Unwritten

Three weeks since I have written. I sort of thought that the last post would be the last post. However, not only was it not a very engaging conclusion to a three-month-long journey, but I also had no way of knowing that my surgery would not mark the end of the road. I have come to suspect that in many ways it is only the beginning.

The last few weeks I have had some intense emotional ups and down, coupled with a murderous anger. The word murderous is a bit hyperbolic, but believe me, there are days when I think I just might be able to kill something, whether it be a plate, a glass, a spider, or a small dog. Serious, scary stuff. As I own, and love like mad, a small dog, my good sense told me, "go see someone. Right away." So this is what I have done. For two weeks I have been seeing a counselor affiliated with our church. His name is Joseph, and he has already been more help to me than I could have known.

According to Joseph, my response has been completely normal. He thinks I have a couple of issues stemming from my illness that he would like to start with. One, he thinks I am suffering from some sort of a post-traumatic shock. Apparently, you don't have to have donned fatigues and shot off missiles to suffer this syndrome. He considers my tumor diagnosis, my illness, and then my brain surgery all forms of trauma. For them to have happened in such rapid succession only increases my response. And the fact that I had handled myself so well, with such peace and hopefulness before my surgery, may have been a form of denial, of putting off the hard work of dealing with such terrifying circumstances. This is what I am doing now, just when I thought it was all over.

He also thinks that my anger is one of the stages of grief. What loss am I grieving? Well, the loss of my plan, of course. I have written many times of how much strength I find in having a plan, in knowing what comes next, and in feeling a sense of control over the direction my life journey takes. But ha! None of this was in my plan. And that makes me mad, gosh darnit! I was happy with my work, was completely in love with my master's classes, was really looking forward to teaching a class at Cal Poly each quarter of this upcoming year. And now, not only has my plan been sidetracked, but I don't even like that plan anymore. I don't feel like doing any of those things. Most days I don't feel like doing anything period. And this lack of motivation, of action, of accomplishment, makes me really angry. This is JUST -- NOT -- ME!

Joseph doesn't believe that being sick is ever in God's plan, either. However, he believes completely that God uses our circumstances for good. And his hunch is that God is trying to get me to sit still. For once. If you know me well, you know that I never sit still. Even when I'm sitting, I'm not still. I fidget and fuss like crazy. So for me to have to be still, and to acknowledge that it's time for me to be quiet (also not a strength of mine) and listen for God's plan rather than rushing around following my own is hard to accept. I really want to scream at the top of my lungs, "WHAT'S THE PLAN, GOD?" But it's not that easy. I'll be more likely to hear if I hush.

And so this is the new me. (That's actually a crock--this is the me I think I need to be and am trying hard to think about considering wanting to become!) I want to become a girl who doesn't need to know the plan. The girl who can find freedom in looking at blank pages, pen poised above them, ready to write about the joys of my life as they are occurring, not when they are only in the planning stages. How many times we make plans, only to see them fizzle. Better to see where life takes us, and be willing to go there on a moment's notice. What (hypothetical) fun. Remember, this isn't me yet!

I am reminded of a song that you have probably all heard. When I first heard it almost a year ago, in the soundtrack of the movie Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, I thought "Yes! Yes! Yes! This is the song I will use to introduce my senior writing project to my students in May." I thought it would be my little secret that I could share with them. Little did I know that it would play four times an hour on every radio station in Los Angeles for months and months and that my students would be sick of it by the time May rolled around. (They were also pretty sick of school in general and writing in specific, but they humored me!) In spite of its gross overplay, the lyrics still hold truths that speak to me and that have become even more meaningful in light of my hoped-for becoming.

This is "Unwritten," by Natasha Bedingfield.

I am unwritten,
Can't read my mind
I'm undefined
I'm just beginning
The pen's in my hand
Ending unplanned

Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words
That you could not find
Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions

Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten

I break tradition
Sometimes my tries
Are outside the lines
We've been conditioned
To not make mistakes
But I can't live that way

Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words
That you could not find
Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions

Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten

As a self-proclaimed (and generally acknowledged) nerd when it comes to literature and words and such, I could charm you with a line-by-line exposition. I'll spare you. But I do want to tell you that the idea of life as a series of blank pages, a book that has yet to be written, appeals to the English-teacher-person in me, and the thought that only I can do the writing in my book--oh yes! This speaks to me as a human being. This is my life. I must feel the rain in my life, just as only I can really experience my difficult times. But in the same way, only I can feel the sun on my face in just the way I should. It's okay that I'm undefined. That I make mistakes along the way. That I don't know what will be written on the not-yet-experienced pages of my life. This doesn't mean I have no say in how I will respond to the choices with which I'm presented; it just means that I don't have to know today what I will choose tomorrow. It's okay that I don't know the plan.

And my favorite part? Ahh, even if I don't have a plan, I have a voice. A singular one. And if I don't speak my thoughts, write out my life, those words won't get said. Ever. It is this notion that I most wanted my students to leave high school thinking about. Their lives are their own to live. And if they don't live them to the fullest, taking advantage of every opportunity they meet, the world will be a little less wonderful because of their absence. But this holds true for us, too. Every day we have the chance to shout our lives at the top of our lungs. Even in our fear, our worry, our sadness and anger, we should do this. The world will miss us if we don't.