Re-Learning the Lesson

I worked really hard on my talk, and suffered over it.

First, I spent hours and hours writing about what I think gets in the way for people who want to reach out and provide support for Breast Cancer Patients. I wrote for longer about how much they (we) need help and in what ways. Most of what I wrote was yada yada yada and I cut it out.

Then, I was delighted on the day that I managed to sort out a few strong threads of information and wrangle them into a reasonable outline. It took two weeks for me to flesh out the outline and I felt stupid the whole time I was doing it.

It's hard to keep believing I have anything useful to say to anybody on this topic. Isn't that silly? Here I am writing this blog for months and months and I feel like I don't have anything useful to say? I guess the difference is, if no one wants to read the blog, they don't have to. They can stop and go do something else anytime they want.

But, if I do this talk, I'm inviting people to come and I'm promising that they'll get some value out of the event. I guess they could get up and leave if they thought it was stupid...but most people don't really feel free to vacate the premises in the middle of a workshop.

I try not to worry too much. I guess my hope is that I'll be brilliant and dynamic and will motivate people to break through their cultural habits of isolation. I hope that I'll inspire them to build strong networks that will continue to serve them in future times of crisis and that they'll increase the number and quality of authentic relationships in their lives. Maybe that's too much pressure to put on myself? (!)

After something that felt like a month of writing and organizing and editing and tweaking, I did a practice run with K. It was the end of the day. She was tired. She listened to it from the sofa, laying down like one of Freud's patients. She liked it. She thought it was good. She made some suggestions.

To my immense relief, she agreed that it might be useful to people. That's the main thing I want for this talk, workshop, whatever. I want it to be useful to people.

A few days later, after making K's suggested changes and putting together a rough draft flip chart, I did a second practice run for 3 friends. It was the middle of the day. They sat up in their chairs. They drank tea and ate food we enjoyed calling crumpets, though they were really just assorted pastries.

My friends made good suggestions too. I could make it more interactive. There are parts I can shorten. There are places I might introduce a topic shift more smoothly. I need to introduce myself and Breast Friends in more detail.

It was very good to get their feedback. Just as importantly, it was very good to get it over with. I stood up there and I went through the whole thing and I didn't faint and fall over from embarrassment at my stupid talk. That was how it felt before I did it...that I would feel so useless and awful that I wouldn't even be able to stand it...or even stand up.

But I feel better now. The packet of brochures and support information from head of the local Breast Friends Chapter came in the mail while I was in California last week. It's nice to feel like I have some concrete reference materials turn to. Also, during the last two weeks, while I was taking a break from actively working on the talk, but still thinking about it, I had some more good ideas about what to do and say.

Most importantly, I think actually being in California helped me relax. The idea of giving a stupid and useless talk still feels unpleasant, but not devastatingly so.

I think that's because I remembered that I am a full-grown functioning adult, capable of having a good job and supporting myself. It's easy to remember that in California, where there is a house furnished with nice things I selected and purchased for myself. It's easy to remember when I'm visiting my friends there, who met me and knew me as someone who drove a nice car, travelled a lot, and invited them out on my sailboat most weekends. Someone like that, like the person I feel myself to be when I'm there, could volunteer to give a workshop on community building, and it's just a cool thing to do. If it's excellent, it's excellent. If it's mediocre, so be it. Either way, it just seems good that I thought of it, that I worked on it, that I tried it.

But, here in Colorado, it's hard to remember that I'm a competent, capable, valuable adult. When I lived here before, I was mostly working minimum wage jobs and taking part time college classes. I rode my bike everywhere for 3 years. Then, for seven, I owned a string of semi-reliable vehicles that were donated to me by family, friends, and ex-lovers. I was always broke and usually in debt.

I'm not broke now, and I'm not in debt. But neither am I earning my own money. I've used up my savings. I don't have a car of my own. My sail boat is broken and parked on a busted up trailer than cannot safely haul it farther than 20 feet.

I don't have a job, much less a career. I don't even have any concrete plans for one at the moment. No matter how much I tell myself that it is okay to take a break, I still feel like a bum. No matter how hard I work everyday to wrestle this house into a functioning home for K and me and our various furry housemates, I still feel like a spoiled brat for not working at a "real" job.

This talk...writing it, giving it...has felt like an opportunity to prove that I'm actually capable of doing something worthwhile, that I'm not a spoiled bratty bum taking advantage of K's gentle heart and love for me.

Actually, "opportunity" is the wrong word for how it feels. It feels more like an exam, or a dissertation. But, instead of defending my work, I've been set to the task of defending myself, and my right to feel okay about myself on any day that I don't earn a paycheck.

Maybe feeling better about my talk, and myself, wasn't as much about remembering my life when I was employed, as it was about remembering my life right after I was fired. Maybe the magic of being back in California had to do with going back to the place I was at when I was learning the lessons that cancer had to teach me.

Those lessons were mostly about what is important in life: family, friend, each moment of being alive. And they were about what is not important: impressing the boss, fat paychecks, working hard at a job I don't believe in.

These things seemed so clear back in August. I can't believe I fell back into the trap of needing to prove that I deserve to feel good about myself. I guess I'll probably keep forgetting what's really important. Hopefully, I'll also keep remembering.

Maybe giving my talk will help me remember more often. Maybe it will help other people remember too. But even if it doesn't do a damn thing for anybody, I still think it's worth doing. I think it's worth taking a chance. I think chances are good.