Failure and Dread’s Silver Linings

Last night I made a decision to pull the plug on something I enjoy doing, but that I’m actually failing at. I’ll get to all that, but it all started thanks to dread. Which is a heavy feeling, but isn’t all bad. It has some silver linings too.

Quotes

Two quotes often roll around in my head but have been especially present ever since the latest chapter in the Boob Saga.

“What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” ~Mary Oliver

“If a man knows not to which port he sails, no wind is favorable.” ~Seneca the Younger

Here I am, 51 years old, and I’m still trying to figure out exactly what it is that I want to do with my one wild and precious life.

Except, haven’t I always known? The answer lies in the port. Because I’ve always known what port I want to sail to. The one where published authors dock.

So why haven’t I landed there yet?

In some respects I have. But then, well…I’m overcome by FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out).

Other ports tempt me. 20 years ago it was when I started freelance editing for independent e-book publishers. Then I became a blogger at Families.com. Then tennis. Then podcasting.

Even my beloved Haunt Jaunts was a port that distracted me from the one my heart actually longs for. The port that always snaps back into focus when Life gets real, as it once again has.

The Dread

Something wicked this way comes…

I haven’t been able to shake that feeling from my bones for a few weeks now. I started out with so much hope for 2022, then despair set in.

Partly it has to do with the war in Ukraine. Why wouldn’t Putin push the button? What does he have to lose if his invasion of Ukraine escalates into World War III?

That haunts me.

But something else much closer to home has been weighing on my mind. The love of my life, Wayne.

My literal Ironman (he completed one of their triathlons in the early 2000s) hasn’t been up to par lately. Although, his level of “par” is way different from most people’s.

Under normal circumstances, he’s up by 4 a.m. swimming, biking, or running (sometimes a combo of these) most days of the week. At least, if work and weather permit it.

But lately, he’s not been able to put in his 4,000-5,000 meters at the pool, or his 18-20 miles on the bike. He used to run 6-10 miles most mornings too, but he injured himself a few years ago and has been off and on with the running ever since.

But in September he did hike Rim-to-Rim in the Grand Canyon. He was supposed to do Rim-to-Rim-to-Rim, but his hiking buddy was only seven months post-op of a hip replacement and overestimated his endurance.

But Wayne was fine. At least until a few months ago when I took him to the ER, which turned out to be nothing. Since then he’s been to his primary a couple of times, and now to a new specialist who’s ordered more testing.

Because completely out of character for him, he’s short of breath. Fatigued. Lightheaded. He says he feels off, like something’s not right.

But worst of all, he looks worried. He usually just pushes through when he’s sick. He can’t this time and his concern is palpable.

It could have something to do with the nodes in his lungs again, or it could be something new. The cardiologist said it could even be the effects of long covid. As far as we know, Wayne never had covid. But who knows?

All I know is I’m hoping for the best (which actually might turn out to be long covid) but I’m bracing for the worst (cancer or heart issues).

But here I am again, the day before what could be the eve of a new normal —or, rather, nightmare— realizing, if my world is upended tomorrow, what will I regret not doing?

That question always helps me regain focus. Even better, it makes me take action.

The Silver Lining

For every cloud, there really is a silver lining. My health scare was the first step in re-evaluating my time and energy and how I want to spend both on my one wild and precious life. Contemplating facing something major with Wayne, however, has ratcheted it all up a notch.

It’s been the kick in the pants I need. I’ve set the coordinates for the port I really want to sail. Instead of looking at the sails, I’ve grabbed the sheets and adjusted them.

It means being brutally honest with myself and abandoning some things that I love. For instance, the podcast.

Creating themed seasons on the Haunt Jaunts podcast seemed like a good idea at first. Listens went up season 1, but fell back to normal levels in season 2. Season 3 has been abysmal. Plus, the podcast drives no traffic to the site.

And while I do love it, and it brings me an unexpected joy, it takes a lot of time to create. It also doesn’t give me the same satisfaction I get from writing.

But the true tell is my gut. After Wayne’s appointment yesterday, Mary Oliver’s quote echoed in my brain again, followed by the admonishment, “Time’s a-wastin’!”

Time is a-wasting.

And it’s precious.

I want to do so much, create so much, but the truth of the matter is there are just so many hours in the day and they’re not enough. I have to choose and focus.

So I made my decision and the turmoil that’s remained in my tummy is that caused by not knowing what we’re up against with Wayne’s health issues.

But it also feels peace knowing the seas may be rough, the voyage may be long, but I’m headed, finally, to my Ithaka.