Letting Go
June is not going how I had planned.
I know that is true for all of us, but for me this time is especially poignant. I had planned to return to work after a leave of absence for cancer treatment. But cancer had other plans.
It turns out my cancer diagnosis is worse than my medical team and I anticipated. First was the discovery of a second cancer developing in my thyroid (not metastatic breast cancer, thankfully, but a separate developing cancer). Then, once all the testing was done after my bilateral mastectomy and lymph node resection, my care team found I had 6 lymph nodes positive for cancer, with significant lymph vessel and nearby tissue involvement. These developments meant additional surgery to remove my thyroid, and a significant shift in treatment plan for what is now Stage III breast cancer.
Instead of returning to work at the beginning of June, I had a port inserted so that I could begin 6 months of chemo and radiation treatment.
It has taken me a while to process all of this and to figure out what I wanted to say as I step away from my practice for another 6 months. So today, 4 days before my 50th birthday, I am ready to write.
#1. I miss all of you. I miss my clients and colleagues. I miss the conversations. I miss helping you discover the best ways to rise to the challenges of our times, and I feel this especially keenly right now as all of you are going through such significant change and all of us face so much unknown. My mind loves a challenge, and I have a talent for seeing things on the horizon that others may not. I miss using that talent to ask the right question, or frame the problems before you in new ways. And I miss you personally. Your stories. Your struggles. Your triumphs. Your creativity and passion. Your humanity in full relief in the quiet of our conversations. I miss you.
#2. Letting go is hard. And necessary. Letting go is a leap of faith from the “what is” of what we know and understand into the wide open air of the unknown. To do anything meaningful, and to do the best things well, we need to step out from what is known into the unknown. What I am learning to do in this time is trust myself to rise to meet today, and then meet the next moment, and then the farther off future with a sense of trust and anticipation. With all the uncertainty in our world, our nation, and my own life right now I find I need to practice letting go over and over again throughout the day. But each time, I am a bit more whole and hopeful.
#3. The compassion and kindness of people is overwhelming. All I need to do is pause for a moment to notice and receive the immense gifts of kindness and compassion that are being delivered to me personally and into our world collectively at this time. I am grateful and humbled by this exceptional feat of compassion and kindness I experience from others. Thank you for your care of me during this extraordinary time for all of us.
I turn 50 on June 27th. This year’s “celebration” is shaping up to be much different than I’d planned.
I’d been working for the last 2 years to:
A. Be in the best shape of my life, and
B. have a 50th Birthday Tour in June, visiting friends and celebrating in San Diego, LA, the San Francisco bay area, Chicago, closing out in Virginia as the month came to a close.
Things often don’t turn out as we plan. But in an odd way, things are turning out as I’d hoped.
I am healthier than I have been, despite the fact that my body is de-conditioned after 5 surgeries. I am still fairly physically capable, and now I am cancer-free.
I have reconnected with all kinds of people I care about over the past few months. Friends from all over the country have reached out with notes, calls, meals and care packages. It has been wonderful to more deeply connect with so many people at this important time in my life and in our world.
I find myself being deeply grateful for all this. COVID and Cancer changed my plans, and, somehow, what I really wanted is coming to fruition. In a much different way than I’d planned. Now that the flurry of surgeries are over, I can pause and slow down – chemo makes you do that – and take stock of where I am now and think carefully about how to move back into the world once this time of treatment, rest and recovery passes.
As I think about letting go, compassion and kindness, and grieving I wonder if these might be the call of our times more broadly.
Will we be willing to let go of the way things are to make way for the world that is better, healthier, more whole and just?
Will we find our hearts turn toward one another and stand in their shoes long enough that our heart can break open for people both similar and different from ourselves?
Will we allow ourselves and our neighbors to honestly grieve our losses? I hope so.
In the meantime, I miss you. I miss your passion and creativity, your ideas and watching your character spill out in real time as you make difficult decisions that impact the lives of so many. I wish you well as you navigate the terrain in the coming months.
What do you need to grieve? Let go of? Who do you need to push yourself to exercise compassion and kindness toward? What next step do you need to take now?
Please be well. Stay safe. Bring kindness. And love one another to the best of your ability. Time is shorter than we imagine.
Warmly,
Jennifer Owen-O’Quill
