Soaring is a metaphor for my life’s journey. May you see my journey and yours in my ramblings.
My friend and former Whiskey Oscar owner Heinz Wiesenmüller actually did the flying for this sequence.
***
Sam (my original World War II aviator/instructor) told me years ago that flying was better than sex. At the time I noted his advancing age and filed the information accordingly. But with experience comes wisdom and three years later the following entry appeared in my journal:
How can I begin to describe the joy, the fascination, the occasional terror, and the wonder of motor-less flight? Moving through the air is a complex set of manoeveurs to understand under any circumstances. To adjust to the conditions of the day, to impose your will of destination and to make them all come together is–well–mind boggling!
Flying, soaring, provides a wonderful mirror, an alternate universe of daily trial and tribulations, hopes, aspirations and unavoidable events that characterize life. Perhaps because all this occurs in a defined space in time, the intensity is increased.
To go cross country, you need to let go of all that is familiar. There is no other way, no shortcut or compromise. Yet to let go requires extreme courage and faith. Courage and faith in the elements, in your plan, and most of all, in yourself.
The experiences are so immediate, so real. Every ounce of your being is focused on the task at hand. Take landing. At MASA Sunday the air was brutal. Those that launched early hit wave* and were gone. The latter half of the grid, including Happy Hooker and myself, fell out. I released at 3,000 feet over the mountains and found, much to my dismay, turbulent air. Given the tow, I expected some bumpiness, and the intense and abrupt sink countered by rare bursts of lift was hard flying.
I lost altitude and headed for the ski hill to contour fly the terrain with the hope of picking up some lift. And lift there was! My wings pulled and flexed with the force of the air as it slammed into the belly of my plane. I felt the strain of the straps on my shoulders and the twin tubes of steel which anchor the wing spars moved and grunted. I had been warned that the degree of flex in my wings could be troubling to behold. It is! I watch the wings wrap towards each other, over my head. Will they hold?
***
Landing in such stuff is nerve wracking.
I start my pattern high and with a tail wind, fast (the MASA runways sloped uphill; we nearly always ran the pattern up the hill, regardless of wind, which made for some very interesting landings). How much wind will I encounter, how much drift as I turn base and final? Shear over the trees? How violent? How much airspeed do I need to safely manage my passage back to earth? How much space will I need to dissipate its energy.
I concentrate on the task at hand.
Gear down. Flaps in thermal setting for the moment. Speed, trim, altitude and relative position to the field. I crab in, losing altitude, careful to turn final high above the trees. One wing in that turbulent air could be more than enough to stall the wing. There are no survivors in low altitude spins in a 20.
Landing. Everything at once moves too fast to comprehend, all in the slow motion reserved for dreams. The trees thrash at high speed, yet I see every leaf slowly turn its bottom for my review as I pass overhead. I descend, a close eye on my airspeed. In exactly this place, I have watched as my airspeed indicator dropped to zero as I encountered shear along the tree line. This would be a bad day for that to happen again. The air is very rough and uncertain.
I clear the trees and the ground approaches. Blades of grass wave as I pass by. I can almost feel each individual blade gently tickle the belly of the plane as we pass overhead in ground effect, waiting to settle and land.
As the plane lands, a whole new set of parameters apply. This lovely bird is not suited to the ground. Roll, roll, wings level although the air at the end of the ailerons ceases to cooperate. Stick back, negative flaps full forward. There. I can hold the wings now. Eyes far out, feet working the rudders and some sixth sense provides the feel for the positioning of it all.
Then I stop.
Except for the radio–and maybe an audiovario–it is silent in the cockpit. The yaw string hangs limp to the side. I breath. This is a moment of pause and transition. I flick open the canopy release and let the air flow into the cockpit. Straps unbuckled. Shute released. I touch the ground.
The plane sits, perhaps the wings stirring slightly in the wind as if seeking to fly again, eager to return to the sky. She exudes motion even in stillness, speed at stop. She is an extraordinary ride.
I regard my journal entry. I relive the moment, fully cognizant of the difficulties and danger of flying. But it is so exquisite. Exhilarating. Fantastic.
Sam was right. Flying is better than sex.
*This link is from Minden, NV which has some of the best soaring in the world. And where, just incidentally, I’ve lived for some time now!
Like This Post? Pin It!
If you’re interested in learning more about photography (or cooking or film or any number of topics) check out Masterclass for on-line excellence:
[et_bloom_inline optin_id=”optin_10″]
What is #CancerRoadTrip and how did it come to be? Read this post to get the backstory!
What is #CancerRoadTrip and how did it come to be? Read this post to get the backstory!
Aparigraha is the last of the five yamas of Patanjali’s Eight Limbs of Yoga. It often translates to ‘non-greed’, ‘non-possessiveness’, and ‘non-attachment’.
I am reading The Eight Limbs of Yoga, a gift from Bhava Ram. I do not think of myself as a greedy person, but the act of cleaning out my house would suggest otherwise.
I have far too many “things”. What was my intent in buying all this? Why did I hold onto it all for so long? What emotional purpose did it serve?
Bhava writes:
Consider for a moment the contents of your closets, garage and other storage areas. If you are like most of us, you will agree that you have far too much stuff. While this is not an overtly immoral or criminal act, it arises from the greed that has been imposed upon us by consumer consciousness and mass marketing. It is a form of external obesity, and just as obesity in the body causes a host of health problems, this external heaviness impacts our mental balance and well being.
I am “externally obese”.
My quest for things was a quest for beauty and perfection. I am very visual and it soothed me. It was in some ways an outward expression of what I felt within. But it was also bound in the throes of perfectionism and consumerism, a wonderful cultural means of distraction.
I’ve already sent dozens of boxes of books to the used book store. Reading has always been my favorite past time but now I keep many things electronically. I suspect I have another half dozen or so boxes that can also find their way to a new home.
I gave a beautiful set of china away. It brought me no pleasure. Some one else should enjoy it.
Similarly, my party things are finding a home with people who entertain. With cancer, so many people and activities have passed me by, that I don’t really socialize that much anymore.
I have a set of old American Heritage magazines that belonged to my father. It’s one of the only things I have from him. They look great on a book shelf, but I never read them. Ditto for my years of Map Collector, although I do occasionally enjoy revisiting those. My history and cartography books are not negotiable. They represent a combination of past and adventure that I find endlessly fascinating. Those stay, at least for now.
For many years, one of my favorite consumer pastimes was Peruvian Connection. I’m not a clothes horse, but I love the quality of the company’s alpaca and cotton; I love the arty and unusual designs. Year after year, with each catalogue, I accumulated more things. Beautiful sweaters, vests, skirts. None of it was inexpensive and I had more than any reasonable person ever needed.
As I clean out my house, I wonder what am I going to do with all this? I am externally obese and I need to shed a few pounds.
I also need to cultivate non attachment when it comes to ThinkTLC. For months I couldn’t sleep; I was unable to eat, or what I did manage to eat, came right back up; the stress made my hair fell out.
ThinkTLC was my life-force and with no response to my emails; no code or product; and a refusal to communicate in any way, the tech creeps were stealing my life force.
I have many skills for stress management after eight years of living with cancer. My normal twice daily refuge of meditation eluded me. I practiced, but I could not still my mind. My exercising had fallen off, with the pain in my hip that resulted FROM the surgery. Yes my hip was better, I could walk, but I was still in almost daily pain. The orthopod suggested a series of injections that might help. I passed and headed for the yoga studio.
Intellectually I realized that eventually, with enough money, lawyers would find a resolution to ThinkTLC which was supposed to have been lauched in September 2016. But letting go, giving up the life-force that has propelled me forward, was–and is–a lesson in non-attachment to an outcome and in non-possessiveness that cuts to the very core of my soul.
“Dare to live by letting go.” – Tom Althouse
I need to give up a life to get a life. I’ve done this before; I can do this again. But what is the cost?
What is #CancerRoadTrip and how did it come to be? Read this post to get the backstory!
Every now and then, we encounter a window in life. It won’t last forever. Do we step through, or do we let the opportunity pass us by?
One window that I allowed to pass by-and I’ve always regretted it-was when the Exxon Valdez had that horrible oil spill in Alaska. Volunteers were need to help clean up the birds and beaches. I could have gone, but I hesitated and the window closed. It’s always haunted me. I wonder if my life was meant to take a different turn had I gone.
I also had a window in my life after my divorce. At first, I stayed still. I worked and socked aside money. One day, when I found myself in bed with pneumonia, I knew another window was before me. Would I go on with a life that didn’t resonate with my soul, in a job I hated, or would I dare to do otherwise.
I dared to do otherwise and for that I’m immensely grateful.
As I contemplate events now, I see a different window, not one of my own making.
I nestle in this house, this life I’ve created, and it is so beautiful, comfortable and familiar.
I want to stay.
But I have to leave. It’s mid February and I’ve had zero information on the ThinkTLC platform since September.
I’m facing another window in my life.
“As you go the way of life, you will see a great chasm. Jump. It is not as wide as you think.” -Joseph Campbell
On a personal front, if I want to travel some more, this is the chance. I had hoped to travel with ThinkTLC, returning to my home and feline family. Adventure in a more controlled sense. But the prospect of being #HomelessWithCancer demands a new degree of boldness.
If I fast forward ahead a few years (or even months) and my cancer becomes active again, I will be facing more treatment. With an indolent lymphoma (and hopefully it stays indolent!), I should have some time before I have to make treatment decisions. But as I look at the downward spiral my health and fitness have taken over the last several years, I know that anything that lies ahead of me will also take its toll. Another round of chemo will further diminish my quality of life. If I want to do some things, the time is now. And while I would never have choreographed this set of circumstances, I can turn them into an opportunity.
This blog is helping me process the radical changes my life is about to undergo. Thank you for reading my vacillations, as I wrestle with comfort vs. adventure; trust vs. betrayal; stay vs. go. In search of some inspiration, I surfed the web this morning:
“To uncover your true potential you must first find your own limits and then you have to have the courage to blow past them.”
— Picabo Street
“The brave may not live forever, but the cautious don’t live at all.”
– Ashley L.
“The desire for safety stands against every great and noble enterprise.”
— Tacitus, Roman historian
“Come to the edge, He said. They said: We are afraid. Come to the edge, He said. They came. He pushed them, And they flew . . .”
— Guillaume Apollinaire, French poet
What is #CancerRoadTrip and how did it come to be? Read this post to get the backstory!
I live my life in 6 month increments.
This is much better than the every three month blood tests and check ups that I started with. I am grateful to be stable enough to go six months, for now. But I am always on the alert. Am I unusually fatigued? Is that lymph node a bit elevated? Is the itching a sign that it’s back?
Living with lymphoma, like all cancer, changes your life. Nothing is constant; nothing is guaranteed. The illusion of predictability or any control over life is long gone.
For me, cancer brought my life to a dead stop. How could I have cancer? I was fit and active. Granted my diet included luscious blackened rib eyes and margaritas. But cancer?
In my case I would hazard a guess that the cancer was a combination of bad luck, genetics and a bit of personal trauma. Divorcing, moving across the country alone and starting over again (not to mention the flying!) did not create an emotional atmosphere of support. Quite the contrary. And moving into a town (Reno/Tahoe) with small town roots wasn’t easy. I assimilated by trying to fit in (which I didn’t); not making too many waves; and just putting one foot in front of the other.
I worked with several start up companies; at one point got a real estate license until that crashed; and generally lived well within my means. Which financially saved me (at least for a while) when the cancer diagnosis rolled around.
My first round of treatment was simply Rituximab (Rituxan) , a mono-clonal antibody that should have been simple. But it turned out to be my personal drug from hell. My chest tightened; I couldn’t breathe; I had head to toe hives; fatigue; and joint pain so intolerable that I would scream in the shower trying to move my hand. I couldn’t hold a cup of coffee. I spent two straight months mostly in bed.
Rituxan did not stay the cancer. So onto the next potion: RCVP (Rituxan, Cyclophosphamide, Vincristine, Prednisone) Each infusion took 2 days due to my problems tolerating the Rituxan. The prednisone for the 5 days following chemo was simply horrific.
I did six rounds, one every three weeks. My hair fell out. The exhaustion was indescribable. I vividly remember at the finish of the third round, feeling simultaneously terrified and optimistic.
“Yay! I’m halfway through!” That was my optimistic self.
My next thought was “Oh no, it’s half over!” Is 6 rounds enough? Will it work?
It was working. I could feel the tumors melting away. Publicly, I kept up a good front. I continued playing tennis (poorly). What no one saw was that two hours on the court put me in bed for two days.
The chemo brain that ensued was beyond comprehension. And, at that time in 2010/2011, doctors still doubted it was real. I remember breaking down sobbing in Costco one day because I couldn’t enter my 4 digit pin. This is from a girl who used to do log calculations in her head!
My cancer came raging back not long afterwards following a period of huge stress. The stress came from my neighbors who put a 9,000 square foot house on the property line next to my house. I had to re-landscape my yard simply to salvage any value in my property.
So, just after the end of chemo, exhausted and weak, I found myself dealing with a construction project in my backyard. Evenings I found myself straddling trenches for gas pipes and irrigation lines, to maneuver sprinklers and hoses in an effort to save the lawn and landscaping in the rest of the yard. I was weak from cancer and chemo; exhausted; and stressed.
If that weren’t bad enough, the incessant music from next door was so loud I couldn’t sit in my own house, with the windows closed, without feeling the boom, boom, boom of their outdoor stereo.
One night I simply stood in the construction site that had become my back yard, amidst the rubble that had become part of my life and I screamed. I screamed at the stars; I screamed at the neighbors; I screamed at the top of my lungs.
“If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?”
I was not feeling well and I went to Stanford for another consult. I was told to be prepared to go on the transplant list. The doctor believed my indolent cancer had not just come back, but had transformed to an aggressive lymphoma that, if untreated, would be fatal in a short period of time. The biopsies that were taken, would confirm this.
Except they didn’t. My cancer was back, but it was still not super aggressive. I could “watch and wait” for a bit. Over the next two years, the tumors grew. I began to resemble a chipmunk but it was hardly cute. When I felt a large tumor growing at the base of my skull, I knew it was time to consider another round of treatment. The thought of cancer in my brain was more than I could deal with. The lymphoma had also returned to my neck, face and groin, and internally was growing throughout my body.
By 2013, a new treatment had been approved: Bendamustine + Rituxan. I was optimistic. It was supposed to be much easier than RCVP and they were getting good remissions. I was ready.
Except that nothing went as planned. My hair wasn’t supposed to fall out this time, but about half of it did and hasn’t fully returned. I wasn’t supposed to be tired; but I was. It was supposed to be relatively easy; instead my hip failed. I was no longer able to do the things I loved. The tennis friends that hadn’t fallen away during the first round of chemo fell away this time, as they went on with their lives and mine was sidelined by cancer.
By this time I had Anti-Cancer Club up and running. I vividly remember lying in my bed, exhausted and discouraged, wondering if I was reaching and resonating with an audience? Where was I going with this? Should I continue? Could I continue?
The answer of course was yes, I had to continue, even if I wasn’t sure why.
This year, 2017, we are reaching about 2 million people per month, and growing.
Inspiration, joy & discovery through travel. Oh, did I mention with supposedly incurable cancer?
What's on your bucket list?
Thank you for stopping by!
CancerRoadTrip is about making lemonade out of lemons.
As you read my story, you may want to start at the beginning to "grok" how CancerRoadTrip came to be. You can click here to start at the end (which is actually the beginning) and read forward! The posts are chronological, with the most recent posts appearing on the front page.
