Limbo, But Moving
I seem to have found myself in a strange place lately. Not quite standing still, but not really able to move forward either. Somewhere in an awkward limbo … I envision a bird caught in a rainstorm. One part of me is trying to get on with things, while another part is dangling somewhere in between, waiting to see what happens next.
There have been some good things happening. I've been selling my book in little bursts of interest, which is always exciting. There is something wonderful about knowing that something I spent so much time making is actually making its way out into the world and into other people's hands. And the podcast is no longer just an idea; thanks to some wonderful contributors, I've actually made seven episodes, whoop whoop!
The podcast grew out of the book, The Reel Deal: Real Talent, Tips, and Tales, and has become a way of keeping those stories going. There are so many interesting people behind the scenes of the film industry, with stories, skills and insights that don't always get heard. The podcast gives me another way to share some of those voices. And, perhaps more importantly, it gives some of my weeks a sense of purpose. A reason to get up and think, Right, what am I doing this week?
That's been really valuable.
I've also signed up for an online art camp run by fellow leukaemia gal Suleika Jaouad, which I'm really looking forward to. And I've been exploring watercolour painting with my daughter. We have created our own little makeshift artist area behind the living room sofa, using two of those fold-out tables. It's not exactly an artist's studio. But there we are, side by side, painting.
And I really like that.
The strange thing is that when I came off the clinical trial, I had been told that because my leukaemia was considered high risk and progressive, I would probably need to move straight onto another treatment. I expected that to happen within a month or two. But my disease has remained stable enough to give me some breathing room.
And I'm grateful for that.
It's given me time to look more closely at the treatment options, ask questions, consider what might be best for me, and, perhaps most importantly, not feel as though I have to make every decision in a mad rush. Of course, there's an odd flip side to having this breathing room. I still don't know when treatment will be needed. I don't know exactly what it will look like or how I'll feel once it starts. I'm not sure how much energy I'll have, or whether I'll be able to commit to things/work a few months down the track.
So I've learned to do things in small bursts.
A burst of book sales and promotion.
A podcast episode.
A conversation with someone interesting.
A watercolour/ art project with my daughter
A medical appointment.
Something that suddenly grabs my attention and gives me a reason to get moving.
Then perhaps a few quieter days follow.
It's a strange way to live when you're used to making plans and getting on with things. But I’m beginning to think I’m not actually in limbo. I’m just figuring out how to book myself into a future I haven’t been introduced to yet.
Until next time -May we all keep on keeping on, with many moments of joy and wonder along the way. -Therese
