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Dear Dad,

Last night I attended a black-tie optional American Cancer Society Gala fundraiser as a guest of a friend.  I was a bit out of my league – I had to buy a dress and heels and Neil had to buy a suit. We’d never been to anything like it and had fun.  Before dinner, the obligatory, “this-is-why-you-should-give” speeches began.  My friend talked about the surprise of my diagnosis and what it has taken to overcome the side effects of treatment. I was very touched, not knowing ahead of time that he was going to speak.

Next up was the gorgeous, platinum blonde  I’d noticed earlier because she looked like she could be part of my “tribe”.  She was indeed about my age, with kids who were teens when she was diagnosed with breast cancer two years ago.  She spoke of her fear and loneliness as a single woman facing a difficult battle and how she met a volunteer and survivor  at the hospital Cancer Resource Center  who changed her life. He gave her a hug, listened to her fears, taught her to tie a head scarf and told her the story of his daughter, also a breast cancer survivor. Of course I knew it was you, Dad.  My eyes welled with tears and I had to do that girly dab-eyes-fan-yourself  thingy so I didn’t ruin my make-up.

I felt deep love and pride as I listened to this person I had never met talk about how much you meant to her because you  so generously shared yourself. I was in awe that she had been inspired by my story – a story I didn’t know you had shared, though of course it was okay.  I was profoundly moved that because you were you and I was me,  we had changed someone’s life.  Two years later, she still remembers your kindness and maintains a friendship with you. Two years later, she remains inspired by my struggles and successes.

Making a difference is not just about donating money or buying stuff at an auction, though that is important.  I believe  the most important thing we can ever give to anyone is compassion and time.

I know that you, Dad, gave so much of yourself as a volunteer that you burned out and had to leave to take care of yourself.  But, I wanted you to know that even though it wasn’t always easy for you to support  men and women who were scared and suffering, the fact you did, mattered immensely to them.  And to me.

I am incredibly proud of you.

I know sometimes we don’t know that what we do matters. But I have found that every connection has potential to change lives.  Every time we pause in our busyness to give to someone else, the ripples flow out in ways we cannot know.  We never know what a smile, a hug, or a quiet talk does for someone.  Sharing yourself, your story and mostly just being there, can give much-needed hope and courage. Sometimes it means that a woman who has lost a breast can look in the mirror knowing she is not alone in her fear.  Sometimes you will find out, years later, that just because you were you, it made a difference. I hope that everyone has the chance,  like me, to hug a stranger who calls you hero even though you just met.

You are my hero Dad.  God knows, that hasn’t always been the case, but last night I have never been more proud to have you as my father.

I love you,

Robyn

Touching The Vein

A friend had an opportunity to read her writing aloud at our MFA residency.  Well liked and outgoing, she isn’t at all shy and we were familiar with her story.  There should have been no surprises; it should have felt like a safe environment. She read an excerpt from her journal about the challenges of raising a daughter with autism and her voice quavered. We worried she wouldn’t be able to continue.  As she wiped her eyes, her face registered shock that this was affecting her so. She’s tough, this wasn’t a new story for her to tell, or even a particularly revealing one.  But it was full of the gritty reality of living with a kid with challenges.  It was a story she tried not to think about because she had no choice but to keep living it. The room pulsed with our need to support her.

She was thousands of miles away from her children who needed her, a home with broken pipes and a farm full of animals , while she chased her dream on a non-existent income.  And yet she came to me the next day wondering what the hell was wrong with her. “I have to get through this.  Reading didn’t used to bother me and I don’t understand why it does now.”

The obvious answer was that she was  over tired and duh… her life is TOUGH.  Besides, reading from a personal journal, no matter how well crafted, is a vulnerable experience. Though it wasn’t “profound”, her writing made us all see what it was like – a window into the challenges she faced – and it was powerful.

Isn’t that why we write?  To be heard?  To reach out so that others understand?  Isn’t the best compliment to your writing that someone can relate enough to cry, or laugh or nod their head ?  Isn’t there magic in the fact that even our own words can reach through our crusty exterior to reveal something new pure magic?

I often cry when I write.  I see it as a gauge of how close I got to the vein.  A little sniff here or there, the burning desire to get away from the words for a moment, show me that I’ve gotten close.  That lump that forms in my throat, a tear I hastily brush off before anyone in the coffee shop notices, are the highway sign that says “YES. This is it. Truth at last.”

I don’t always cry but that doesn’t mean the story doesn’t affect me. The last six months I’ve been sick – ailment after ailment attacked my mouth and lungs.  Eastern medicine would say my communication and heart chakras were ill.  It is no wonder – I’ve been writing stories about abuse and my challenges as a mother that no one has ever heard.  Stories I used to be deeply ashamed of, or dismissed outright. It was time to tell them for the good they will do in the world. They’ve lived in my body for so long that dislodging them has been physically detrimental, maybe even dangerous. The process has been akin to removing mercury fillings without proper attention to the toxicity.  Though I have “been over it” for a long time, finally letting the words go – to let them become a story by themselves and apart from me, has been a painful process.

Maybe we react physically to our stories – through tears or pain- because we finally recognize ourselves through them.  In  giving our stories the weight of words, the space to be read aloud, to see the mirrored tears in someone’s eye, we allow our stories to be just that – a story.  Not a definition of who we are. Maybe it is an opportunity to see what we have been through via the distance of the page. Our words are a window for people – including us – to see a truth not ordinarily exposed.  Our words are powerful, they deserve honor and the emotions they bring up need to be acknowledged.

We write to help others find their place in the world, for our reader to feel connected.  Sometimes we do this by opening our own veins – sharing the ever-replenishing life-blood of truth as we connect. In allowing our stories to become more than us we flush out the toxicity of holding something that is no longer needed. We share them because others still hold onto theirs.

(I am taking a break from my usual posts to talk about my other passion – GARDENING –  so if you are looking for my other writings, keep scrolling until you find what you are looking for! )

I missed the  Northwest Flower and Garden Show, because I was finishing  up my last MFA graduate school residency.  But I am still inspired – in the past two weeks, the weather has turned warmer, my bulbs are coming up and the roses have buds on them. Pretty soon I will be able to sit at my outdoor writing desk to work and I am so excited!  In the meantime, as the plants are getting ready for spring, the stack of gardening books next to my work space and bedside has been growing…..

Timber Press (Portland,OR) has always been a publisher I unintentionally gravitate towards and imagine my delight when I was given a box of new titles to review!  (One of the few perks of working as a bookseller!)  I really loved these books and am passing them on to you – not because I got “paid’ to do it – but because I love them.  Each title contains a link to buy  directly from Timber Press, though I prefer keeping your local INDEPENDENT books store (like Elliot Bay Books, Powells  or the bookstore I work at University Bookstore).

The Roots of My Obsession

Thirty Great Gardeners Reveal Why They Garden

Thomas C. Cooper

Timber Press $14.95

Pub Date: Sep 19 2012

As a writer who often writes about gardening, I am always curious what captures other gardeners.  Some seem to delight in color, or texture, other the biology or experimentation of it all.  The Root of My Obsession is an exploration into the deep, often spiritual calling to spend time int he dirt that we all share. Within these essays are out hopes and fears, the dreams for new gardens and the worries that someone will see all we have neglected.  It is a window into the heart of not only us as gardeners, but as people who deeply love the outdoors. A beautiful little book.

The Layered Garden

Design Lessons for Year-Round Beauty from Brandywine Cottage
David L. Culp
Timber Press $34.95
Pub Date: October 2012

There is nothing gardeners like to do better in the cold indoor winter months than hunker down with a file of gardening books in front of the fire.  The Layered Garden has stayed next to my chair all winter and I have found much to inspire me as I have browsed its pages. Full of gorgeous photographs and well written plating/botanical information, gardeners from across the US will find useful suggestions for creating the gorgeous color and texture effects off Brandywine Cottage.  An absolute delight – even if I wasn’t shopping for a gardening book, this one would have landed in the basket.

The Timber Press Guide to Vegetable Gardening in the Pacific Northwest

Lorene Edwards Forkner
Timber Press $19.95
Pub Date: January 2013  

Loved reading through Vegetable Gardening in the Pacific Northwest!  Perfect introductory for new gardeners with plenty of good information for the more experienced.  Layout is easy to use and interesting making this a perfect addition to a both the experienced and new gardeners library !

Keshiki Bonsai

The Easy, Modern Way to Create Miniature Landscapes

Kenji Kobayashi

Timber Press $19.95

Pub Date: September  2012

I will be honest: I am not into Bonsai.  It seems fussy and high maintenance in my survival of the fittest life.  But after reading through Keshiki Bonsai I have plans for my own piece of Zen gardening!  The clean, modern layout of the book itself invites the reader in, varying font and detailed pictures capturing your interest. Clear instructions on how to accomplish the look – right down to the pot size and how to take a care of moss -makes it  a good beginner book while features on artists and stylistic design ideas draw in the more experienced. Beautifully done – a great gift idea!

9781604692433_p0_v2_s260x420

The Unexpected Houseplant

220 Extraordinary Choices for Every Spot in Your Home

Tovah Martin

Timber Press $22.95

Pub Date: 2012

This beautiful book will provide house of happy armchair gardening before you ever get your hands dirty.  Full of practical information on turning unexpected plant choices into gorgeous houseplants divided by season of interest.  Delightful, easy going descriptions of each plant including descriptions of light needed and how they have fared in her own home read like mini-gardening essays.  Beautiful photos and a “basics” section and clear instructions of “how to” round out the perfect inspiration for your indoor gardening.

AND MY FAVORITE…..

9781604692372lFree Range Chicken Gardens: How To Create A Beautiful Chicken Friendly Yard

Jessi Bloom

Timber Press $19.95

Pub Date: January 2012

I love EVERYTHING about this book!

Aside from being completely satisfying to chicken fanatics like me, there is a wealth of gardening information here that any gardener would benefit from.  definitely one to add to the gardening shelf!

Much, but not all, of  the book is chicken specific. It is  loaded with general information on breeds and more detailed chapters on diet and all things “free-range” (a term well-defined within its pages). While all topics are slanted towards raising chickens,  as she moves into more garden design chapters (Bloom is an award-winning landscape designer) her suggestions easily apply to any Pacific Northwest gardener.  From fencing to irrigation and mulch, her writing is both friendly and  informative.  she presents both pros and cons of a variety of choices.  Bloom is opinionated – she specializes is sustainable, eco-friendly methods – but she convincingly educates the reader as to why she is right.

There is TONS of plant specific information throughout the book – especially in the  sections in which she visits several Pacific Northwest chicken gardens.  These gardens feature every type of chicken housing and garden design from simply practical to simply beautiful. (I am in awe of the poop free walkways in Kate Baldwin‘s GORGEOUS photographs!) Ideas for gardens both big and small are here – while there are one or two “farms” most of the gardens represented are city plots.

There is so much information here that I have found nowhere else that I have a hard time curbing my bouncing-around joy to maintain “professional perspective” to write this review.  Suffice it to say that this is NOT a free book I received. Instead I flipped through it every day at the bookstore  while pretending to work until I could buy a copy for myself!

****disclaimer:  most of these books I was given for free with the intent I review them. Reviews have been posted to Timber Press (via NetGalley)  for the use of other booksellers and have been displayed at University Bookstore -Mill Creek as Staff picks

This can be seen in its entirity in issue  #41 of SUGAR MULE LITERARY MAGAZINE: WOMEN WRITING NATURE

Away from buildings and street noise, surrounded by lush evergreens is where I feel most at feel at peace. Only in the wilderness do I feel truly steady, my feet rooted in the ground. Over the years, the trails and dirt roads of the Cascade Mountains have witnessed events large and small in my life, the wilderness a steady companion and inspiring teacher.

I was 2 years old on my first hike. Strapped into a blue canvas backpack carried by my father to the top of Mount Pilchuck, it set in motion a love for the outdoors that I never grew out of. Later as a moody adolescent, I carried my own Jansport rucksack loaded with books up the same trail, just to sit on a rock and read, ignoring everything else. When I wasn’t hiking, I was often perched on the dropped tailgate of a station wagon at the end of a dirt logging road, eating cheese and crackers, enjoying the view. Despite the evils of clear cut logging, the lack of foliage exposed the texture and pitch of terrain normally concealed, and was beautiful in its own stark way.

Day hiking when the car is a mere ten miles or so away was simple. I didn’t have to prepare for much, my pack was light, there were people on the trail and help was relatively close. But backpacking was taking it up several notches. It never occurred to me to worry – I knew the important stuff, like how to read a map, what gear to bring, how to dig a hole for a toilet and squat without sitting in nettles. I had no idea that what you learn on the trail is not something you can prepare for.

The night of my first backpacking trip I woke to heavy silence, the tent filled with an ethereal glow. I had never heard silence so loud. Can silence wake you up or was something there? My hiking partner snored softly next to me, and I didn’t want to wake him like a scared city kid. But I had to pee. Ridiculously bad. But I couldn’t go out there – alone. What was waiting for me in the dark? My heartbeat sounded like a drum in the quiet tent, alerting all within hearing to my fear. Didn’t animals attack people when they sensed fear?

I frantically searched for my headlamp so that I could see something besides shadows. Where was the damn headlamp? Oh my god, why didn’t we have a can or something to pee in? Finding the headlamp underneath me, I slid it on unicorn-style, and flicked the switch to its brightest setting. A reassuring beam was now directed at whatever I looked at. I scrunched deeper into my bag, hoping the urge to pee would just go away, and closed my eyes.

With my eyes squeezed shut, my ears reached outward with supernatural ability. Trees  creaked earily, rubbing against each other in the slight wind. I reminded myself that the faint sound of laughter and voices was really the nearby stream. Or, wait! Was someone there? I held my breath. The sound of a twig falling softly onto the nylon rain fly was magnified as if a giant night creature just perched above my head. My eyes flew open, my bladder clenching. The headlight beam careened crazily off the ceiling and walls as I bolted upright, head whipping around right and left. I couldn’t ignore it, I really had to go. Fumbling for my glasses, I unzipped my cocoon of warmth and safety and braced myself for a quick trip into the bushes. Unzipping the doorway, I crawled into the night and was birthed into starlight.

Still on my knees on the packed earth, everything else was forgotten as I gazed upwards. Clusters of stars were so dense that their outlines merged with one another made entire clouds that lit the sky with brightness. The empty night had become full while I was sleeping. Darkness was an illusion – something that lived in the imagination of someone who lived in the city.

Switching off the unnecessary headlamp, I marveled at how much I could see. Of course I knew the infinite universe lay out there, just beyond the invisibility cloak of daylight, but to see it revealed against this blue-velvet backdrop was astounding. There was nothing limited here, except my own ability to perceive. As I looked up into the endless space, I felt so small. But there was a strange comfort in that. Nothing in that vastness knew I was there; I was a piece of a larger puzzle – not the whole puzzle as I so often believed in my busy life. My problems were relatively unimportant in the larger world, and maybe they should be in mine. There was nothing to fear in the unknown, except how I let that fear cause me discomfort. My heart stilled. I stood up stiffly to complete the task that sent me into the ignited night. I was no longer afraid….

“Storm”

(This is an excerpt from my very first short story which was published by Minerva Rising Literary Journal for their Winter 2013 edition.)

The first snowflakes drifted lazily. Tentatively. Moments passed between them, as if they were deciding which direction to go – or if they needed to fall at all. Then, with a sudden shift in the wind, they grew in size and numbers, crashing against each other with violent ferocity. A moment later, another shift and they slowed, resuming their lazy fall like feathers, lacking will once again.

Indecisiveness was something she could understand.

There was something different about this storm. An urgency – a desperation that it needed to matter – to be taken seriously and not pass unnoticed. Its towering masses of roiling grey had been piling against the hills for days, the hum of something about to happen hanging in the air.

The landscape was being reinvented before her eyes. Dirty prairie grass, still matted from the last storm, suddenly glittered gold against the white snow.  The rusted places on the metal barn roof now blended with the grey sky. Midwinter’s barren ugliness was becoming sensual instead of filled with dull color and sharp edges.

The woman sighed, momentarily immobilized by the beginnings of change.

The snow fell with determination now, blanketing the ground and fighting against wind that whipped it back into the air. Leaning forward, her breath steamed the windowpane as she watched her boundaries transform. The world beyond the sagging barbed wire fence opened to her imagination.

The silence of heavy snowfall reached through the walls of the old farmhouse, settling on her heart, covering the jagged wounds of her weary story. She shrugged her shoulder against the memories and the tear that rolled over the yellowing bruise on her cheekbone.

The oppressive clay-dirt solidity she knew with such unflinching harshness was changing.  Details erased, only the softened outline of what was important to know remained. The burrs that latched on to her as she moved throughout her day were now impotent and cowering. Weighted and drooping, bare limbs allowed passage where none had been before. Everything was softened, beckoning. The old world was distorted and enlightened. This storm called her into its depths instead of repelling her with its challenges…

To read this  in its entirety please purchase  Minerva Rising Literary Journal – Winter 2013  online or at Elliot Bay Books in Seattle.  Please support this outstanding collection of women’s writing!

Three hours into my second day of skiing I already needed a break.  It was a powder day, but here in the Pacific Northwest “powder” is still heavy, requiring effort to get back up  if you go down.  I had already required several extractions that morning: double ejection face-plants necessitating  climbing uphill to search for buried skis. Invisible bushes hid under the light  snow that grabbed hold of  my ski, pulling it into the deep with me attached – and pretzel twisted. I was exhausted and headed to the lodge for a snack.

Sitting in the lodge  alone while Neil skied a few runs without me, I was enthralled by a group of girls that stopped to chat next to my table.  They were everything I’d once wanted to be.  Athletic, beautiful,carefree, they had all the gear that implied they knew what they were doing.  Avalanche transceivers strapped to their chests,  they carried backpacks filled with shovels, probes and other gear for backcountry safety.  They were talking animatedly about the pure lines they’d skied in the backcountry and I knew they had the latest, fattest skis waiting for them outside. I was consumed with envy.  6 years ago I’d dreamed of becoming a backcountry diva, complete with helicopter trips and a place on ski patrol. I’d  imagined  skiing with grace and style, easily hiking to the best lines, never fearing an entrance, hucking (small) cliffs to the cheers of  friends with no worries about injuries. I was going to be full of effortless strength and bubbling enthusiasm. But here I sat, exhausted.

It didn’t matter that they were twenty years younger than I. Or that they had, in all likelihood even at their young age already been skiing for more years than I had. That they had not had children, knee and shoulder surgeries, or cancer didn’t change the tightening in my gut, the deep sigh that rose from my core.  All I could see was what I would never be – the youth and opportunity  that had slipped away from me.

Cancer treatments left me with nerve damage that eventually blossomed into fibromyalgia – full blown pain that makes it hard to walk some days much less feeling inspired to go running like I used to or enthusiastically seek out tight tree lines.  I lost  reckless abandon in the face of not knowing how my body would respond to what I wanted to do. Even  feeling good, I still have to judge if the pain I might be in the next day is worth the activity level.  I don’t recover well,  I  don’t have endurance.  The price of my relative health was the enthusiastic,  competitive person I was.  Already having fought for my life, I’ve  since lost the thrill of riding the edge of  danger, the desire to push myself to see how far I could physically go. Knowing what constant pain is like, I shy away from the possibility of adding more. Most of the time, I am really okay with not working as hard, not trying to prove anything to myself or anyone else. But,I’d be lying to say there are days of regret.

A few ski days later, I rode the chair alone with some old ladies who had come up on the ski bus.  I listened to them talk about starting at age fifty and skiing into their 80′s;  how they thought these new skis were harder than their old straight skis. They admitted they didn’t ski hard, they didn’t take chances, they were afraid of falling and getting hurt.  But there they were, sharing the chair with me, brilliant blue sky overhead; their love of the snow, the smell of the pitch in the trees and that thrill of turning skis down the slope every bit equal to mine.  I wondered what they thought about me, my fat skis and apparent youth in my bright-colored outfit. Did they regret what they could no longer do?

Disembarking the chair, I skied the run with attention to style and technique, delighting in the scratchy swoosh  of the icy snow, the vvoot, vvoot sound of  corduroy  under my newly waxed skis.  On groomers, I ski faster than most people;  the predictability of the terrain  allows me to “shop”  my turns, the long sight lines increase my confidence. It is easier for my to stay balanced, to keep my mind where it ought to be instead of worrying about if I can do it.  Slower, quick turns are just as fun as long swooping speed turns, and I can work on technique instead of puzzling out how to be safe. I can feel my strength there and I love every second.

I rode the next chair with a ski bro’. Sun Valley tan, too long shaggy hair, aviator sunglasses instead of goggles, all the right gear including the backpack brimming with backcountry equipment.  I waited for the conversation to begin as the chair headed up the hill, knowing the ‘bro banter was about to start.  “Sweet day, huh?  I have had some epic lines today, how ’bout you?”  He appeared to be all I didn’t want to be – probably a great skier, but a store-bought attitude, cultivated to sound younger, hipper, and more stoned than he probably was.  As the chair lifted over the rise, I made appreciative sounds to his batter, when he switched gears abruptly, pointing uphill. “You know, I almost died up there.”  He only partly had my attention – up there was in the cliffs was exactly where I would have expected him to claim to be. Besides, claims of  ”almost died” was part of bro show.  “Yeah?” I replied without much enthusiasm.

“Back in the days when I was on ski patrol.  I was up there trying to do a rescue and I fell.  Shattered my leg. They were going to amputate. I said no way, man.  They said it would never be any use to me. I said I would hold it together with duct tape and drag it around behind me until I could figure it out. I was on crutches for three years.  But look at me now!  Doing what I love. Every day I can get up here, man, it awesome.  Another good day to be alive!”  He beamed.  Not a sheepishly affected ‘bro smile, but a full on childish grin. He wasn’t skiing the way he used to, I am sure.  And I know enough about injury and recovery to know he is familiar with pain and the heart-wrenching loss of what used to come easy.  But his enthusiasm was genuine, not affected,and he was right – any time on the mountain is good time.

When Neil joined me for a run,  we headed off to terrain I simply wasn’t feeling. Hard, volkswagon-sized  moguls wanted to direct my turns, the steep pitch causing  images to flash before my eyes of  racing my ejected gear to the bottom head first. I was side-slipping and hip-checking away when Neil gently suggested I cross over to terrain I liked better.  Years ago, this would have enraged me.  How dare him insinuate I couldn’t do it!  This was exactly where I wanted to be – I wanted to be the backcountry girl – I had to be able to ski anything ! All skills dropped, I would have continued making my way clumsily downhill, with him skiing slowly behind  to pick up the pieces.  After all – I wanted to be those girls!  They could do this and I could too!

But today, I looked at the smooth expanse of steep and fast groomer terrain just a trail away.  This run wasn’t my thing today – maybe another day, but not now.  I scooted off to find what I would enjoy most instead of fighting my way through what I used to want.

Becoming Amazon explores the multitude of ways in which we grow stronger and truer to our authentic selves. We do not wake up one day as warriors. Instead, it is an ongoing process that takes attention and work. The warriors’ journey is often as equally full of back-sliding as success. It  asks only that we pay attention and learn, our attention to growth and service to others.

The stories here are all autobiographical – essays, excerpts from my memoir and works of fiction  that draw on emotions that I have felt. My writing is an act of cheer-leading and connection.  More than anything, I want to dispel the myth that we are alone in this world. I hope my  readers  gain a better understanding  of the challenges we  face on a path to a more authentic, rewarding life. In putting words to often difficult emotions and situations, I seek to be a voice for those who have lost theirs. I want to create  compassion that will allow for personal and global change.

I also love writing about the natural world and how we are changed by our experiences in it. Nature has a unique ability to shift our perspective, allowing us to truly see. All healing begins with imagining what it possible instead of getting lost in the challenges.  Our time playing outdoors, exploring and challenging ourselves settles us into our true place in the larger world and  allows us to become more of who we really are.  Whether in the city observing crows or on extended trips to remote wild-lands,  nature grounds us and has the capacity to create deep change in us.

I have extensive public speaking experience  and am a frequent MC or  keynote speaker for  fundraising, business and community groups both locally and nationally. I speak on a variety of inspirational/motivational and cancer survivorship topics to groups small and large. I teach classes on memoir writing, public speaking and Unlocking Your Creative Self.

As a MFA student at Goddard, I have recently completed a draft of a memoir . I  am also working on a collection of personal essays and another of short fiction.

My essays, fiction and nonfiction have been published in a variety of  webzines and print journals such as: How We Became  Breast Cancer Thrivers, Breast Cancer Wellness, various  American Cancer Society publications, The Pitkin Review, Sugar Mule and Minerva Rising.

The most important job I have is being  mom to my fabulous adult kids Megan  and Eric, both of whom are artists.  I write because I can’t not write.  When I have time for other things, I also ski, golf,backpack, garden and work to finish my Masters degree.  And that isn’t counting my day job.  In the past I’ve worked as a teacher, counselor, book seller, ski sales person, manager of a shop full of young men and organic livestock farmer.  I am an active local and national trainer, coordinator and volunteer with The American Cancer Society Reach To Recovery program.  When the weather nice, I ride a vintage Bajaj Cheetak scooter around town. I  live with my boyfriend Neil  and our four chickens in the Seattle area.

Find me at Becoming Amazon on Facebook  or contact me below!

 

 

 

01/13  THIS BLOG IS CURRENTLY UNDER CONSTRUCTION!  

PLEASE BE PATIENT AS I GROW!!!!!!!

(This post is a copy of a correspondence between a  friend and I about living with long-term illness/pain)

“Do you think things happen for a reason?

Or are we just creatures, vulnerable to the world?”

  

Dear Friend,

I have been thinking deeply about this question you sent me.

I know you didn’t mean for me to get philosophical – it was an agonized question in an agonizing time for you.  But, you see, it reached me on the morning of my 4th anniversary of mastectomy surgery – my only shot at surviving the cancer that was eating at me.  It is a question I have often had, coming up with different answers over time. I might even change my mind about my answer as I write! But I wanted to give it the attention it deserves, because it is important – important to our health as survivors.

I do not think that everything happens for a reason.

I think shit happens, frequently and unfortunately.

Some things do happen for a reason and if we are honest with ourselves we can often follow the nasty path backwards to its origin.  It is not a pleasant thing and sometime it is completely unnecessary.

What I think is this:  What matters is what you do afterwards.

Maybe, in a convoluted way, that is saying that things happen for a reason:  to force us into action or growth. However, I cannot live my life believing that there is a Divine Puppeteer that just is out their screwing with me to see what I will do or if I am smart enough to get the hint.

Yes, we are creatures vulnerable to the world. I believe that all creatures are. Our arrogance is in thinking we are anything but that.  And our growth lies in learning to accept it.

The illness you are suffering from sucks.  I know that some days you face it with courage and other days you are buried in pain.  I am familiar with these things too.  I know what it is like to rack your brain for what you did wrong and to try to figure out what to do right to fix it.  I just don’t think it is that simple not matter how much I would like it to be.

But, I don’t think we were “meant” to suffer in order to achieve some level of evolution – physical or spiritual.  I think shit happens.

I would love to have someone tell me that the naturally occurring steroid I was the year taking prior to cancer was what caused it.  It would feel good to have someone – even myself – to be angry with for being vain enough to want that extra boost in my athletic performance and body image.  It would be simple to be regretful – tragic too –  but at least I would understand. To be able to blame myself for an act that triggered a lifetime of debilitating pain would be something.  But I don’t have that answer any more than you have yours.  Cancer just was, the resulting side effects of treatment still are.  Your pain just is.

So now what?

When each moment becomes precious, each relationship, job or errand weighed against the energy it gives you or robs you of, you begin to put yourself first.  This is something we are not taught to do – and as a mom, it is sometimes impossible to do.  But the things that have happened to us have so debilitated our functioning that our bodies are demanding our complete attention.  Painful as it may be, maybe this is not such a bad thing. I believe that as we learn to hear the message, to be compassionate and gentle with ourselves, acting out of an understanding of our sacredness, our bodies will be less angry, less reactionary, less likely to seek pain as their response.

Unfortunately, we live in the real world and this is not always – and sometimes not even remotely- possible.  So we hurt.  We seek solutions and reasons.  We are angry and sad and full of resignation. Sometimes we manage gratitude.  We must make more time for ourselves somehow.  I struggle here too.

What do I know now that I did not know before cancer?  Before pain?  That is what I really focus on  – not the why of it, but what am I learning:

I am valuable and my life has worth.

I have a voice that deserves to be heard

I am stronger than I ever imagined

I am vulnerable in some areas and crusted over in others and working to even that out

My dreams require action and I am worth every effort towards them

And on that note, I am going to go back to working on my school work. Getting my Masters of Fine Arts  in Creative Writing is something I would not have ever done before cancer.  Ironically, since I made the commitment to follow my dream and write, nearly everything I have ever submitted has gotten published.

Does this mean that cancer happened so that I would write?

I don’t think so.  But, without a doubt, it was having cancer that made me realize that I was worth going to grad school and giving writing a try.   I know you have those things too.  And when you forget gratitude and being nice to yourself and are rolling in pain and sorrow, know that I hear you and I am on your side.

Rules for Love

I am away at grad school, an all-encompassing adventure that I am halfway through with. I am pursuing a MFA through Goddard College and each semester we meet on the shores of Puget Sound  at Port Townsend for a week-long residency of learning and sharing.  These are intense days, packed with emotion and growth and we throw ourselves into the work of writing and friendship with vigor. Deep connections are made between people who often challenge our perceptions of ourselves and our “real” lives outside of school. Our lives are changed by both the work we do and the people we meet here.  Many of us find that it is sometimes when we are apart from the distractions of our so-called real lives, that we become our real selves.  We must change that.

This is a short piece I wrote and presented to my fellow students over wine at a late night creative gathering.  It was inspired by several private conversations and my own thoughts about the relationships we form when social convention is stripped from us and we must be fully and completely ourselves.

Often, it is when we are clothed only in our barest, naked selves, that we fall most fully in love. With life. With ourselves. With someone, or someones.  And we often struggle with what to do with it. This is my response.

 

10 Rules for Love on the Fly

10. When you know that all that needs to be said, must be said, because in a day or a week the object of your heart beats’ irregularity will be gone, be bold. There is no tomorrow.

9.  You will feel like a twelve-year-old. You will be unable to peel your eyes away, your skin will tingle when you touch and you will ache when you are apart. Wallow in it. Stare into eyes.  Hug often. Kiss long.

8.  You will make those friends who are not part of your experience sick, they will laugh at you wondering if you have lost your mind.  You have. And it is okay.  Enjoy it.

7.  Love for you.  Do not worry about the repercussions, or what it means about you or your family or your life back home or your gender or your future.  Indulge the self soft creature inside you.  Don’t worry about your hair or your breath.  Worry about not getting enough of those you love.

6.  Go Big.  Your time is limited and the moment is now.  The gift in this intensity is its urgency, this sense that it could all be gone in the morning.  It could.

5.  This very lack of time means that the deliberate is everything and nuance is wasted.  Share your gifts. Be intentional.

4.  Speak.  Tell those you love that you do.  That you can’t stand to be across the room from them because you can’t touch them or share a story immediately. Tell them they are beautiful. Smart. Funny.  That they make your heart sing.  Tell them this freely, not to get something back.  Tell them because it is true.  Tell them even though they may never says anything like it to you.

3.  Risk.  Risk everything.  Be vulnerable. Be you.  Take a chance.  Stay open. Believe you are worthy.

2.  Let go.  Of expectation. Of a desired outcome. Of fear. Of the rules. Let go of your self limitations and when you think you have set yourself free, let go again.

1.  Do this every day.

Love fiercely. Now. Love always like whoever is in front of you may be gone tomorrow.  Live into this moment, always seeing it and the beloved in front you of you fresh.

Now, throw away these rules and make all of this life an exploration into love.  Make it all a grand romantic adventure.

This was inspired by the men and women I have told I love at Goddard College, even after only knowing them for hours.  Though this piece is neither indicative of the work I am producing as a student at Goddard College, or the type of writing Goddard teaches, the college’s unofficial mantra of “trust the process” made sharing it possible in its unedited 15 minutes of  inspired writing, state.

Most especially, this is inspired by my sister-soul Shelly, who was involved in a serious car accident that could easily have claimed her life just before our residency. 

(published in Seattle Center for Structural Medicine newsletter, Winter 2013)

(This is the text from a speech I gave for the opening ceremonies of the Monroe/Sky Valley, Washington  Relay for Life fundraiser for the American Cancer Society on June 2, 2012 and, by request, in a slightly altered form at the Arlington, Washington Relay on June 23)

Welcome to Relay!

My name is Robyn Lynn and 4 years ago I began my journey as a breast cancer survivor.

I had an injury on a lower rib – clearly not anywhere near my boob, and I didn’t think much of it.  I was the only girl working in a ski shop and was always banging into stuff.  But, after a couple months, the bump wouldn’t go away so at my annual check up I  mentioned it  to my doctor.  She sent me to get some tests  which, in a couple months, resulted in the phone call no one wants to hear:  You have cancer.  And not only did I have cancer, there was a lot of it.  Funny thing is –  the bump was nothing -  it went away as soon as I was diagnosed. But there was extensive cancer hiding in my right breast that I would never have known was there.  I had no signs or symptoms, I had no risk factors, was an athlete and ate mostly organic and vegetarian.  I had no breast cancer in my family.  I was a 39 year old single mother of two teenage kids.

They were able to remove the cancer and this fall I will celebrate my 4 year anniversary, but on that day, September 19,  cancer changed everything about my life.

I know that I speak on behalf of all survivors, present or not, in saying that your efforts here to raise money for support services for patients, better treatment options and to find a cure for cancer are appreciated more that we can ever say.

We survivors appreciate you taking time out of your lives to do something for us, but I want to encourage you to also take this opportunity to do something for yourself.

You see, when you are told you have cancer, everything in your life changes in an instant.  Even for those people who do not have life-threatening cancers, the very word “cancer”  itself sets in motion a serious of thoughts about mortality and life that shifts your path to one that is parallel to the one you were on. It is as if the world titled just a little bit so that colors are brighter, details are sharper, emotions are stronger. You start thinking about what it important, the things you regret, the things you still want.

How long you choose to stay on this path is up to you. Some people won’t allow cancer to alter their path at all and they try to resume life exactly as it was before.  But, it doesn’t really work that way.  You never go back to the way things were.

Instead there is a “new normal” – a new way of seeing the world and moving within it.  As a cancer survivor, some of the physical parts of your new normal will not of your choosing – it can take a long time to regain your energy, your hair and your ability to do things that were once easy. Some of the things you will lose to cancer will not come back and you will mourn them deeply, grief becoming a part of “normal” for awhile. But, part of your new normal will also be the ability to look at the world in a different way.

Cancer survivors talk about how they don’t let the small stuff bother them anymore.  They often pursue long put off dreams realizing now that life is short and time is precious and not to be wasted. They tell the people they love that they do and they allow activities, people and stresses that are not worth their energy fall to the wayside.  There are a lot less “should’s” for survivors – a lot less we feel we ought to do for other people. Cancer gives us the chance to realize our own importance.

Today, you are here walking for cancer survivors and patients who are dealing with these deep life questions while they also struggle with the physical aspects of treatment and the ongoing questions about their health and the future.

I ask that you use the next 24 hours as an opportunity to allow cancer to change your life too – not because I wish this diagnosis on you, but because I wish for everyone to have this opportunity to realize their own importance. I want each of you, as you walk today, to think about what you would change in your life if you were told you could die.

How important would the worries you held yesterday be if your time here was limited?  How would you treat your body if you knew that in a day or two you would lose a breast, a kidney, the ability to speak normally, or breathe freely?  What is on your bucket list?  What is the one thing you have always wanted to do – or always wanted to be – that you have never attempted because you thought it was silly, or frivolous or that it might not work out?  What would you always regret not doing if you everything suddenly changed?

And, why are you not important enough right now for these things?

Do you have to be told you have cancer in order to justify investing your own happiness?

As you walk the track today you are raising money for valuable services for The American Cancer Society that make a real difference in the lives of people affected by a cancer diagnosis

I am the Snohomish County Reach to Recovery Coordinator and serve on the national call list for the Reach Program. I am also a member the Great West Division Cancer Resource Network Training Task Force that sets up policy and trainings for regional and local volunteer coordinators.  Reach To Recovery is a peer support resource matching newly diagnosed women with survivors of the same type of breast cancer at the same age. Reach volunteers are the “been there, done that” voice of encouragement and hope in a scary time for women.

Reach  is just one of the many patient specific programs ACS provides. My father, Bob Banks,  is a volunteer at the Cancer Resource Center at Providence Hospital in Everett  - a program fully funded and staffed by The American Cancer Society. He visits patients as they are receiving treatments, answers questions and gives hugs and encouragement. The CRC provides information on all types of cancer and related treatment/medication information, newly diagnosed patient gift bags (heart love bags), wigs and prosthetic fittings, hand knit blankets and hats, scarves  and scarf tying classes, all available to patients and their caregivers FOR FREE.

ACS also has a free Rides program providing free transportation to and from treatment. The Everett area ACS Road group has 25 + volunteer drivers who provided 800 rides last year. In the past 6 months, that program has already provided 500 rides.

Gas cards and hotel stays are available. Free Cancer specific support groups and classes are also offered for minimal cost on everything from Body Image to Meditation and Yoga.  And ACS funds the newest thinkers in the fields of research and treatment development, helping to increase of quality of life when undergoing treatment and gaining insight into how cancer works.

We will find a cure, it is only a matter of time.  Your fundraising efforts not only get us closer, but provide priceless support for those in need, immediately.

By your efforts, patients are given hope. They are given time in which they feel they matter. They are able to share their concerns and their triumphs with someone who is in the unique position of knowing exactly how they feel. They have some of the lonely weight of being a patient or a survivor lifted as they realize that people really do understand and care. They are, heard, recognized and buoyed up. They gain hope that their lives will not only continue, but will be better after cancer.

My life is certainly better after cancer.  My dad, a prostate cancer survivor himself, told me it would be, and I got mad at him.  I wanted things the way they were before.  But through the process of diagnosis, treatment and survivorship, I learned so much about myself I would not have otherwise known right now.  I followed my dreams and became the writer I always wanted to be.  I became a public speaker to give voice to people who do not have one strong enough to be heard.  I went back to school to allow me to switch to a career that was more fulfilling. I have made sure my relationships are ones I wanted to be in instead of the ones I happened to be in. And I love my family and friends with all my heart, everyday, instead of letting opportunities to tell them so slip by.

I encourage you to allow the impact of cancer to change your life for the better too.  Don’t wait until some sits you down to tell you they have some bad news for you.  Examine your priorities now.  Be your best person now.  Live as if there is no tomorrow.  Take risks. Love yourself fiercely. Be your own advocate for happiness.  Follow those dreams now – there will never be enough time, so you might as well get going.

When we each become who we were meant to be, the word is changed.

Thank you for making a difference in the lives on cancer patients and survivors.  Thank you for letting us make a difference in yours.

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