Chapter 49: What are you waiting for, in order to be happy?
Laura Ann Photography
In No Mud, No Lotus, Thich Nhat Hanh tells us “The French have a song they like to sing, “Qu’est-ce qu’on attend pour être herueux?” (What are you waiting for in order to be happy?) You can be happy right here and right now.”
Today, I sit in my living room, drinking a mug of coffee and listening to raindrops flooding the world outside. I look out of my window and see green leaves that have suddenly appeared on trees overnight, blowing in the stormy wind, filled with new life. Spring is here.
My dog Ridley sits at my feet, terrified of the rain, her eyes closed. Somehow, over the past few months, I’ve had the sense that she can sense I am sick. I’ve heard that dogs can do this, and a quick PubMed search shows me many scientific studies have indeed demonstrated that some dogs can detect cancer with smell alone.
Ridley usually acts as my guard dog these days, never leaving my side. She sits at my feet when I am working, lies at my side while I am sleeping, and snuggles up close to me while I am writing. Today, my guard dog is in her usual position, lying dutifully at my feet, ready to protect me. Yet, I look at her face, watch her paws shake and I can tell she is terrified herself of the rain pouring down outside.
Watching her do this, interestingly, I am reminded of what it means to be a human, especially now, during this pandemic that seems never-ending.
Day after day, we all wake up and take our positions. We find our home office (once mostly there for decoration, now well-used), put on a pair of clean-ish pajamas, and ready ourselves physically and mentally to take on another day of this routine we’ve grown used to. Like Ridley, we are there, sitting in position, our brave faces on, heading into another day of zoom meetings. Pretending we can do this as long as we need to, yet also silently terrified.
Even though this new reality is starting to smell familiar, we still can’t predict when the rain will come, sending our brave, prepared faces into momentary panic.
We turn on the news, we see case numbers rising, we learn our family member is sick, our anxiety spirals out of control, our children drive us crazy as we pretend we enjoy our new homeschooling role, our credit card statement arrives with numbers larger than we’ve ever seen, our favorite restaurant remains dark, our wedding is postponed, our trip cancelled. The rain comes and we can no longer hide our fear.
Today, I try to remember that even when the rain starts, it also stops eventually. It too, like so many other things in this life, is impermanent.
This week is the last week of my first cycle of chemotherapy and radiation. On Friday, I will ring a bell in the radiation oncology department for my medical team to hear. No visitors, no family, no friends can physically celebrate the ringing of this bell with me. I know they would if they could. But, rain doesn’t always wait until the picnic is over. It comes when it wants to, when it needs to, reminding us how very little is really under our control.
When the rain comes, I think of Thich Nhat Hanh’s reminder, “Qu’est-ce qu’on attend pour être herueux?” (What are you waiting for in order to be happy?) You can be happy right here and right now.” Ridley reminds me that every once in a while, it’s alright to let your guard down. Fear is natural, but through it, can’t we still enjoy the rain?
Fondly,
Courtney
©CB2020