Chapter 16: Badass new boots

Monday, February 17th, 2020: Saint Paul, Minnesota

All morning, I lounged around my apartment “recovering” but mostly feeling sorry for myself. I kept thinking I should spend some time writing a blog post but felt like I had nothing left to say. Had I run out of funny stories? Run out of self-declared wisdom? I thought, perhaps.

But then, a package came in the mail. This package contained a pair of super awesome, badass new boots I ordered for myself the day after I was diagnosed with cancer. Because, why not? I put on these gorgeous boots and I realized, damn, I still have a lot left to say. (Also, thanks Sorel for crafting these puppies).

I spent the weekend with my amazing family including my brother and his girlfriend, who graciously took the time to fly back to Minnesota and visit. Thankfully, I was a slightly more interesting companion this weekend than the last time they saw me, immediately post brain surgery. At least now I can have the television or radio on without curling up in the fetal position! It’s the small things.

Actually, recovery has been going remarkably well. I feel essentially back to my normal self apart from extreme fatigue. Hopefully that’s the next thing to improve. I can now walk the hallways at a near normal speed and can climb stairs two-at-a-time. Woohoo!

Some of you asked what book I bought (along with a brownie) the other day after my unexpected, public emotional meltdown. Well, I went back to the place the book hit me on the head and bought another one by my dream pal and guru The Dalai Lama. This one didn’t hit me on the head, but still looked promising. It’s called “An Open Heart: Practicing Compassion in Everyday Life.”

So far, this book is fantastic. A quote spoke to me today so I’ll share it with you. In this book, the Dalai Lama says,

“Sometimes we look at the negative side of things and then feel hopeless. This, I think, is a wrong view.”

So simple, yet so wise. This morning, I was looking at the negative side of things. My mind was telling me, “Poor you, you have cancer.” “Poor you, you might only have a few years left to live. You’ll never have kids. You might never get a reservation at Demi in Minneapolis because it takes about five years to do so, etc.” But then, I thought, “Shut the hell up, mind.” Complaining won’t change a thing, but it will make my precious time less happy and less fulfilling.

So, I put on my badass new boots and I tried to have the best day ever.

Fondly,

Courtney

© CB2020