Muddling Through Darkness (With a Few Sun Breaks)

This post started as a 5 sentence update, inspired by several people checking in over the past week or so to ask how I’m doing. It ended in a full-fledged post complete with my inner wanderings and oversharing. For those of you who prefer the bottom line, you can simply stop at the title. Because that pretty much sums it up.

It wasn’t until I moved to Seattle 20 years ago that I had ever seen a weather report use the term “sun breaks” to describe the tiny rays of sunshine that momentarily break through the clouds on the darkest and stormiest days.

This video was one of those sun breaks for me. And it may also act as a humorous indicator of how I’ve been doing.

Brad called me downstairs a couple of weeks ago and declared, “You HAVE to watch this!” It was absolute perfection. It resonated and made us both laugh out loud. I’ve had more of these “fucked-beyond-repair” days than I’d like to admit over the past few months. I’ve been down and muddling my way through, feeling a little dead inside while simultaneously being grateful to be alive. But thankfully, there have been sun breaks. As the wise man in the video says, “Tomorrow is a new day.”

Sometimes, the best solution to dark and stormy days is to just stay home and go back to bed. I wish I’d learned before age 52, but here we are.

I’m learning a lot about myself. I’m paying attention to the ways my energy ebbs and flows. I’m learning to let go of any particular expectations regarding my recovery speed. I’m accepting that healing takes time.

Letting go of my own expectations of myself has not been easy. I feel pressure to make the rest of my life REALLY matter. As if the universe will take back my second chance at life if I don’t deliver. It’s been a lot to carry. And it has stoked a fire of impatience within me that doesn’t feel warm and comforting. It’s that voice that keeps telling me to hurry to the other side, to muscle my way through, suck it up, and get on with it — no matter what.

There have been many times in my life (and career) where impatience and a degree of sucking it up and getting on with it has served me well. This, however, is not one of those times. There’s just no rushing this process.

As my last infusion nears (December 17th!!!), and after months of treatments and doctors and surgeries, I’ve never been more clear: MY HEALTH is the absolute top priority in my life. Mental, physical, emotional, relational, and spiritual. My world has been turned upside down, and just when I thought things were going to get easier after chemo ended in April, they got harder. A lot harder. Some of what made it hard lived in my mind. But much of it lived in my body. And some of it lived in medication mishaps. No matter the cause, the pain was and is real. It has all reminded me, ONCE AGAIN, to let go of expectations. A wise teacher in my grad school years once said, “Expectations are nothing more than premeditated resentment.” I’m learning to let go of arbitrary timelines and expectations.

I’ve realized that I need to chill a bit and trust that my motivation, lightheartedness, focus, and joy will return as I work my way back to good health. Only recently have I allowed myself to trust that there is absolutely no way that I will somehow fail at making the rest of my life matter. That is in my DNA. I’m beginning to have faith that my best days are not behind me, but in front of me. Now is not the time to muscle and hustle my way through. I know this because my entire body and mind are screaming at the top of their lungs at me:

“Just sit down and be quiet. Wait for the signal. And keep your eyes and heart wide open. Don’t make any big decisions right now. Just get healthy.”

So that’s what I’m doing.

Days after I decided this, I was listening to Michelle Obama’s book The Light We Carry while on the elliptical machine at the gym when I heard a quote so validating I had to stop everything, open a phone note, and write it down.

“It’s ok to tend to your well-being with the same vigor you bring to your fiercest convictions.”

That feels right to me. So I’m focusing on the small things I can do to bring myself back to health.

So far this year I’ve called in bald, I’ve called in sick, I’ve called in sad, I’ve called in lazy, and I’ve even called in MAD. On a planning call with my team a few weeks back, I had to come clean.

“I don’t trust myself with these executives right now. I worry I will come on too strong, say something that is more hurtful than helpful, and fuck it all up. Can you guys take it without me?”

That was a first for me. Both the part about calling in mad, and the part about worrying I wouldn’t be able to regulate myself appropriately.

I pride myself in seeing the very best in my clients and loving the hell out of them even in their messiest and most ignorant moments, but right now, I can’t. Right now, my tolerance and patience for just about everything and everyone is at an all time low. So my team rose to the challenge without hesitation. And they shined. They had some breakthroughs with the client that day, and it turned out to be the right call for everyone involved. I’m grateful for them and also grateful that I’m learning my limitations. I wish I’d gotten that memo a little earlier.

I’m working very little overall — only when I want and only with people who light me up and give me energy. When I notice that I’m excited for a client meeting or conversation, I do it. And when I find myself feeling drained, resistant, or stressed about any given client, I delegate or cancel. It’s been liberating.

In years past, I would have worried that I’d go broke or disappoint someone. But now I make these decisions out of both desperation (it literally feels like I cannot bring myself to do the unpleasant) and out of full trust that I am better for everyone when I’m feeling that energy. How this will play out in the longer term should be interesting!

I’m also doing lots of little things to get healthy. I’m paying attention to what I want and need at any given moment and in my life at large.

I’m cooking and juicing. I’m going to the gym. I’m making crafts this Saturday with a dear friend. I’m going to acupuncture treatments and drinking muddy herbs. I’m doing physical therapy to get my mobility and strength back. I’m walking a lot. I’m loving the hell out of my family. I’m learning from great healers and teachers on a daily basis — like Martha Beck’s The Way of Integrity, Michelle Obama’s The Light We Carry, Stultz on Netflix, and Glennon Doyle’s We Can Do Hard Things. I’ve got a steady IV drip of inspiration, reassurance, and guidance to help me through this darkness. And it’s starting to work.

Earlier this week, my fellow suck-the-marrow-out-of-life friend — Darcy Gabriele — inspired me with a pep talk as I shared that I was battling depression.

“Mitch, feel it all. Put your competitive energy into being the BEST depressed person you can be. Put that Mitch intensity towards being sad, angry, quiet…whatever you need to be. Throw yourself all the way into it.”

She was spot on. As soon as I stopped trying to resist it, I began to understand it and use it and move through it, which is why I think I can finally write about it. I’ve often advised my clients dealing with messy workplace conflicts and their tendency to avoid the hard stuff, “If you can’t get OUT of it, get INTO it.” I’m turning that advice on myself these days, and I’m winning. I’m letting the most difficult of emotions course through me until they lose their energy.

Looking back, I can see that I rallied like a warrior for the first 8 months or so of this 14-months-and-counting journey. I clicked into gear. I managed to somehow (and somehow very naturally) treat the entire thing like a big adventure, for the most part. And then…I swiftly found myself crumbled and on my knees.

I suppose that is part of the adventure too. I should have known by now, as a lover and seeker of adventure, that half the thrill is not knowing what will happen next. The unpredictability. The need to roll with the punches. The fear. Basically having to figure-it-the-fuck-out. That’s what makes adventures fun and epic.

But many aspects of adventures are only fun in hindsight. Once you live to tell the tale. Once you’re no longer hurting or scared as hell. It feels a little bit like I’m at the crux of the climb, terrified and hanging on for dear life, while also confident that I’ve got this. Life has taught me that.

I’m reminded of the time Adi asked me, mid-way up a steep mountain climb in the Dolomites, “Mom, do you like hiking WHILE you’re doing it?” I chuckled but my answer was quick.

“Ha! No, not always. My thighs burn. My lungs hurt. I doubt myself sometimes. My mind can start to be mean. But I’ve gotten good at turning those messages around in my mind, and just continuing to walk. And the thing I always forget on the lead up to every hard climb is the lift I will inevitably get from the beautiful scenery and wonderful people I’ll see along the way. And I do love being in a beautiful place at the end of a long day of hiking, feeling worked and tired but strong and proud of what I’ve accomplished.”

It was one of my better pep talks as a parent. And I’m glad I gave it because it’s the same pep talk I’m giving myself lately. I know the day will come, on this journey too, where I look back and feel strong and proud.

But I’m not there yet.

Right now, sweat is dripping in my eyes, I’m irritated with every happy hiker that marches past me smiling on the hike downhill, and my mind is being mean (to myself and sometimes to others). It feels like it will never end. And I’m really sick of false summits.

I know the pain will make the looking back that much sweeter. The sadness, rage, outbursts, impatience, and grief. Finding my center again — changed from it all — has been hard. I won’t lie. And I know it’s been painful for my friends and family to watch.

This is not just a physical journey. It’s a mental and emotional journey too. And the more I sit in it, the more I see it as a spiritual one as well. I’m glad I’m chronicling most of it because I won’t remember it in the vivid detail I’m currently feeling. And I want to remember. I don’t want to forget what I’ve been through or who helped me along the way or how it felt or the mistakes I’ve made or what I’ve learned. I want to remember all of it. The chaos. The overwhelm. The darkness. And the sun breaks too.

I’m in the darkness of winter, hibernating with some snacks, but I finally feel a glimmer of faith that spring and summer will come. It’s nature. Nothing can stop nature.

To force some sun breaks in the midst of my wintering, I’ve been putting some energy into planning trips for me and the family. I’ve found that not even my deepest darkest depression has squelched that energy, thank god. There is knowing in that. I’ve begun to dream about travel and adventure playing a bigger role in my life, not just in my personal life but perhaps in my work life too. We will see.

I’ve been reflecting on the wilderness expeditions I used to lead for Outward Bound in the mountains, canyons and rivers of Colorado and Utah. One such course was called LCR (Life Career Renewal), where people would come for an adventure to soul-search, recharge, and refocus after some sort of life changing event. Maybe a job change, divorce, health crisis, or death.

When I first got assigned to lead one of these courses, at the ripe young age of 27, I remember thinking, “How on earth am I going to help 50+ year old adults going through life-altering events and serious adversity?” I was just a baby.

It turns out my youthful exuberance, optimism, and ability to go deep with them was of value. But I still think it was me who learned the most. There I was, 27-years-old, having this rare opportunity to work with people 25 (or more) years my senior. People who were stressed and suffering from something life had served up, or in some cases had fallen asleep at the wheel and lost their way. All of them searching for version 2.0 of themselves. I remember thinking, more than once:

“Don’t fall asleep at the wheel. Stay conscious. Follow your heart. Don’t let society and culture dictate what makes you happy. YOU keep driving the car — awake, alert, and in control.”

Back then, I naively thought that all it would take to remain happy was to remain conscious (with some initiative & courage for good measure). I didn’t realize then what I know to be true now: Nobody is immune from these downturns and life-altering events. Life is an adventure, filled with pain and adversity that sometimes sends you searching and asking, “Now what?”

I’ve had these moments at other times in my life too — just not as extreme. Becoming a mother, suffering miscarriages, starting and ending businesses, stepping away from work to travel, acclimating back home to a culture I saw with new eyes, committing my life to creating greater equity…all of it has come with bumps and bruises. And through that I have learned/am learning what works to get me out of a funk.

Get healthy. Spend time with supportive and inspiring people. Do something nice for someone else. Serve. Meditate. Get out of your own head. Write. To name a few.

That’s what I’ve been up to. Bringing myself back to health and good balance. And it has certainly been a full time job as of late. I think you know this already, but none of this is meant to be a pity party. Just an honest update because that’s what I do. I love you all and hope you are each finding your way through your own darkness with little bits or heaping gobs of joy and sun breaks along the way.