Home. Park City, Utah is my original home. It is where I began, and the jumping off point of an incredible life. After looking into the abyss last year, I realized that I have not given Park City and the people I associate with it, enough of its due. I went to school and ski raced with some incredible people and many of them I have lost touch with. As my skiing career unfolded, my childhood friends began to fade into the background and only until I was under the ravages of chemotherapy did I realize that I truly missed them. As part of my journey through survivorship, I am taking stock of my life. I have lived an unbelievably incredible life and because it has been a whirlwind of great experiences, it has been some time since I have taken an inventory of the friends I have cherished a long the way. Luckily, social media has allowed me some relief of the guilt trip I started on long ago by allowing me to secretly delve into the lives of my friends from days gone past. Before cancer, I was not inclined to reach out, thinking that doing so may somehow disrupt the natural path of the universe. Everyone is busy chasing their dreams, raising their families or staying ahead of the curve. I was often worried that my attempt to reconnect might be viewed as troublesome or that perhaps I was not worthy of a reconnection, being too fat, too democratic, too non-religious, too self-righteous, etc. I still see people from my past through a young girl's eyes, and when I think of them, I think of them as young, fabulous and full of potential. Meanwhile, I see a 46 year-old mother and wife looking back at me from the mirror and worrying that my young, fabulous friends might not accept me into their young, fabulous lives. HA!
It turns out that they are all in their 40's and 50's too. They have jobs, careers, responsibilities and families. They have lived, loved and lost just as I have and postponing one more second of a chance to share that which has transpired in the last 30 years is merely one missed opportunity after another.
I've been to Park City many times on whirlwind tours involving skiing friends, alumni banquets, girlfriend's birthdays or friend's weddings. For some reason, I have traditionally avoided my high school friends, mostly because I've completely lost touch but also because of my own demons of not realizing the dreams I was so determined to achieve. I lay waste to my own set of relationships in the pursuit of an Olympic podium and when I didn't make it, I crawled into a hole, forsaking many people who were very dear to me. As time passes, it gets harder to reach out due to responsibilities, a few age-related changes, and in my case, a significant amount of guilt, having seemingly abandoned my hometown for my shiny, new, California life.
Cancer has taught me that this is simply crap.
Today, I am the best I am ever going to be because tomorrow is too uncertain and all my body parts have one more day to head south or be removed from my body completely. More than ever, I am genuinely interested in the direction of other people's lives, learning about all of their spouses, children, grandchildren, children's spouses, sports accolades, academic achievements, and their artistic propensities. It's a fascinating snapshot of Park City anthropology and has gripped me in unanticipated ways.
Today, I took a giant leap of faith.
This morning, I met an old friend from High School. 30 years ago, fabulously handsome and dripping with charisma, he was someone I admired. He was a bit of troublemaker from time to time in the interest of fun and playful treachery. However, despite his devilish proclivites, he was driven, focused, and steadfast in his ideals. He carried himself with integrity and held his friends and others around him accountable for their choices even in the tumult of teenagedom. He often flashed a devious smile and used it to melt the hearts of unsuspecting high school girls, of which I was neither in the line of fire, nor unsuspecting. I saw him coming a mile away and I ran for cover. While I had a transient crush on him in middle school, I steered clear of this then-heartbreaking menace out of self-preservation and pursued kinder, gentler relationships closer to my age group. My friend would make a far better partner in crime and useful ally in my own path of destruction and unbeknownst to him, I adopted him as a brother as he lay waste to fragile hearts on his own dogged path of goals and aspirations.
My high school friend and I are "friends" on facebook. He has a stunningly, gorgeous wife and many equally stunning, gorgeous children. Our political and religious views do not harmoniously coincide although I was comforted to know that we found intelligent, common ground. Frankly, I don't care either way because I knew him before he had enough life between his ears to formulate such views. I respect him, and I know he can offer a great argument when I'm in the mood to be somewhat recalcitrant myself. I shared some stories that in his presence, made me a little misty, stories about the ER, ski racing, about my kids, my husband, and my cancer. He hung with me during my illness with witty FB posts and an occasional, "hang in there." Today, I got to thank him, in person for that very small, yet enormously significant gesture that helped me rally when I was curled up on the floor fighting gravity. I got to hear of his career, his accomplishments, his tragedies, his shortcomings and witnessed the pure joy and love he has for his wife and children. We laughed, we reminisced, and we played a little "one-upmanship."
"My daughter's a phenom."
"My daughter is too."
It was rich and meaningful, and I felt so inspired to be genuinely decent the rest of the day, to be kind and equally inspiring to others, and to be grateful for the gift of friendship, all simply from a leap of faith that required nothing but the courage of a text or an email to plan a meeting. Upon leaving, we exchanged the usual pleasantries of "let's keep in touch," and "let's get together with our families soon."
I asked his advice about looking up someone else from "back in the day," and he gave me a straight, honest answer, despite breaking my heart with it. He is, after all these years, that true friend.
I cried the entire way as I drove back home, wailing, salt water pouring out of my eyes, partly because I was so happy to have survived the abyss to have this opportunity; partly because I was relieved that another of my childhood friends has found profound happiness in life and appears safe in that happiness; and partly because I felt a deep sadness over the fact that the best way to love someone is to remain non-existent. Last year, my existence was challenged. I was faced with the idea that I would no longer exist to my family, my friends, to Park City or to this Earth, and with chemo and radiation, I ceased to exist socially, having no energy or desire to do anything but survive. The idea of selectively remaining non-existent borders on despair. I always thought there would be time, or that the time that eventually passed would heal all wounds and new and different opportunities for love and friendship would materialize given a little courage. Perhaps I am naive in this view and perhaps some people are just not ready to love universally. Depending on the status quo of another, waving my own happiness in the face of others might be considered insensitive. I can respect that but either way, it stings a little. Full of life and joy, I just want to call everyone I know as if we were still in High School and say, "I'm here! I survived cancer! I love you or I'm sorry!" (or in certain cases both!)
I need to exist, but not at the expense of another. I'm convinced this wisdom is all that differentiates my 46 year old self from my 17 year old self. Well, that and the 10 extra pounds....
Survivorship is a time of renewal and the extremes of joy and sadness leave no middle-of-the-road emotions. It is an opportunity to dig into that well with valor and reorganize the memories, assumptions and suppositions of a high school girl with the maturity and patience of a woman in her 40's.
It is now that I reach into my soul for serenity, courage, and wisdom.... as the saying goes. Meanwhile, I return to the reason I am here which is to relive some of the joy from my High school years, by donning some trashy 80's clothing and heading to a Bon Jovi concert with my High School BFF. Looking forward to the classic rock station playing Pat Benatar, Quiet Riot, Heart, and if we are really lucky, Greg Kihn Band as we scream the lyrics at the tops of our lungs and revisit drill team bus rides, volleyball games won and lost, and dodged bullets of ex-boyfriends.
Life is short. People are not here forever. Your time is now. Make the most of it.
