A New Choice
June 29, 2010 by Karen
I CHOOSE JOY!!
When she spins her yarn, one is held captive, lifted back in time, reliving the adventure alongside her. Her voice depicts pure emotion while she engages her entire body in the telling. She is brave enough to attempt new words such as camouflage and apprehensive (both recently used correctly to my delight). She draws a vivid picture in technicolor and re-experiences the passion of each emotion. She quite literally takes her audience by the hand and guides them through details I am astonished she can recall. Even as far back as 2 years of age.
One thing, however, unsettled me recently while encouraging her to share her Disneyland experiences with Grandma. I listened with anticipation, assuming she would talk about her delight in meeting Mickey & Minnie in person on the way out of the park (we had them all to ourselves before other families even caught on!) or the thrill of SOARIN’ OVER CALIFORNIA (an awesome virtual reality ride… one of the few rides I felt comfortable on- we went twice!). Instead, she began with ” Oh, Grandma, this was soooo sad. I was really scared and I even cried! Right, Momma?” Now, normally I support her freedom to tell it her way, only piping in when invited to help her recall a detail or a name. Her stories can supply clues to how she is really feeling- and obviously I am completely entertained. But on this occasion, I could not bite my tongue- I had to intervene.
Over the past two years, I have often deeply considered what compels me to retell certain stories of my history- those that I remember as painful, and even cause immediate stress in my body in the telling, although I may be recalling an event that is years old (and I believe to have healed from whatever wounds I licked for however long). I spent many of my teen and young adult years enjoying, on some perverse level, the attention and pity bestowed upon me as I portrayed the victim in the drama I created: my own life. An old friend once remarked that he thought I enjoyed it when people “felt sorry” for me. I had never considered the possibility. It sort of made sense. OUCH! That was 11 years ago. Just before I met Rick, Zaiden’s Daddy. I have never forgotten that moment- It stung, but I am glad someone finally said it! I have often reflected on his observation, especially when I discover myself weaving a sad, “poor-me” account. It has taken me years, but I think I am getting more successful at “catching myself.” I don’t berate myself. A mistake is for correction, not punishment. But I do take a moment and ask myself what my purpose is in telling this story. In the words of the late Jeffrey Nikelson, am I “Complainin’ or just ’splainin?” And then I either continue, or choose not to.
I have become gradually more and more conscious of the words that come out of my mouth- and even the thoughts that swim around in my head, or the words on the pages of my journal. The readings I have been devouring of late- modern spiritual writings, holy books and even novels remind me that each of us creates our own reality. That by retelling tales of woe, our subconscious, the Universe, the Law of Attraction or what you will hears that as a request for MORE OF THE SAME! “It” doesn’t know the difference between something that is actually happening and something that is remembered- especially when charged with emotion. By recalling our own suffering, we are actually inviting more suffering into our experience.
A couple of weeks ago, I let Zaiden know that there was something that she needed to do for me that meant a small sacrifice on her part. I predicted her reply: “I don’t want to.” I viewed this as an opportunity for her to grow. I explained to her that, unfortunately, this was not one of those times that she gets to choose whether or not to comply with my wishes. BUT- she did have a choice of how she would respond. And only SHE had the power to make that choice and live with its consequences. She could choose to get upset about it and make her (and my) time miserable, OR she could choose to see it as an exciting adventure, or even a kind favor to Mom. As she considered this, I saw a moment of clarity fill her brown eyes as she surrendered a crooked, knowing smile. And guess what? She had a GREAT TIME!
We all have the same choice! While we don’t always get to choose whether or not to go to the DMV or the dentist, pick up after the dog, or drive in rush hour, we CAN choose how we respond. We can kick and scream, complain to anyone who will listen, and stress out our bodies OR we can find a way to delight in the moment.
I play this little game with myself inspired by the last chapter of Eckert Tolle’s “A New Earth.” Tolle discusses the power that lies within each of us as driven by our thoughts. If the goal is to be truly happy, we must learn to accept what is, find a way to enjoy the moment, and if possible, find excitement in the living of the moment. I made up small signs and posted them everywhere: on the windshield of the car, in the bathroom, on the fridge, in the laundry room- anywhere I might need a reminder. I paired each word with a bright yellow smiley face, depicting an equivalent emotion. The words are ACCEPTANCE, ENJOYMENT, EXCITEMENT. In any given moment, the sign reminds me to take an honest look at where I am. And then I ask myself if it is achievable to “bump up a level.” For example, while sitting in traffic, I have a choice. I can choose to be stressed out that I am going to be late, get angry at the other drivers, cry, call someone on the phone and complain, get out of the car and scream… 
OR I can flip my visor down and find acceptance. I can have a little chat with my ego and remind myself that I am alive, right here and right now, surrender the frustration, remember that my being upset will not change the flow of traffic. Now I am in acceptance. Can I get myself to ENJOYMENT? Probably. I can use the time to (safely!) call a friend to catch up, listen to a favorite CD, sing with my daughter, really take in the sights of nature surrounding me. How about EXCITEMENT? Maybe, maybe not. But I have surprised myself! And just the simple act of playing this game with myself when I am taking care of some mundane task has helped to create far more JOY and far less stress and suffering.
No, we cannot always choose what we are doing. But we and only we have the power to choose how to respond to our circumstances.
There is an old Buddhist story about a monk who was chased by hungry lions off of a cliff. As he hung by his fingertips to the sharp rocks knowing there were only two ways out, and both led to suffering and ultimate death, he noticed a strawberry growing out of the side of the cliff. He somehow plucked that strawberry and took it into his mouth. He savored the sweetness, the texture, the natural beauty of his last strawberry with all his attention. He died, but not without acceptance, enjoyment, and quite possibly, even excitement. (Although not the sort of excitement most of us would invite!)
When Zaiden began her tale of the scary ride at Disneyland that upset her so much, I asked her a simple question. “What makes you wish to consciously, purposely choose to re-experience the painful emotions you felt that day? Is it because you want to experience them again? Or to communicate to God that you want more of the same in the future? Because if this is your goal, I support you. I just want you to be aware of the power you hold by talking about and thinking about painful circumstances. I want to remind you that you and only you have the control over your own thoughts and only you can choose how you want to create your future. It is up to you. For example, you CAN choose, instead to share how you felt when Minnie Mouse gave you a hug, or how brave you were on the same ride that frightened you when you later asked me to take you on it again and ride with you and hold you and talk to you. THAT is a story worth telling, in my opinion, because you faced your fear head on and you grew because of that decision.” Zaiden is used to me talking like this. And I believe in that moment, she got it. I have not heard her tell that story since.
The point is, WE are the ones holding the remote control (or as Zaiden calls it, “the Ma-Rote”) No one else can decide for me. I can choose to continue to retell and relive my sad stories, continue to see myself as a victim of the world, and communicate to the Universe “Please, sir, may I have another!” And this is ok. As long as I am aware that this is my own choosing. Often we become comfortable with a certain familiarity- and suffering is no different.
OR I can make a new choice in this moment, not concerning myself with always or never- just this moment. Search my heart for excitement or enjoyment. And if neither are available to me, then at least acceptance. And later on, when I have a quiet moment alone, reflect on what I may have learned, what I have gained by making a new choice.
With compassion and love in my heart~
Karen
p.s. I am FINALLY, LEGALLY Karen Ann Puanani Garcia!!
EnJOY the Ride!
May 15, 2010 by Karen
It has been said more times than one can count, “God never gives us more than we can handle.” Throughout what I like to call my journey with cancer, I have discovered the raw truth of this adage. For I have found myself facing my day with joy, faith, gratitude and hope- even in the darkest of hours. Little did I know (until I needed it most), the strength lay within me. It came not from struggle and strife, but from grace and surrender, from faith- in myself, in others, in God. And ultimately from Reaching for the Joy.
I feel that it is time that I explain just what this catch-phrase that I believe I coined means to me. Reach for the JOY is not a denial of circumstances or of ignoring the pain and suffering of my life. In fact, it is in this lesson that I have learned to embrace ALL of my emotions and allow them to work their way through me with honesty. Yet at the end of the day- and many times throughout- I find myself counting my blessings, seeing the gifts in the challenges, and somehow finding many reasons to smile. Reaching for joy is my way of finding that silver lining no matter how menacing the cloud. And I have discovered many others like myself, who have found strength in adversity, faith in difficult times and joy in the midst of unbearable pain.
To paraphrase Dr. Bernie Seigal (whose Love, Medicine and Miracles is a must read for everyone, ill or well!): no two people would willingly trade their disease for another’s. “We are most comfortable with our own unique set of problems.”
This is not to say that I didn’t and still don’t have moments, or even weeks of despair, frustration, even anger over my current situation. Yet I have learned first-hand that a roller coaster of emotions is normal, even necessary, and certainly healing. As long as one ultimately finds gratitude for something at the end of the day, all is well.
I’ve found myself frustrated by cries of good-hearted friends who complain to me about a flu or migraine or being laid off… ‘Wanna trade?’ I never allow myself to voice this- nor do I feel it very often. But I must admit that in my darkest hours I have found myself wishing to trade places with an insensitive neighbor, even for an hour. “You want to know pain? Ha! Walk in MY slipper socks for a day!”
Yet on closer, honest examination, I’ve come to realize that even in the midst of stage 4 cancer, excruciating bone pain, a frustrating divorce where I seem to have lost my voice in the living arrangements of my now 5 year old daughter (who continuously verbalizes to her father and me that her heart tells her she needs to be with Mommy right now), and now losing our beloved home with no solution in sight, that I CAN and DO find bouquets of love, laughter, fun and peace in any given day- even the toughest ones. This is a gift I cannot take personal credit for. And yet a minor fender bender, mild constipation or even a broken nail can lead me to whining and complaining. The lesson here is that all of our suffering is suffering- there is no comparing, no judgment- and it is HOW we approach such suffering that creates our reality. I have learned so much from my faithful teacher, cancer, yet there seems still much to discover about myself and this journey called life.
After serious meditation and a great deal of procrastination, I am at last ready to bear down and give birth to the book I’ve spent nearly three years talking about. Telling MY personal story never felt like the complete vision. Isn’t mine “just another cancer survivor story?” I’ve read them all- some better than others (my absolute favorite is “My One Night Stand with Cancer” by Tania Katan- please find a copy!) Do I really need to compete with the Susan Komen’s of the world? Was what I’ve been through really of enough interest to warrant an entire book? Wasn’t there more to it than to share my personal suffering? Because, as I’ve come to realize, we all suffer to various degrees. And no one can truly ‘appreciate’ the suffering of another without having endured similar struggles. And it is useless to play comparison games.
As any new Mom can attest, no one can prepare you for motherhood. You have to experience it for yourself. Nor can one anticipate her reaction upon hearing she has terminal cancer with an outside chance of seeing the child who lay sleeping in her arms reach her next birthday. It is in that moment of truth where your true nature unfolds. Each of us has our own experiences and destinies regardless of the similarities to another’s. And this was no different.
Many have called me strong and courageous in the wake of my battles. I don’t know that I can take full credit for my fortitude. Like the young soldier in “A Red Badge of Courage,” I often felt like a coward, cursing, doubting, crying myself to sleep- a fraud wearing a bright pink ribbon. The best definition for courage I have ever heard comes from the Buddhist Nun, Pema Chodron: Courage is being deathly afraid, but moving forward, nonetheless. (I am paraphrasing). This allowed me to embrace my endurance in a new light.
So, then, what is this all about? The dis-ease, the completely transparent writings offered up to the world-wide-web, the altering of my very soul? Is there indeed a reason for all of this? Or was I fooling myself that I am so important to God that He even noticed my earthly problems?
I cannot help but feel I was assigned this role, as some pre-earthly commitment to pass on certain wisdom, lessons learned, triumphs in spite of the foundation of my world caving in. And I believe that each one of God’s billions of children have a unique mission to complete. So what is mine? And how can I be certain to fulfill it with the respect it deserves?
While in Mexico last spring (2009), I met many remarkable survivors- people who, like myself had refused to take this dis-ease at face value. They, too, had seized the opportunity to forgive old resentments, to mend broken relationships, to step beyond what little of their comfort-zone remained and take on (or at least attempt) the things that before cancer had frightened them. The healing power in these things, alone, are tremendous forces with which to be reckoned. (Look out, Cancer! I’ve got your number!) I was surrounded by people of every age and stage who’d sprouted wings, their faith was so strong. I’d also encountered a small minority who opted instead to abandon all hope and joy, and thus, write their own death sentence. Sad, but true, that our free will can lead us to a path of destruction that even the most formidable disease seems minor in comparison. I witnessed many determined to undermine their internal life force by simple giving up. No judgement. We each have our unique path. But I would not be a statistic!
I began in earnest to avoid people- sick or well- who are chronic complainers- to sever all ties when possible. I erased “can’t” from my (and my daughter’s) vocabulary. I began to focus my energy on what Dr. Bernie dubs Exceptional Patients: to accept that, yes, I am going to die one day, and how do I choose to enhance the quality of my life while I remain in this body?
Death is unavoidable. We are all “terminal,” after all. No one of us gets out of here alive. Dying of cancer is no more a “failure” than dying of old age. We just don’t get to live forever in these mortal coils.
Quality over quantity. With every breath, every smile, every sunrise or sunset- I’ll take quality please.
I am truly grateful for every magical moment I get to share with my precious daughter. Due in large part to my brush with death, I have grown infinitely more compassionate, patient, kind, loving and grateful. And when I do catch myself grumping or taken for granted or wasting one single hug, I gently call myself back to THIS moment and find a new way to approach the invitation to learn. The opportunity to love. For THIS, to me, is truly living.
When I consider how many hours of my finite time on earth I have spent regretting, fuming or even ignoring, I realize with elation that I have always had a choice! And my faith in the ability to make the best choice for today grows exponentially with every opportunity to choose.
It may seem difficult to understand how someone who has been through all I have endured can speak so openly of God and Love. How can I not blame God? Or at least hold Her accountable for so much anguish- question His motives? And I have, and occasionally still do. In fact, after years of practicing gratitude during our night-time prayer routine, I recently considered that perhaps my daughter needed permission to purge her emotions for the pain and suffering she has endured. Isn’t creating a safe outlet for anger exactly what I have been embracing, writing about, even (forgive me!), preaching? Hadn’t I learned myself that power that brings about healing? So, one night before our typical bed-time ritual, I asked if she ever felt mad at God, or for that matter, ME, for not being the fun, healthy, playful Mommy she deserves. At first she looked at me with eyes wide in astonishment, shocked that I could even suggest such blasphemy (not that she is aware of such a term). She whispered in disbelief, “Am I allowed to say mean things to GOD?” Yet behind the mask of insecurity, I could see her body relax for being granted such permission. She could not, herself, utter such words. Not yet, anyway. She’d been raised, afterall to be grateful, tolerant and kind. To see God in everything and everyone. How could this same God who gave her the gifts of so much joy be responsible for her anguish? Be the recipient of her worst thoughts, her scariest feelings?
She’d recently begun to admonish me and other adults for using such “bad words” as hate and stupid. So I made sure to use these words with emotional fervor to assist her in freeing whatever pain she’s been harboring in the secret places of her heart.
“Dear God,” I began, “why did you have to give my Mommy cancer? It’s not fair! I hate you!” (she audibly gasped, looking up at me for assurance.) I continued with raw emotion, “I HATE this STUPID, UGLY, CRAPPY CANCER!! I love my Mom so much and she deserves to be healthy! Other kids have Moms who can chase them and wrestle with them and run; who don’t throw up every day; who have long, beautiful hair. I wouldn’t trade my Mom for anything, but why did you have to give her cancer!??” And so it went, for several nights, at her suggestion. She has yet to brave these words herself. But I assure her daily that it is not only okay, but God WANTS us to lay our burdens on Him- ALL of them! Even the ones She may be responsible for. And, just like Mommy (even more so), God will ALWAYS listen, always understand and always forgive… no matter what.
If there is only one thing that cancer has urged me to pass on to anyone willing to listen, it is this: LET GO OF YOUR ANGER!! Let it go- the moment you feel it, experience it in all its glory. Hit a pillow, scream out load, go to a batting cage- anything that feels sincere to you and that doesn’t cause you or another physical harm. Holding onto anger leads to resentment, dis-ease and perhaps even cancer.
I now know that I “got cancer” in order to grow as a spiritual human being. That much is obvious to anyone who knows me. But I feel there is more that I am called to accomplish because of this experience. Yes, living a joy-filled life and being the example for my little girl is an admirable task, to be certain. Yet why then this writing that often comes to me as a dream or even a voice of clarity?
And then it hit me… well, I suppose hit is not exactly accurate. It has been more of a gradual unfolding, like the petals of a rose in spring- evidence in nearly every garden I pass just now. A rose cannot be forced to bloom. You have to patiently allow it to unfold itself in its own precise time- much like a human being- or her story…
I have been fortunate to have shared tears and prayers with many remarkable women in my lifetime. Perhaps more obviously in my recent history due to my heightened awareness. Women who have encountered extraordinary difficulties, seemingly insurmountable odds, broken hearts, dreams, bodies and minds that would have led another to run for her life, or perhaps not make it out alive. Yet these warrior women have transcended to an inner peace, devout faith, and yes, even joy in spite of the foundation of their world collapsing.
How? What is the secret behind such perseverance, such Olympian strength? And so, this is, at long last, the subject of my book, Reach for the Joy. It is MY story, it is HER story, it is YOUR story. It is deeply human. It is the tale of finding the LIGHT that lies within every one of us on the dawn of the “Dark Night of the Soul.”
It is my JOY and privilege to share these incredible stories of every-day women called to become warriors, survivors, light-bearers. These women are all of us- you will recognize your sister, your lover, your daughter, your mother, yourself. It is my desire and hope that in sharing these poignant, honest stories, perhaps someone reading will locate her own inner light without needing to face the demons, or her own mortality, or the mortality of her child; without endless, tear-filled nights of doubt and fear.
While I would not call this a “religious” book, it is certainly full of spirit. Because what each and every one of these stories have in common is the willingness to at last surrender all that she is, all that she has, to some Divine Assistant, some voice inside that whispers, “Trust me, everything is going to be alright.”
And even is we lose the battle, by finding hope and joy, we’ve won the war.
In Faith, Hope and Boundless JOY~
Karen
p.s. I am currently working on a formal book proposal. I have approached several women who are generous enough to share their stories. But I need more! I am looking for stories of WOMEN who have found their spirit because of their suffering, be it disease, loss of life, or anything else that may have threatened their faith, their essence, their life. Please, please, contact me immediately if you have a story you wish to share. I plan to put a substantial portion of any income derived from this book toward helping women find their truth. Thank you.
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