The Mourning After

My stepdad died this month.

Twenty months ago, he was healthy and thriving, and sitting in the audience at my MFA hooding ceremony. Cancer doesn't care who you are, that you didn't smoke, that you ate plenty of fish and vegetables, that you had a family that loved you. Cancer doesn't care.

My parents have never been ones to wait for some future point for their lives to begin. They wrung every bit of adventure out of the woven fabric of their lives together, sometimes acting more like my teenage kids than my parents. Though I've teased them over the years about running away from home, about sailing "for a year, at most," about deciding an island in Panama was a good idea, I've always been proud of their fearlessness. And for better or worse, some of that attitude emboldened me when I felt at a crossroads.

Do what excites you, what frightens you, what challenges you. And just keep going. Keep going. Keep going.

There are going to be some spectacular failures, and many more smaller ones that only you will notice. And if you happen to be daughter of adventurers, this could mean hearing tales of being rescued by the Coast Guard in the Gulf of Mexico or running aground in the Abacos. For us writers, it comes in the rejection emails and the vast, sucking silence into which so many submissions have been sent to no response. But persistence leads to growth, to moments of great beauty, and to later successes. Dare to dream.

That's easy to say, isn't it? Take the road less traveled. How does one do that with a mortgage? With others relying upon us? And how do we dream big when it's a struggle to just get through day to day? When we are grieving? When we feel loss that sneaks up to squeeze our hearts out of nowhere or pinch us in that cry-place behind our eyes so our vision blurs and we can't speak? What does fearlessness look like then?

Honestly, I don't know. But I know that Terry was a MacGuyver-level fixer. He patched up everything along the way in a world where the the thing you need is always the thing that breaks. He didn't quit; he went to work. I can't think of a better approach to life than that.

So for those areas of life that feel broken, know that I'm going to work. It may not look like much from the outside, and I may have some failures, big and small, but I'm going to fight for my own adventures. It feels wasteful not to try. It seems dishonorable not to leap when my legs work to carry me forward. Do the kindness, take the chance, make a plan and stick to it. Chuck out the unnecessary ballast and hoist your sail, whatever that is. And be a guide for others whenever you can. We need each other, really we do. Our time is limited.

Cherish those in your lives. And live the life you want, the way you want. The rest will take care of itself. At least I hope so.