Someone called me resilient.

I’m just doing what’s next. Breathing in. Breathing out. I’m a big fan of breathing.

I try to be grateful for what I have (left) every day. I try. I try not to dwell on what I’ve lost. I try. Focus on the joy. But wow, that takes time. I had to live through pain to do that. That pain changed me. It burned me down to my elements. Maybe you know what that is like. Pain is terrible. Pain takes too much out of me and leaves me without the slightest bit of grace. No one would have called me resilient then. Maybe I don’t really know what resilient means. For now, the pain is mostly over. I’m grateful.

When I’m not in pain, I can focus on joy. The things that are beautiful. Someone said that 80% of what is beautiful and true can be found in a ten minute walk from your house. Flowers in sidewalk cracks. Kids. Dogs. Today I saw an eight point buck in the yard across the street. I realize not everyone is going to see that across the street from them. And he was sitting there like he owned the place. And I think he does. He was so still, I wondered at first if he was a statue. Then he blinked. I don’t know where he came from. Wonderment and curiosity are part of what is beautiful and true. If I had any energy left today, I would walk over there and see if he is still there.

I don’t know what people mean when they say words like “resilient.” I wonder if that buck knows? Is he resilient, living through the loss of habitat and finding a spot to be in someone’s yard? He’s just adapting. He’s doing what’s next. Breathing. Resting.

Maybe the worst word is “brave.” The idea that I have to be brave to live my life, to move forward every day with what I’ve got feels vaguely insulting. Nope. I’m just doing what’s next. Or maybe I’m looking at it wrong. Maybe we’re all brave. I’m no more brave than you when you have to get on a crowded bus or go to that job or to Costco or just live in this f’ed up world. I don’t want to be singled out just because I got sick. I don’t have to be brave to live my life, at least, I don’t have to be any more brave than you do. I have to be gentle. Gentle with myself. Understanding. I have to breathe.

As for “recovery,” that’s a word about nostalgia. To think about recovery is to look backwards, to look to the past. I’ll never be like I was and I don’t want to live in the mental and emotional space where that’s what I’m longing for or that’s the goal. Because it’s impossible. We can’t go back. Time only moves in one direction. I am what I am today. It is not what I was yesterday or last year. That’s the part I’m not supposed to say.

So I say, “Yes, I’m doing better.” Better than what? Better than I was five months ago. Worse than I was a year ago.

I am alive. I’m trying. That is enough right now.