I am.

Ten years ago this weekend I graduated from college. Wow. In some ways, it feels like I have lived several lifetimes since then, and in other ways, it feels like it was just yesterday. Ten years ago, the night before graduation, we all got back our letters to ourselves that the school had us write, on a college notecard, the first night we got there. And then I proceeded to get drunk, along with the rest of my class and our families, in the tent party the school threw for us. I remember it as a good night, and I have the pictures to prove it.
Ten years ago, I thought, at the ripe old age of 21, that I had my life figured out. I was ahead of the game. Only 21 and heading to a doctoral program in clinical psychology, I actually had "Jaime's Life Plan" written out. I swear. Little did I know.
Back then, I was consumed with the need to avoid making "the wrong choice." Like my life would take an irreversible turn if I did. I had no idea that some of those "wrong choices" would ultimately show me what I was and wasn't good at, and where my passions were.

I had no idea that the surgery I would have on my foot two days later would be the first of three, and result in chronic pain.

I had no idea that my biggest fear at that time would ultimately come true - I would not be a doctor, ever. And I am finally okay with that. Although I admit, I envied the doctoral robes I saw graduates carrying around here, with those velvet arm stripes.....

I didn't know that I would lose an aunt and a cousin, or gain a nephew, in the next decade. I never would have thought I would lose friends to cancer or see many more live with it.

I never imagined I'd learn to think of myself as an adopted Southerner, or grow to dislike New York.

I'd have scoffed if you told me I'd still be single. But when I see my old friends and those who are significantly younger than me move to their second - and even third - marriages, I am glad that I am waiting to marry. I only want to do it once.

I would have laughed if you told me that eventually, I'd get to be what I'd always wanted to be, but never thought was practical - a writer.

At 21, I thought I knew it all - as most people in their early 20s do. At 31, I'm beginning to realize that I may just be starting to learn what's most important. I am growing into myself. I know what I want in life. I also realize that I may not be able to "have it all," as we were told we could in the 80s. I have struggled more than I imagined, and for longer than I expected. But I have also started to listen to that voice inside that says, to quote Sylvia Plath, "I am, I am, I am."

I think that's called growing up.

There will come a time when you believe everything is finished. That will be the beginning. - Louis L'Amour

Joan Didion and NY

I've always loved Joan Didion's writing. It started when I got her book The Year of Magical Thinking, years ago. I loved her style of writing - crisp, honest, sarcastic at times - so much that I sought out her other books, and eventually got her book of collected nonfiction, We Tell Ourselves Stories in Order to Live. I was pretty happy to see this book on one of my class reading lists this semester. Didion has written lines like, "...All I knew then was what I couldn't do. All I knew then was what I wasn't, and it took me some years to discover what I was. Which was a writer. By which I mean not a 'good' writer or 'bad' writer, but simply a writer, a person whose most absorbed and passionate hours are spent arranging words on a piece of paper...." One of her more well-known essays is one called "Goodbye to All That." It is an essay about falling in and then out of love with New York. Although she must have fallen back in love with it at some point, because she lives here now. I wish I could reprint the whole thing for you. I have been reading and rereading it. This adjustment period to NY is hard. It is hard to love a place that seems very desperate, very lonely. Human connection is not so readily available on the streets here as it is in other places. When I was coming back from the store, a woman was walking her dog. I looked up at her and smiled, because that's what you did in NC, waiting for her to say hi, and it turned out she wasn't even looking at me, she was staring at the concrete. At the store, the cashiers can't get you out fast enough. Not a response to my "Hello," not a smile as you leave, nothing. How did this happen to us? When did this become the norm here?

Here is some of Didion's essay:

"It is easy to see the beginning of things, and harder to see the ends. I can remember now, with a clarity that makes the nerves in the back of my neck constrict, when New York began for me, but I cannot lay my finger upon the moment it ended, can never cut through the ambiguities and second starts and broken resolves to the exact place on the page where the heroine is no longer as optimistic as she once was....All I mean is that I was very young in New York, and that at some point the golden rhythm was broken, and I am not that young anymore...."

It's funny, 3 years ago when I lived here, I didn't sense this unease with the city. Was it because I knew I was going back to Chapel Hill in 8 weeks? Was it because I was younger, and had only lived in Carolina for a year? I don't know. Maybe a combination of all of those things. I don't know how long it will take me to become acclimated here once again. Even something as simple as browsing the Craigslist ads for nannies; how different the two experiences were. Here, you can practically hear the entitlement coming off the screen in the posts. Maybe I'm cranky because of lack of sleep. Every night and every morning, I am kept awake or woken up by outside noise. At night, it's blaring music and people shouting; in the morning it is the trash truck, car alarms or some other large truck coming down the street. And because I have no a/c, my window is open. Good times. I can't wait for cold weather.

At any rate, I'm here, and need to learn some way to live in this city.

witness to your life.

I was thinking about the twists and turns my life has taken in the past 10 years, and I'm struck by a common thread that I didn't really notice before. Everything I've done has to do with connecting with people. Psychology - obviously, working with a client and bearing witness to their stories, etc; public health/cancer; and writing - when someone reads a book, it's a very personal experience. At least, it is for me. I've emailed numerous authors to tell them how much I loved their books, or how much it impacted me. In the words of E.M. Forster, "Only connect."

I'm just thinking about this because I downloaded some new songs, including Lori McKenna's "Witness to Your Life." Because in the end, isn't that really what we want? Another person to acknowledge we were here?

mending.

So. I am still super sore, my leg hurts a lot and I am waiting on an MRI appointment. They want an MRI because of the amount of swelling and bleeding under the skin - it is hard for the doctor to palpate the muscle, and he explained that up to 25% of Achilles tendon tears are missed by the ER. He's not concerned about the bottom of the tendon, but the top - under the gastrocnemius, the big overlying muscle of the calf. He said that if there is even a small tear and we don't know it, years from now when I am exercising, I could really hurt it. And we definitely want to avoid this. So he wants to make sure there are really no tears in my leg muscles. I appreciate that, since Lord knows, I've already had enough. At any rate, this has forced me to take a break from ALL activity. I cannot even swim right now, because of the fact that the movement could hurt my calf muscle if there is a tear. It hurts to stand for a long period of time, so I am pretty much a blob right now.

I am still really conflicted about Columbia. I am beginning to wonder if I should choose a low-res program instead. This way, I can stay in Chapel Hill, work, do the MFA work, still make payments on my student loans....and even Queens University of Charlotte, is only about 13k a year, as opposed to Columbia's 50k+. That is A LOT easier to stomach. A lot easier. How low-res programs work is you apply, like regular MFA programs. They're NOT "MFA-lite". They are demanding, but you do the work while working your regular job and at home. Once a semester, there are "residencies", which are usually a week long, and you go there and meet with your peers and professors. During the semester, you send your work in to your advisor, participate online on message boards and forums, etc. There are actually a lot of creative nonfiction programs, including Vermont College of Fine Arts, which is very well known, Queens, Bennington and Goucher College. I don't know. The more I think about this, it seems like the best of all worlds. Is this crazy? Would I be crazy to give up Columbia?

Someone told me a quote last week: How do you build a house?.....One brick at a time.

It's easy to want to build a house all at once, with broad strokes and rushing construction and losing perspective that lots of tiny bricks make up the larger whole. At the age of 30, I am finally really starting to realize the little bricks that go into building the house I am creating for my life, and the work it takes to create the mortar and build upon each previous days' progress.

fear of flying.

The decision-making is still going on. My stomach is upset pretty much 24/7. I even have dreams about NY and writing and nonfiction workshops. I talked with another nonfiction graduate who had her book published - and optioned for tv/movie - and she was a huge help. Everyone I have spoken to has raved about the program and vouched for the helpfulness of the professors. It is an academically rigorous program - twice the credits of most others - which makes me a bit nervous, but also reassures me that students get their money's worth. It is intimidating, for sure. I've never taken a writing class, never taken a workshop, and haven't taken an English class since undergrad.

I've been reading books by professors and graduates of the program, and I have to say, much of the time, I am blown away. My heart actually beats faster when I think about being in a class with one of these professors. That sounds crazy, but it's true. Is that a sign that this is the right place, that this is where I am supposed to be? If someone has a talent, wouldn't it be the most appropriate thing to have them go somewhere where it will be nurtured, honed and developed? And shouldn't that person go to the best possible place they can, to take their gift to the maximum it can be?

In December, on my birthday post, I said that I felt 2011 would be a year of blossoming. If I don't take this opportunity, would I be opting to instead remain closed tight in a bud? Choosing the familiar option, instead of the thrillingly new option that could potentially take me to new levels? The below quote is one of my favorites, by Marianne Williamson. Is this anxiety just my fear about taking a risk and possibly succeeding?? Failure is scary, but success can be equally scary, especially if it is more than we ever thought possible. I've explained my Columbia acceptance away time and time again - they take 25 nonfiction people, which is a big class; they just want tuition money; my writing isn't really that good - instead of really thinking, hmmm. The admissions committee saw something in me. They believe in me enough to offer me this spot. And by no means am I thinking I am all that. But would it kill me to believe in myself a little more and open myself up to the fact that maybe this huge risk (financial and otherwise) will pay off exponentially?

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We are born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us, it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."

the way we were.

"There are two kinds of girls in the world; the simple girls and the Katie girls. I'm a Katie girl." -- Carrie Bradshaw, "Sex and the City"

I just saw this episode of "Sex and the City" where Carrie says this; she's upset because Big is getting married to Natasha, and at brunch the girls are talking about the movie "They Way We Were", and how Barbara Streisand, who plays Katie in that movie, is the complicated, curly-haired woman. Carrie says the above quote because some men can't handle the complicated women, they prefer the simple women, and Carrie admits she will always be a "Katie girl", and she's fine with that.

And I don't know if it's part of getting older, or just where I am in life right now, but I know I'm complicated. I can be intense, moody, brooding, overly analytical and obsessive, but I can also be spontaneous (okay, rarely), thoughtful, fun, and lighthearted. I value my independence but would also like to get married one day. (Although, see my previous post about how it will NOT rule my life). I love children and although I'd love to be a mom, I have to admit, I'm kind of glad I don't have any kids right now when I read the facebook status updates of some college friends....I think I might throw up if my life revolved around potty training, nanny finding and play dates right now. That being said, my nephew can melt my heart just by calling me "Aunt JJ". I struggle at times, but it makes me appreciate the good times more. I can take care of myself but appreciate the door being held for me. I don't really read fashion magazines anymore; I'd rather read triathlon magazines and writing magazines, that feed my soul and body rather than feed into a beauty myth. I am stubborn but sweet, tough but tender and, at times, can be vicious but vulnerable.

I am complicated, and I am okay with that. I am not the girl you can put into a box and anticipate my next move. I'm not the typical single girl who wants to be married above all else. I rarely cry at movies but a child can bring me to tears. I love the anonymity of Manhattan but love how the baristas at my co-op know my name. Like Carrie, I guess I'm a "Katie-girl."

(And now that SATC is on E! all the time, I love the old episodes. Miranda admits she's not a "girly-girl" and Carrie tells her thank goodness she's not.....where are the shows like this today??? We didn't realize it at the time, but SATC broke barriers of all kinds....).

a missing gene.

"I'm missing the bride gene. I should be put in a test tube and studied." Carrie Bradshaw from "Sex and the City" said that, and lately, honestly, I've been feeling the same. One of my roommates got engaged, and I am so happy for her - she's a lot like me, she's not super girly about it and she didn't cry when she got engaged. However, my roomates do love all the wedding shows - "Four Weddings", "Say yes to the dress", "Bridezillas", and the WORST, "Bridalplasty". I'm sorry, but personally, I do not think my wedding day will be the most important day of my life -- in fact, I hope it's NOT the most important day. If I ever get my doctorate, that will be an important day, and when I have a child, that will be the most important day. Not my wedding, which is a big show for other people, mostly. I can't get excited about trying on dresses and veils and all that crap. I like my independence, and I want to want my husband more than I need him, if that makes sense. It may have sounded better in my head.

Book Review: Healing with Words

Writers are known for over-analyzing their lives and obsessing. So what does a writer do when diagnosed with breast cancer? She took out her journal and put words on the page. Diana Raab, a nurse, was diagnosed wtih DCIS at the age of forty-seven. Five years later, she was also diagnosed with multiple myeloma. I was lucky enough to get a review copy of Diana Raab's book Healing with Words: A Writer's Cancer Journey, and devoured it in two sittings. This book chronicles her story, along with journal entries, poems and pages of writing prompts for the reader. Through the stunned shock of an unexpected diagnosis, to the decision to have a mastectomy and reconstruction and her healing journey, Raab pulls no punches. Her unflinching willingness to share her feelings about the process lends an intimacy to the story and makes it an engrossing read. She was helped by her surgeon, who sounds like the type of surgeon that seems to be found all too rarely - one who truly loves his job and cares for his patients deeply. He actually suggested she write a journal about her experience and feelings, and send it to him. It was exactly what she needed. In her epilogue, Raab dares to admit something many cancer memoirs tend to minimize -- she struggles. Physically, emotionally, and psychologically. But she continues to write, which in turn helps her to heal; it is a necessity, like breathing. Despite her struggles, she makes the choice over and over to live her life. She even quotes the Nietzsche quote that is tattooed on my back: "That which does not kill us makes us stronger." Raab has chosen to reframe her situation, and see her cancer experiences as turning points that, in her words, "set you free to fulfill or examine dreams that can no longer wait....It is about understanding what you really want in life...." With multiple pages of writing prompts, quotes, and breast cancer resources, this is an interactive book that encourages its readers to examine their own lives or cancer journeys. It is a cancer memoir that connects readers without being preachy or full of pink, and is simply real. And that is the best thing of all about it. Buy the book on Amazon or visit the author's website.

obligatory end-of-year post.

So tomorrow is New Year's Eve - really, it's just another day; I'm over the whole "do something big" thing - but that means bloggers inevitably do those end-of-year postings, rounding up everything they've done, or learned, or loved. This year did not turn out like I thought it would, but that's not necessarily a bad thing.

I had two foot surgeries within a 6 month time frame, forcing me to learn patience and appreciate the baby steps and hard work sports rehab takes. It also made me slow down and learn to accept help from others.

I joined a triathlon club team, forcing myself to meet new people in a new environment, and loved it. In fact, I am signing up for another year tomorrow.

I stopped fighting the impulse and urge to be a writer, and finally decided to go with it....and it was like the world opened up again.

A friend of mine died from cancer, forcing me to realize all we have is today, that tomorrow isn't guaranteed.

If you're not going to be self-indulgent, why should anyone else indulge you?

I learned humility when I was taking science classes, and for the first time in my academic life, was not succeeding. I never realized before how demoralizing poor academic performance could be, but I experienced it first-hand, week after week after week.

And of course, once again I learned that no matter what academic program I end up in, or what job I get in the future, or how successful I am professionally, nothing, nothing, nothing can compare to hearing my nephew say "Aunt JJ? I love you", or seeing his face break out into a huge smile when he sees that I've flown in for a few days. Being Aunt JJ will always be my favorite, most important job.

So what will 2011 bring? I have a feeling it will be a great year. I think there are lots of doors opening up, I think I'm taking risks I haven't taken before, and that I am open to whatever life brings me. As the writer Anais Nin said (and it's on a necklace my grandparents gave me for my 30th bday), "And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom."

I think 2011 will be a year of blossoming.

140.6.

I am watching the 2010 Kona Ironman that I DVR'd yesterday. I have watched past Kona Ironmans and other Ironmans, but there's something special about Kona. There are the pros, but the majority of the competitors are just like you and me, regular age-groupers. It is these competitors that make the race so darn inspiring. This year, there was a woman who walked the entire marathon with a BOOT on her foot. Yes, a boot - just like the one I wore for nearly 6 months this year. She had a stress fracture. She was able to swim, had a bike shoe, and put the boot on for the marathon and walked it. WOW. Or Lew Hollander, the 80 year old triathlete who has competed in more than 20 Kona Ironmans. Watching Kona always brings tears to my eyes. Yes, really. It reminds me why I fell in love with triathlon. Because it's all about identifying your limits, surpassing them, and finding out that really, you have no limits. You can do so much once you stop placing boundries around yourself.

What was it Henry Ford once said? "Whether you think you can, or whether you think you can't, you're probably right."

bleeding onto paper.

So I am in the home stretch with applications. Finishing up personal statements, polishing and tightening up of my portfolio, and wondering (for the millionth time) what the heck am I doing? But not in a bad way, per se....more like....in a really excited, tentatively hopeful way. A not-really-believing-I-can-make-a-life-out-of-this way. I am cautiously optimistic though. Writing programs are different than many other programs. They don't put so much weight on GREs or grades. It's all about your writing. And it's subjective - it's all about who's on your committee. Someone could be accepted to Iowa Writer's Workshop (arguably the best in the country) but rejected from UC-Irvine (another excellent school). Hugely subjective. So you never really know how you are.

As we saw with applications two years ago, rejection is....not my thing. Especially from academic programs. It is very, very personal for me, because I place so much emphasis on achievement. I'm working on that; I know that I shouldn't put as much weight on that. It's hard to shake. With writing, especially....writing is intensely personal. You unpeel your skin and spill your soul onto the paper, it's there, laid bare and honest. And for someone to reject that.....ouch. As Hemingway once said, "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed." Truer words are hard to find.

Continuing with the literary theme tonight, this is an awesome website with neat shirts. I have the Maya Angelou shirt. For each shirt you buy, they donate a book to children who need them.

Currently reading: Edith Wharton, "House of Mirth"; John Steinbeck, "East of Eden", and Keith Haring's "Journals"

dirty thirty.

In three days I will turn 30, and you know, I'm not upset about it. After all, as someone said to me yesterday, what's the alternative? No, but in all seriousness, at the beginning of 2010, I was dreading turning 30 - my own "thrisis", if you will (the new buzzword for the crisis over turning 30) - but now, I welcome it. I think...no, I know, that this decade will be a really good one. In many ways, it feels like my life is only just beginning; that child-like sense of possibility has been renewed and I am excited for what lies ahead.

The past ten years have brought a lot to my life. A college degree, two graduate degrees, a wonderful and sweet little nephew, moving to the South (and liking it, no less), and a new baby cousin. Over the past decade, I have lived in PA, FL, NY and NC. I have seen numerous people - too many people - in my life face cancer, and was reunited with my childhood goal of working in oncology. I have had three foot surgeries on my left foot and learned the lessons of patience and tenacity. I got to work at my dream job for one summer, meeting world-famous cancer researchers whom I had only previously read about. I played college rugby and found triathlon, a sport that has given me back my health and my sense of self as an athlete. The past ten years have been hard and full of struggle and disappointments, but also full of human kindness, relationships, and the work of perseverance. When I first moved to New York in 2003, someone sent me an email with this quote by Freud - "One day, in retrospect, the years of struggle will strike you as the most beautiful." While I appreciated the quote even back then, it is only now that I fully appreciate its truth.

I have been thinking a lot about what I want to bring with me into my thirties and what I want to leave behind. I hope my thirties are about living life with no regrets, being in the moment and pursuing my heart. Hopefully I will meet my future husband and start a family of my own. And in my heart, I know that no matter what, in the next ten years, I will become a mother, whether it be with biological children or through adoption. My thirties will be about abundance, not restriction. I want to make choices based on love and hope, rather than fear or anxiety. And maybe this all seems naive and foolish, but maybe it's good to set the bar high. I look back at who and where I was at the age of 20, and really like the person I have become since then.

In Judaism, there is a blessing called the Shehechiyanu. It is typically recited on the first day of a holiday or when doing something new. This blessing thanks G-d for keeping us alive and bringing us to this moment. You can bet that on Saturday, my 30th birthday, I will be reciting the Shehechiyanu with my heart wide open.

gratitude.

Thanksgiving is this Thursday, and I am going up North tomorrow. I am excited, but also bittersweetly sad. My aunt has end-stage cancer and now weighs under 100 pounds (and is about my height, 5'6", maybe an inch or two taller), so it's not looking good. My grandparents are getting older - at my age, I am very, very lucky to have three living grandparents - and I don't get to come up North as often as I'd like. I'm excited to see my nephew, who always brings a smile to my face and joy to my heart.

This year has been an eventful year - more so than I would have hoped - but this Thanksgiving, I am very thankful for many things. I am thankful for my health. After two foot surgeries in eight months, I am finally starting to feel like my foot is going to be okay, and I am starting to walk pretty well again. I am thankful for my family, for all of their help and encouragement and support. I'm thankful that I took the risk and followed my heart, committing to writing, even though it scares the hell out of me most days. I am thankful for the family I babysit for down here, who have welcomed me into their family over the past 2 years and bring a smile to my face and make me laugh. I am thankful for friends who remind me of all the goodness out there in the world. I am thankful to all my mentors and guides on this path called life, who have encouraged my writing, believed in me, let me make my own mistakes so I could learn, and who have shown me all the possibilities for the future. I am thankful to be alive, because if anything, the past week has shown me that life is truly a gift. I am learning not to put things off until I have a "real" life, and to live in the moment without regret. This year has been hard physically, emotionally and spiritually, but as the writer Audre Lorde once wrote, "But of course it is out of Chaos that new worlds are born."

tomorrow.

A wise teacher in high school once told my class that "No one ever promised us tomorrow." This has stuck with me through the years, because it is something so simple, it seems instinctive, but it is something we all tend to forget, or ignore, or don't believe. But it's true. Tomorrow is not a given for any of us, which is why we should live in the moment and pursue our happiness (as long as it does not hurt others). This isn't always easy to follow - believe me, I know. Daily I am consumed with anxiety, wondering if I made the right decision in following my heart to writing, wondering whether I will be able to make a different with my writing or teaching, and wondering how the heck my finances will turn out. Deep in my heart, I know I have made the right decision and am happier than I've been in a while, but in my head, I don't always remember that.

A friend of mine passed away on Friday night from cancer. He was first diagnosed in 2003, and suffered multiple recurrences, and each time, they amputated further up on the arm, until January, when he had no more arm to amputate and the cancer metastasized to his spine. Despite radiation and chemo, the cancer spread to his liver and lungs, and he and his wife decided to opt for pain management rather than treatment. It was a good choice. They went on trips together, had professional photographs taken of the two of them, and lived life out in the world, instead of in a hospital or chemo waiting room. They have memories of trips and togetherness and laughter. He was 33.

Despite the fact that we all knew he would die from the disease, I don't think any of us were prepared. You can never be "prepared" for that. I remember thinking the same thing about my grandfather. When he died from lung cancer, we knew it was coming; his death was painfully protracted and I had just visited him the previous week and knew death was imminent. But it was still shocking in its own strange way, because how do we prepare for death? Are we ever fully "prepared", those of us still alive? I'm not sure we are.

Death reminds us that it's true, no one did promise us tomorrow. There is no guarantee for any of us. The best we can do is try and be in the moment, love and appreciate those in our lives, and pursue our passions and happiness. When I find myself doubting every decision I have been making, I think to myself, if you were to die tomorrow, would you be happy? And I would be, I think. Would you? Do you make decisions out of fear (which we all do at numerous points in our lives)? Are you willing to make decisions from your heart, despite the anxiety that might cause? Because this is your life. This is it. At the (almost) age of 30, I am tired of thinking "oh, I've always wanted to..." or "I wish I could..." Because none of us know what will happen. None of us know our fates.

It's scary. It's scary as hell, living the lives we want to lead. But what is the alternative?

writing icons.

"Those that don't got it, can't show it. Those that got it, can't hide it." - Zora Neale Hurston

So it's been several weeks at this "writing thing" and I feel pretty good about it. Part of me still can't believe that I actually am getting paid for what I do all day. Part of me is also feeling the pressure, since I am finding it hard to motivate myself for writing my personal statements and writing portfolios. I keep waiting for that "flow". But working writers have to write even without the "flow".

I was thinking about an event I attended back in 2005 -- "Great Writers at Barnard", at Barnard College, in NYC. It was a one-day event where alumnae writers from Barnard came and spoke on panels, and there were various breakout sessions you could sign up for. I signed up for a session on finding an agent and publisher, and one on science writing. Natalie Angier, the author of "Woman:An Intimate Geography" was at the science writing panel. I got to the city early, and since I was familiar with the Columbia area, went to one of the Starbucks' near the school. Standing on line, I realized that who should the woman in front of me be, but none other than ANNA QUINDLEN. I was awestruck. Then, walking down a hallway at Columbia during the panel, Jhumpa Lahiri, the author of "The Interpreter of Maladies" passed me. wow. The panel included Ann Brashares, of "Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants" fame, and other alumnae there that day included Erica Jong ("Fear of Flying"), Edwidge Danticat, Delia Ephron, Nieca Goldberg, Naomi Foner Gyllenhaal (mother to Maggie and Jake), Mary Gordon, Stephanie Klein, Daphne Merkin, Eliza Minot and Suzanne Vega. In an elevator I found myself riding with the special guests of the event, Jonathan and Faye Kellerman. It was an awesome day. That day, though I would never admit it, I probably knew that I would end up as a writer. It was a magical day for me, seeing these people in person. The above quote by Hurston, herself a Barnard alum, is Barnard's motto. I think it's awesome.

Anyway. I will have plenty of time to write even more in the near future. My foot surgery has to be redone. It will be done next thursday, and I am NOT looking forward to it.

bring on the wonder.

"Bring on the wonder, bring on the song. I pushed you down deep in my soul for too long..." These lyrics from the Susan Enan song "Bring on the Wonder" have been in my head for several weeks now, but are especially appropriate lately. Anyone who reads this blog obviously knows I have been taking prerequisites. While I may love oncology and medicine, science classes do not love me. I can read an oncology textbook and understand it and explain it to you, but basic physiology and microbiology, I just can't do. My brain does not work that way, with rote memorization of endless facts. I gave it two semesters, and after less than stellar grades (and that's putting it nicely), I had to re-evaluate things. I would study and study, and be met with terrible grades....for someone who thrives on positive reinforcement and achievement, it got really demoralizing and discouraging, day after day, week after week.

I've always been a writer. When I was little, I would write stories, books, anything. I was - and am - a voracious reader, and reading and writing has always kinda been my thing. I'm good at writing. Last year, I started writing health articles for websites, and got a cancer blogging job. I've always said that I'd love to be a writer, but it just wasn't "practical". It felt self-indulgent. But as someone said to me last week, if you're not going to indulge yourself, who will?

So I have decided to focus on writing. Will it be hard? Yes. It will be incredibly financially stressful, especially in the beginning, but I have faith that it will all work out. Does this mean I am abandoning oncology and my past education? Of course not. I'm still looking for cancer research positions, and one way or another, I will remain in oncology. Who knows, maybe one day I will write a book for kids with cancer, or for parents whose child has cancer.

A large part of me was choosing nursing because it was PRACTICAL. There are tons of nursing jobs. But I wasn't passionate about it. Passionate about cancer? Yes. Nursing? No. I've been fighting being "creative" for so long, because it just seemed "flighty", or impractical, or whatever. But maybe I'm just a creative person at heart, under all this logical science stuff. I was creative as a child; we all are, to an extent -- where do we lose that, along the way? Ever since I made the decision to focus on my writing last week, I can't stop smiling when I talk about it. It's scary as hell. But in a good way. It's simultaneously terrifying and thrilling, all at the same time.

So what does this mean? I am buckling down and really focusing on producing a set number of articles each day....after all, that's my income. I'm looking for writing opportunities and research positions. And.....looking at MFA programs, so I can get a teaching job in higher education. I know you don't need an MFA to be a writer. But it helps with teaching jobs, especially at the college level, and it does open doors and facilitate connections, which is how the world works. I'm looking at a variety of programs, mostly non-fiction, including one medical-science writing one.

Right now, the MFA program doesn't feel like the be-all, end-all. I can do many things right now, and I'm keeping my options open, while still focusing on and allotting significant time to writing. I'm following my passion and talent, as ridiculous and scary as it may be. And you know what? I haven't felt this passionate, this excited, about my life in a long time. I haven't felt wonder at the possibilities like this in ages.

So life isn't turning out the way I, and many other people, thought it would. But I think it may be turning out exactly how it's supposed to.

"Show me someone not full of herself and I'll show you a hungry person." - Nikki Giovanni

for KM.

I don't know what it is like to have a husband have cancer. But when you told me your husband was diagnosed with a rare cancer, I saw the pain and fear and questions in your eyes, the determination to be positive and hope for the best; I know these feelings well. It all made sense to me now - the sound in your voice a few weeks ago when you said that there was an emergency, that I couldn't place but knew it sounded so familiar....it was stunned shock. (Is there even any other kind?). I know what it's like to mobilize forces and energy to get everything in place, line up appointments, call the appropriate people, get the second opinions and wait for results. I know the relief at hearing it can be easily taken care of, that it's early stage; and yet I also know the anguish at hearing the cancer is advanced or metastatic, and that treatment is possible, but not cure. I know what it's like to look at everyone else, to look at the world around you and think, how can everyone else's life go on like normal, when mine has completely changed? Don't they KNOW that nothing will ever be the same?? I know the cruel irony of a beautiful warm, sunny spring or fall day while life feels like it's under one big dark cloud. I am intimate with late nights of staying up with the stars because sleep eludes me and my mind won't shut off. I know what it's like to have friends never mention anything or ask questions, when all the while you just want to unleash information and feelings. People have surprised me, in both good and bad ways; I imagine the same with you, too. I don't know what it's like to have children and tell them the news, but I do know what it's like to want to - to need to - be strong for others. It gets easier, it does. And somehow, surprisingly, strength has a way of breeding more strength. I don't know what it's like to work full-time while my life feels like it's in limbo, but I know what it's like to have to study and perform when everything is uncertain. Though I don't know what it's like to have someone be diagnosed with a rare cancer, I know what it's like to have a loved one be diagnosed with a rare *enough* cancer (PPC) that no books are available at B&N on it. I know the feeling of going to the bookstore to find something - anything - to give me information on what I'm supposed to do, what I'm supposed to say, what's supposed to happen.....and just wanting to ask someone about it all.

In an alternate universe, or another lifetime, I would be the one listening to and helping you, instead of the other way around. In any other situation, I'd dip into my stash and give LiveStrong bracelets and the LiveStrong survivorship treatment binders and information or StupidCancer bracelets and pins....

I can't do much in this situation, but I can do this.

Cancer is a word, not a sentence. - John Diamond

almost 2 years later.

Friday will mark 2 years since Eve was murdered. Those who know me know that I have been fascinated by this case since the beginning. Like I've said before, I think it's because as a young woman, I identify strongly with Eve, and I love and feel safe in Chapel Hill. The brutality of this crime is sharply juxtaposed with the place I have made my home, which makes it even more jarring. The random senselessness, the stark contrast between her vibrant life and lonely death, and the brutality shown in her killing have all made it a huge thing to process, and I think UNC is still processing, in its own way.

The day they announced that the Jane Doe was actually Eve was an unseasonably warm clear day, with a Carolina blue sky. The days that followed, right before spring break, were filled with darkness and torrential rains, like the sadness and grief were everywere. This Thursday (tomorrow), the Eve Carson Memorial Garden here at UNC will be dedicated, and the weather tomorrow, after days of gray dreariness and rain....is supposed to be sunny with a sky of beautiful Carolina blue. The name "Eve" means life. The Hebrew derivative is Chaya, which means "to live"; or Chavah, which means "breathe". I think a garden is a perfect memorial, because the beauty and life of the flowers will continue to grow and bring comfort and peace to others.

For those of you who don't know, her killers - sorry, her "alleged" killers who are on tape using her ATM card and in her SUV - were supposed to be in jail. They slipped through cracks in the probation system. One of them also murdered a Duke graduate student earlier that year - he was shot in the head in his own apartment. One of them is up for the death penalty, and the other is not, because he was only 17 at the time. I'm sorry, but if you're old enough to callously kill someone and have no remorse, you're old enough to get the death penalty. And though all murders are violent, this one - 5 shots, the last one in the temple with a shotgun, where she held her hand up to shield her face - is especially so. I'm not writing this to "sensationalize" it. I'm writing it because it shouldn't have happened. I'm writing it because it was markedly brutal, and yet because the boy was 17, that is enough to shield him from the maximum sentence? There are people doing the right thing and living their lives in a good way who don't have food or shelter, and I'm supposed to pay for these criminals to get 3 squares and a bed? What's not right with this? You mean to tell me they'll ever be "rehabilitated"? I know this sentiment isn't popular, and that's fine. It's just my opinon. But Eve's parents and brother don't get to talk to her on the phone. Her brother's future kids will never know their Auntie Eve. They walk by her empty bedroom. Their years are full of milestones - birthdays, holidays, celebrations - that she's absent from. They are adjusting to a whole new way of life. They will never be the same. They live with wondering what she was thinking, what she was feeling those last hours. Her killers may have done the crime, but it's her family who has the life sentence. How is that fair?

"Think about this moment. This day and this moment, this is the best day of our lives right now." - Eve Marie Carson

Dorothy had it wrong.

From "The Wonderful Wizard of Oz":

"Dorothy wanted to see more of the Princess, so she ran after her. But the china girl cried out, "Don't chase me! Don't chase me!" She had such a frightened little voice that Dorothy stopped and said, "Why not?"

"Because", answered the Princess, also stopping, a safe distance away, "if I run I may fall down and break myself."

"But could you not be mended?", asked the girl.

"Oh, yes; but one is never so pretty after being mended, you know", replied the Princess.

"I suppose not," said Dorothy.

It doesn't take a philosophy or Women's Studies major to see the broader meaning and implications about this...at least, I don't think so. Maybe it's just because of my psychology background, I don't know. In some way, aren't we all broken, or in the mending process? Maybe it's up to us to see the beauty in the cracks, to read the stories of the ridges and scars. Isn't it said that once a bone is broken, after it mends, it is stronger than before? Maybe our broken pieces give us strength. After all, if something sits on a shelf and is never enjoyed, that's not very exciting, is it? It's only by experiencing life that we become nicked here and there, maybe cracked open or even shattered. But eventually, we piece ourselves together with some help and love, and continue our journey.

There's such a collective emphasis in society of not showing weakness, not showing our broken or wounded parts. We like to show shiny, pretty surfaces and neat, tidy packages. But as someone recently pointed out to me, vulnerability often draws people closer; we often like them even more after we know that part of them, because we connect on that basic level. At our centers, we're all vulnerable.

Once something breaks us, even temporarily, we're never the same. Ever. We're different. Maybe we can become better, even. And I would venture to say that, no, we're never as pretty as we were prior to breaking. We're prettier.

this kind of work.

"This kind of work, it changes you....and it IS too easy to lose your way." These words were just spoken on Grey's Anatomy by the Chief of Surgery. He was talking to the physicians and telling them about his experience with a person with AIDS back when AIDS first came on the scene. And though Grey's is often far-flung from the truth, there is truth to these words. Hearing him say them...well, it sounds cheesy, but it reminded me why I am on this path and why I continue to slog through, despite setbacks and failures and struggle, despite having to take undergrad classes at the age of 29....I do it because I love it. I love oncology, and it feels right working in the field. I honestly cannot see myself doing anything else but something in oncology. There is something humbling in working with people and families living with cancer. Many days, you are the one being taught. There is something magical in the human spirit, that is amazing to watch and be a part of. Though it can be depressing work, the relationships and resilience and hope are also a huge part of it.

This is what I need to keep in the forefront of my mind when I get discouraged with my classes, or overwhelmed with memorizing. This is what I need to remember when I find myself thinking I'm crazy for doing this and not taking a job that is simply satisfactory but pays the bills. I need to remember my grandmothers' gratitude when I explained her pathology report to her. I need to remind myself of my dad's "thank you's" when I broke down my aunt's medical records in everyday language. Or R's pleased surprise when I call to see how she's holding up with radiation. I need to remember Erik, Sophia, Pop-Pop, Jennifer, Jaime N, Kendal....and all the other wonderful people I have in my life who have been affected by cancer. I am tired of hearing that someone else died, or someone has a recurrence. I'm frustrated that the scale is not tilting in a different direction with cancer.

But I guess that's why I chose oncology.

Or why it chose me.

"If children have the ability to ignore all odds and percentages, then maybe we can all learn from them. When you think about it, what other choice is there but to hope? We have two options, medically and emotionally: give up, or fight like hell." -- Lance Armstrong