. I’m surprised at what aids me to move forward. I hold a compassionate space for myself to explore these salves.

Today, I’m doing good. Despite the lengthening nights of winter, the light is coming through the cracks. I am connecting with friends, dancing, and singing most days. I’m finding more balance. Not every day is this way, but I’ll take it when it comes and enjoy the rays as they come through.

Lighting up the room with a twinkling tree!

Exploration

I was in a very different place three months ago. The shifts and changes over this time surprise me. Some expectations unmet, and some exceeded. I find myself in new territory and navigating with determination on my way.

Over the last few months, I have met more and more cancer survivors—seeing the incredible variety of forms this generic term “cancer” contains. The treatments are just as vast and remarkably progressing in their effectiveness. Although we forge different courses on the proverbial map, I see how mine is shaped by those who’ve travelled before me. I think of the leaders of cancer organizations, often cancer survivors themselves, and of donors and researchers who contribute to the journey. Much support and research flourishes, and I’m thankful my path benefits from this growth of understanding.

The tumours in my colon and liver have come exceptionally down in size since starting chemotherapy three months ago. The path set by my medical team has indeed been a good one. Granted, it leaves me fatigued, sensitive to cold, and nauseous. Still, I have visions of a future where there’ll be treatments less brutal as well as more early detection in young people like myself. This journey is tiring indeed. I will continue to chart forward, continuing chemo for a bit longer, and then a high chance of surgery in a couple months.

I have a fantastic support community and a lovely psychologist with cancer expertise. The effects on my mental health are some of the most difficult to navigate. Not having the straightforward tasks of a job make some days feel bleak, but small projects are helping uplift me in that regard. I find myself dreaming more, laughing more, and reminding myself of the value of doing small acts.

That said, the shortening days and colder air have brought on a particular sorrow. The grey of the sky drones with the grey of grief in my spirit. I try to light my candle for brightness, but its light is small and untrained for this ordeal. Although there is much to hope for in my progress so far, cancer is a nebulous threat that looms with fierce uncertainty. I return to the present moment often—the flickering candle and my steady breath—but cancer sits ominously near… and within. It feels heavy, but I am getting to know it better. I imagine my community in my body, clearing the misguided cells and setting them down a river. Healing. This is the best way I’ve found to approach my cancer. I’ve found little gratitude or warmth for it. Do I need to? Who knows what the future will bring.

When I look back at the beginning of this trek, I remember the pervading feeling of guilt. So. Much. Guilt. It manifested in my angry reaction to questions about causes. I’d felt this was my doing and felt the reason was my mistake. That’s the story I’d heard in my life. To avoid cancer, you must exercise, eat greens, avoid red meat, limit alcohol, cut sugar, live in alignment, live in balance, and so forth. And even though I did my best (most of the time), here I am. I wish I’d been more firm with doctors when my concerns were being written off… but perhaps I was scared myself. I find forgiveness. I release the guilt. Some days it is more challenging than others, but when I look back at the path I travelled, I see the burial mounds where guilt was shed. I’m doing better now. I hope others know they can ask for more from doctors, and I hope others know that life plays out as chaotically as the stars overhead and cancer follows these same rules. Whether you did everything right or everything wrong, there is always a chance that the path ahead will be more treacherous than anticipated. We will never dominate the natural world. So, I’m learning how to live with it beyond the longing to control what scares me.

My gratitude for a life well-lived has come to my aid many times. Over the worst parts, I lean on the strengths I’ve gained to ease the turmoil and remind myself how to move forward. Gratitude is definitely one of my strengths, and thank goodness. I know the coming months and years will continue to put me to the test. I learn, and I grow as I go. And keep living well.

Shifts

A new phase of healing. I’m feeling quite good (after the chemo side effects wear off)—a win I’ll accept. I’ve been able to enjoy some movies in theatres and a wider breadth of tasty foods. I’m finding more energy here and there throughout the days. These are good signs and contribute to a mood of heightened spirits, which I need. I find myself surprised that the drugs could possibly be working when they feel so brutal. I guess that’s the point.

While the cancer moves out of my body, the shift from autumn into winter signals change as well. The excitement of diagnosis has wound down, and I’m turning inward more. I’m valuing time to myself. The last couple of months have been somewhat of a marathon, and it feels like I can breathe a bit more this week. I’m enjoying the space and quiet while I can, although it’s not all easy.

I’m bemoaning the shorter days and colder air. It’s the signal for hibernation, but it brings its own anxiety. Am I ready for the coming months? What is even coming? More rest? More treatment? More fatigue and nausea or some other adventure? I’m a leaf on the wind, not knowing where I’m headed. I’ll get answers soon, but it’s a bit unsettling.

The hardest thing I’ve been confronting these last few weeks is my ablism. I’ve thought of myself as so accepting of everyone and an advocate for accessibility. But until being faced with my own inabilities, I’ve failed to see how much prejudice I hold. I’m seeing how I’ve valued work and productivity so much. I’m hard on myself when I’m not pursuing a challenge. I’ve harboured these thoughts of others too, and now I’m learning it’s necessary to let go. It’s not easy. I’m learning to accept all life in the way I accept the bugs, soil, and streams for just being alive and beautiful. I realize that engaging in joy does not need to be a reward for hard work. I’ve had to confront the scorn I’ve cast on myself and others for not constantly pursuing difficult or challenging things, and it is a tough cookie to chew. I realize the irony that this tough cookie is yet another challenge. It is what it is: necessary. But, I’m trying to be kind with how I learn this lesson.

So here I go into the calm: more healing, more joy, more life.

Autumn’s Lesson

I’m three chemotherapy appointments in. Halfway until I get scanned again to see how effective the drugs and healing work have been. I still dread the days following treatment. My care team is helping me to manage as best I can. They help me balance drugs to reduce nausea and other side effects. However, chemotherapy is still a cell killer, so it’s just doing what it’s gotta do. I continue to take care of myself. I sleep when I need to sleep. I eat high-protein foods that don’t make me nauseous. I keep clean to ward off infection. I meditate to centre my soul. The usual routine.

My moods have changed over the last month. It seems appropriate that I’ve been watching the gentle shifting of the leaves outside my living room window through this time. The cotoneaster hedge is particularly companionable to my shifting emotions. It’s gone from deep green through an array of oranges to crimson red and now, sparse fiery dots on dark fractaling branches. My moods, too, have passed in vibrant autumn colours: crimson frustration and heaviness the shade of brick. I’m more an even-toned umber today, resting on the stability of my branches. Perhaps tomorrow will be more saffron orange or slate blue… it remains to be seen. Nonetheless, I’m weathering the seasons of emotions as best I can; It’s stormy, to say the least.

Through the storms, I’m learning to be gentle with the expectations of myself. Tasks take twice as long, and I need more time to rest in between. In addition to that, over the last month, I have struggled to find motivation. It’s a constant hue of foggy blue pervading every attempt at action. I usually set a few tasks I want to finish. Simple things: do laundry, water plants, connect with a friend… I’m learning—with great difficulty—to accept that I can’t do everything. It’s a difficult lesson that I’ve never fully ‘got’ in my thirty-five years. I’ve consistently wanted more of myself than is humanly possible and always fallen short; It’s a tough mindset to unlearn.

Another habit that battles the high expectations is my tendency to be overly defensive of everything I choose to do, especially the pleasurable things. It’s like an internal war with a yellow army screaming, “You’re not living up to your potential” and the blue team saying, “NO, I am enough and deserve joys.” I’ve had some help finding activities that nourish me, though. The kinds of things that connect with my purpose and ignite me with meaning. For instance, I’ve started brainstorming activities that combine nature and technology, which I hope to turn into story-based activity guides. I’m reading books that nourish my creativity (Wild Mind by Bill Plotkin). And, I’m making felted mushrooms that remind me of our ecological interdependence, which will hopefully turn into gifts one day. Even though I’m not working as quickly as the yellow army might like, I find just a bit more peace when I’m pursuing something meaningful.

Perhaps it seems trite to speak of finding purpose or meaning; it certainly cozies up with such adages as “think positive” and “life is a journey.” Indeed, in the days of battling nausea and slipping between fatigue fuelled naps, it’s another red-hot army on my heels. I look at my companions, the leaves, and I wonder what they are telling me. They cling so desperately to their dark branches. Then one day, in a burst of fiery orange, they let go and allow the wind to take them. They will provide shelter for critters and eventually release their nutrients back to the soil for the next generation of plants. Each stage comes as it does. And luckily for me, the scenes come in an array of colours as vast as the rainbow! So, trite be damned, it’s just another colour of the rainbow.

Showing off my first felted mushroom

Loss

“These lovely people whose orbits have collided with mine…”

I was afraid I’d lose myself—become rewritten. I worried that therapy would erase me, my passions, my life.

A month into chemo, I find I am not lost. I am not erased. But this isn’t easy.

A month in, strong, strong emotions. I hate chemotherapy. There’s nothing to like about it—nothing to even fool myself into liking about it. It sucks. It makes me feel like shit. I barely have the energy to lift my head. My legs ache. If I’m not proactive with preventing nausea, I’m up at 2 AM puking. It sucks.

I’m losing my hair: “Thinning” (I’m unlikely to lose all my hair with the particular chemo I’m on). I’m caught by an unexpected sadness seeing my hands and fingers coated in the dark thin threads snaking every which way. I was warned, but tears wash away in the spray of the shower anyway. I wouldn’t mind being bald, honestly. The worst part is the numerous strands jumping out against my bathroom’s shiny white tile floor and threatening to clog the shower drain. I’m going to have to clean all this up. Barf. It’s yet another signal of how real this is and how powerful the chemotherapy drugs are. Even on this good day where I plan to eat a fancy dinner and take a long walk, my hair is falling out. I’m going to shave my head, I’m sure of it.

Unfortunately, my upcoming chemotherapy is delayed. A high fever, antibiotics, and borderline white blood cell counts indicate my body needs more time to recover from this cycle—a mixed blessing. As usual, I make sure to eat well and walk daily. I throw in some dancing for good measure. I still meditate every day—five hundred consecutive days of meditation this week! Add that to a couple of 250-day streaks broken by a missed morning, and that’s over a thousand days! I suppose all of this is healing. But, my heart is unsettled.

I feel myself on the rocky terrain of discovery, uncovering what each day and week are. I’m gentle with myself even as fears and passions lurch from my heart in a coded language I’m not sure I understand. I want to write and draw and change [eco-social systems of oppression]. Alas, I find myself boxed into my couch watching another season of British Bake-Off. It is what it is.

My birthday approaches. The love my friends and family have shown me over the last two months has been nothing short of the best birthday present I could ever want. The food, the company, the cards, the rides, warm blankets, and books. The list goes on, but there’s no way to fashion these words into a worthy monument of what they are: love.

It pains me that I can’t find the words to express how powerful this is. These lovely people whose orbits have collided with mine, who have shared in the joy of life, who have co-created places where we live fully and ready to take on a brutal world together. And at this moment, as I take on the lot this chaotic universe has landed me in, I find myself not too small or insignificant to receive care. Even as it feels the entire world is burning, I matter enough for people to show up at my door with baskets and blessings. There is so much space in love like this, the way it multiplies between us. And I find I am not lost.

I spent some time getting hugged by Shaker at Whispering Equine #horsetherapy

Magpie’s Menagerie

The following story is an experiment in a “rough-verse“ storytelling. I want to get more of my meandering stories onto the site alongside my personal updates. Most—like this one—will be first drafts as I move more value onto practice than perfection. This is a start.

“Magpie with Cape v1” by Kat Dornian

Magpie’s Menagerie
by Kat Dornian

Magpie collects her things.
A beautiful array of knick and knacks:
Buttons and foil, beetles and fluff.

Magpie arranges them, day in and out.
Adding to her hoard, lovingly displaying
the ribbons and caps, rocks and cones.

Magpie searches for more.
Flitting about for the debris left out
on steps, on stones and hidden in coves.

Magpie is never satisfied.

Magpie re-arranges, again, everyday.
Button here, ribbon there, fluff below, rock above.
Her newest foil scrap lacks a spot.

Magpie places and re-organizes.
Worrying about the collection —
trying the foil here, the foil there.

The lovely foil

Wind blows a mighty gust.
Catches foil, carries it away:
Flitting and floating, falling and falling.

Magpie sails after foil.
But she’s too late.
Lovely shiny sparkly foil, caught by River.

River takes foil far
while Magpie screams down stream—
desperate cackles and mournful titters.

Wind and River pass by.
Watch Magpie as she woefully sorts
buttons… beetles… fluff.

Magpie spies on River.
She pleas with Wind at every sunset,
expecting her foil to be returned.

“Foil is long gone, far past,”
River and Wind whisper to Magpie.
Still, Magpie clears the perfect spot.

River turns to ice, Wind turns cold.
Magpie nestles deep in her nest:
Beetles and rocks, buttons and ribbons.

An old scrap tickles her.
A treasure long neglected
across the months of spring to autumn.

Magpie remembers now —
the way the tarnished thing shone before it was forgotten
and coaxes it from hiding to its spot.

The lovely foil.

Wind may one day play though
and take old foil to the River.
But now, it cradles under Magpie’s breast.

Treasure for this moment.