Chapter 101: Angry, but hopeful

Photo by Shari Fleming Photography

You know what pairs nicely with a $5 gallon of gas? A socially distanced forced pregnancy with a side of Monkeypox, school shootings, and waning equality for many members of our society.

Maybe it’s just me, but I’m not feeling incredibly jazzed to celebrate America right now.

For women around this country, we have suddenly found ourselves with fewer rights and less autonomy over our literal bodies than we had last month.  For women with cancer, many of us will be forced to make impossible decisions regarding lifesaving treatments if faced with an unanticipated pregnancy.  As a woman, I’m sad. As a physician, I’m terrified for my patients. As a cancer survivor, I’m sorry for my community.

I started this blog two days ago. Usually, I write an entire blog post in one quick sitting. Some idea will come to me; I’ll sit down and type it up as fast as I can. This time, it didn’t work that way. For the past two days, I’ve typed up paragraph after paragraph of all the reasons I am angry with this country, with this pandemic, with this illness. I could have posted those angry paragraphs, but why? What good will more anger do for anyone, including me?

I’m angry. But instead of anger, I’m trying two things. I will 1) Take action to help create change and 2) Change my perspective, before anger takes over.

In Buddhism, anger is one of the “three poisons” or three negative emotional states that cause us to suffer and detract from our happiness. This is not to say we cannot be angry, or that anger does not have a purpose. My understanding of this concept is that it’s important to recognize anger and use it for something positive. If we simply feel anger and let it build, it won’t do any good. Will anger without action create change? No. Will anger alone give women our equality back? No. Will anger change my cancer diagnosis? No. Will anger make me suffer? Yes.

I relate this to the concept of having an awful neighbor. Imagine a neighbor who likes to yell at you. This neighbor yells at you with the hope that he will make you angry. He wants you to yell back, to be irritated and upset. If we yell back, does it hurt this neighbor? No, it pleases him. If we get angry, the neighbor wins. But, if we find a way to avoid anger by smiling and asking this neighbor, “How are you today?” what will happen?

I believe that anger is an emotion we can choose to feel. When we need it, it can help us. When we don’t need it, I think we can smile and decide not to feel it. It’s not easy. I fail at this more than I succeed. But when I succeed, it feels great.

So, today, when I opened my computer back up to finish this blog post, I deleted my angry paragraphs. Instead, I donated to pro-choice organizations, sat outside in the sun with my family, and read a book. In this book, I found a perfect quote. It spoke to me and summed up all of my angry thoughts into two well-composed sentences.

“The forces of injustice in the world loom large, and sometimes we feel so tiny. How are we to have an impact?” ~Jack Kornfield

I don’t know, Jack Kornfield. I do not know.

But I do know that when we use our precious lives to be angry, it’s a waste of time. When I roll my eyes at the neighbor who has the political sign I disagree with, it angers me but does nothing to him. When I yell at the TV as I watch the news, it angers me, but it doesn’t seem to change what the news is reporting.  When I spend the day feeling pissed off about the state of our world, it angers me, but it does absolutely nothing to change the world.

I may not be able to change the world in one blog post, or many lifetimes. In fact, I know I cannot. But I also know that when I think of “me versus them,” it leads to anger. When I reframe “me versus them” to “us,” it breaks down a wall that stands between my self-created unhappiness and compassion for others. I may disagree strongly with other’s viewpoints, but I can still have compassion for them. I can choose to say, “we are different, but really we are the same.” We are all simply trying to do the thing we feel is right. I can be angry about this, or I can be hopeful.

Hope is not easy right now. It’s not easy with the state of our country, or our world, or our climate, or our bodies.

Hope is also not easy when you have a terminal, incurable cancer. Do I agree with this diagnosis that was so unkindly imposed on me? No, I vehemently do not. Do I agree that this is the best thing for my body? Hell, no, I absolutely do not. Do I have a right to be angry? Damn right I do. [extrapolate this as you wish]

But I won’t be angry. I choose to skip anger and move to hope. I hope that change will come. I hope that this darkness brings light. I hope that I am suffering so that someday, someone will not be.  

The Dalai Lama once wrote, “All I have to offer is my own experience. If you find something useful in this, please use it. But if you don’t find much of interest, I don’t mind if you just leave it.”

That about sums this blog up.

Also, holidays are hard when you have cancer. At least, I’ve found this to be true. Every holiday, I find myself thinking, “Will this be my last Christmas? My last Halloween?” I always hope not.

This July 4th, the third one since my diagnosis, I have these thoughts once again. Even though I may not be feeling up for celebrating America this year, I am absolutely celebrating the thing that America was built on: Hope for a brighter future. Hope for health. Hope for happiness. Hope for equal rights.

Fondly,

Courtney