A Big Fat Thank You

Thank you.

Two little words. So much meaning.

Thank you. Thank you to everyone who dropped me an email to wish me well on the surgery. Thanks to everyone who held me in your good thoughts and prayers over the last week. Thanks for the flowers, and the food, and the understanding.

I went into this whole thing bathed in the light of real thankfulness, and maybe that's why I'm feeling so great.

The surgery last Friday was uneventful -- the whole thyroid came out, and I have a lovely incision mark at the base of my throat. I am working up a narrative to explain the scar that includes a) a biker bar fight, b) wild chickens, c) Elizabeth Taylor, and d)"you should have seen the other guy." More on that later.

Truthfully, it's not that bad -- my surgeon said, "Oh, this scar will fade right into your neck fold." Eyebrows raised (mine): "Neck fold? I have no neck fold! What you talkin' about, Willis?" (one reads the People Magazine 80s Edition while recuperating, of course)

Today, I'm up and about doing all the normal things I do. Other than the bandage on my neck, a little hoarseness and a weariness at the end of the day, I'm good.

So, I'm looking forward to 2009 and am thankful (there's that word again!) to have some exciting things to announce very shortly. Stay with me, will ya? Next year is going to be so much fun.

And, again -- Thank you.

Make Mine A Whopper

Since my kids were little, we'd back them up against the wall, ask them to stand straight and tall, and make a little line to mark their height. Today, they can stand at the same wall and see physical evidence of how much they've grown.

It's much harder for us adults to see evidence of how much we've grown. But I got the chance this week.

Because this week I learned I have cancer.

It's thyroid cancer, and I'm having surgery later this week to remove the gland. One dose of radiation later, and, as my surgeon chirpily said, "you'll be cured of cancer by December 30th."

The C-word is a toughie for so many of us. Cancer's got a ton of "dirty pain" associated with it. Ever heard the phrase "dirty pain"? Dr. Steven Hayes, a noted psychologist, coined the term in his development of Acceptance and Commitment Therapy, as a counterpoint to "clean pain".

Clean pain is the pain that naturally flows from an action or situation. You stub your toe, it hurts. You say, "Ouch." That's clean pain. Dirty pain is the story you tell about what happened. Like, "Geez, I am always so clumsy! What a jerk! I can't believe I stubbed my toe! What an idiot!"

So here's how I know I've changed. There was a time when a cancer diagnosis would have prompted me to take to my bed. I would have been overwhelmed, obsessive, swamped, anxious, fearful, and cranky. I wouldn't have been able to listen to my doctors for the whirring sound of panic in my ears. I would have eaten a gallon of chocolate fudge brownie daily to soothe my mind, or treated myself to something "nice" (and stupidly expensive) at the mall.

I would probably watch "Beaches" eight times. In a row. Kleenex stock prices would soar.

I would have told myself really uplifting things like, "you brought this on by doing something wrong", "of course you're a loser, you got cancer", "see, nothing good ever happens to you," and, the whopper, "you are going to die and leave your children motherless and no one will even care."

Plenty of stories. Stories that serve only one purpose -- to extend the dirty pain, promote suffering, and keep us one-down, a victim to circumstance.

But how I took this cancer diagnosis surprised me. The diagnosis came with absolutely no story. Well, just a little story. And here it is:

I am a woman who found a lump. I had my doctor look at it. Tests were run. It's cancer. It's coming out.

Sure, there may be some pain after the surgery and I'll let that be whatever it is. Right now, I'm fine. And so, I'm going to be fine until something hurts and then I'll say "Ouch". What's the point of zooming ahead and feeling next week's pain today? That will only give me two weeks of pain when I really only have to -- maybe -- do one.

OK, I'll admit it, I'm slightly amazed at my own response. But it makes sense. After all the years of work and study and practice, I have arrived at a place where I can be clear and have pretty clean pain around this whole situation. It's a rather welcome validation of the hard changes I knew I needed to make in my life. I have actually done what I set out to do. Ain't that something?

Yep, I look at my own personal growth chart and like what I see -- I'm standing tall, back up to the wall, clear and aware of exactly how much I've grown. Who knew having cancer could feel so good?

Christmagical

I have the most fabulous teenaged daughter. Sure, she turned to me recently -- we were at the Gap and I was singing along with Mick Jagger, doing my best version of the White Woman's Boogie -- and asked, "Were you born embarrassing?" OK, I don't hold that against her. She's almost thirteen. She's supposed to find me utterly embarrassing. It's her job.

She's on the cusp of a life passage -- less child, more woman. As a result, she sees things from both perspectives. Both wise and wondering.

The other day as we turned a corner we spied lavish and ornate Christmas decorations. She exclaimed with the absolute delight of a child, "Mom, it's Christmagical!"

Would that we all could look at this time of year as magical. But it's hard, isn't it? So much to do. Get a tree. Get it off the car, into the house and on the stand. Haul out the decorations. Well, first you have to find them among the clutter you piled over them in the last twelve months. And buy a new package of those little hooks. Decorate the tree. Get gifts. Special, meaningful, perfect gifts. Wrap said gifts. Mail gifts. Shop for food. Cook food. Bake cookies.

Don't get me started on The Christmas Card Process. Or How To Fake Holiday Cheer To Get Through Yet Another Christmas Party.

Adult life is not very Christmagical.

This is the point where I could write about The True Meaning of Christmas, but I'll leave that to Linus (A Charlie Brown Christmas really says it all).

No, I'm going to say this: to really experience the fullness of everything Christmagical you just have to do one thing. You have to be open to unconditional receiving.

You have to be able to turn a corner and gasp because the decorations you see are so beautiful.

You have to allow yourself to tear up when you hear Vanessa Williams sing "Go Tell It On The Mountain."

You need to get to the place where you accept whatever's offered you with grace, and kindness, and an acknowledgment that other people are probably doing the best they can.

You have to be willing to let this great big, loving world we live in penetrate your grown up shell, and lift your heart.

You have to remember what it was like to be almost thirteen at Christmas. Remember what it was like to straddle childhood and adulthood -- and allow yourself hold on to the best of both in your life, right now.

That's when you will receive the greatest Christmas gift possible. And, it will be truly Christmagical.

It will be, quite simply, a very merry Christmas.

Looking Forward

So, did you make your list of 25 things you accomplished in 2008? I heard from many of you who did, and several of you who intend to make a list. Which is lovely. Still others told me that they ran over their accomplishments in their heads. So, progress was made on many fronts. I'm a very happy coach.

This week, let's do something really cool. Let's look forward.

Let's pretend it's December, 2009.

What would you like your list of 25 Accomplishments for 2009 to look like?

Ah, my spidey-sense suggests that you're intrigued, and already thinking. Excellent.

Here are a couple of questions to aid your idea flow:

• What do you want more of in your life? That you already have? That you don't have?
• What do you complain about most? How can you address it or solve it so you free up your time and energy?
• What do you do when you lose track of time? Do you do it enough?
• When are you at your best?
• What's one positive change you know you can make?

Some ideas percolating in that noggin of yours? Hope so. Here's what you do -- take a piece of paper and write down all of your thoughts. Then ask yourself this whopper of a question:

• When I'm living my best life, what will I have? What will I be? What will I do?

Good one, huh? OK, from all of this cogitating, you should begin to see a pattern emerge. Now, I do love me a good to-do list. However, an endless to-do list can feel like a burden, so unless you are absolutely, 100% motivated to tick off a list: simplify, simplify, simplify.

You may see, based on your answers to the questions above, that your stuff breaks down in to categories. If you notice, for instance, that you have a lot of goals around losing weight, getting into shape, doing something about your hair, finally getting that operation... you may want to make a category called, "Personal Well-Being", and make a goal of "Taking care of my body and my health." See? How much easier to keep that top-of-mind rather than forty-five "to-dos".

Plenty of people I work with have a real strong tug toward being connected with other people. It's a biggie. So I often suggest this little exercise: "What would it FEEL like to be connected to people?" For any goal, when you let yourself experience what it will feel like in your body, it's so much easier to recognize it when it actually happens.

And, you have to work at it. You may be like the woman I spoke with this week -- longing for deep connection, yet work consumes her life. Here's her schedule: Wake up. Go to work. Come home. Too exhausted to do anything but sleep. Sleep. Wake up. Start over (sounds suspiciously like a rut to yours truly).

To achieve her goal of having more connection in her life, she is going to have to make some changes. Something has got to give, and I'll be the one to say it -- it has to be her work. You can work smarter, not harder, as you may have heard. She will have to start making room for volunteer activities, friends, classes and, dare I say it? Fun. She's going to have to risk a little bit -- exchanging the comfort of the known rut for the uncertainty of possibility. If she can do it, she'll get the connection she wants. And still do great things at work. I absolutely guarantee it.

When you take the time to consciously consider what's really best for you -- what inspires you and strengthens you and fires you up -- then you can confidently create a plan to make sure you spend more time with those things, and less time with the things that keep you stuck in that nasty old rut.

And, when you do, just think: what a list of accomplishments you'll have this time next year!