Saturday, 2 November, was the third anniversary of my first chemotherapy treatment for breast cancer. I'm happy to say that day feels distant now, but it doesn't take too much effort to recall the fear, uncertainty, and unpleasantness of it. I don't know how I would have made it through without the love and support of so many friends and family, without my yoga practice, and without good medical leave and benefits.
Part of the reason it feels distant is that I am feeling healthy, well, and strong. I did almost 4 hours of yoga on the anniversary day, the first half of a workshop at the beautiful Yogaview Studio, near Antigonish. There were so many layers of joy for me in the workshop:
the joy of reuniting with some of the workshop attendees and the studio owner, Deborah, whom I'd met at a retreat in July;
the joy of being in the flesh (not zoom!) with my beloved teacher, Barbara, from Pathway Yoga in Ottawa, who was leading the workshop. A much as I appreciate being able to participate in live classes on zoom, it was SO GOOD to be able to give Barbara a hug and to have her embodied instruction;
the joy of bringing consciousness to breath, bone, muscle, and body, stretching and learning new layers of subtlety;
and the sweet joy of recognizing my renewed strength and energy after the cancer treatment.
As many of you know, I'm here in Cape Breton to do a self-organized writing retreat in a little bunkie on my friend's property in Hillsborough, near Mabou, and to visit with my parents and sister, Kathleen, who are about 90 minutes away in North Sydney (and to see other friends and do more yoga too!) I came a day early so I could hang out with my brother, Gerry, & his lively and lovely wife, Meg, from Toronto, who were visiting my parents for a long weekend. From practically the moment he could talk, Gerry has had the precious gift of bringing laughter to those around him — and he didn't disappoint on this occasion either. So great to laugh together!
The main focus of the writing retreat is to start research for a book exploring my many questions about using the language of "the right to food" in the context of food insecurity (more about that another time!). I brought a ridiculously ambitious stack of books. And unfortunately, I dragged a number of unfinished other projects along too. For the rest of my sabbatical, I will "just say NO!" to any other invitation to examine doctoral theses, review books for publishers, assess grant applications and job applications, etc, etc. But I am making progress on the outstanding projects, and have made a start on the big stack of reading.
For most of my adult life, November has been my least favourite month of the year. The shortening, darkening days, often cold, cloudy, and damp, usually drag my energy down. But I'm loving being here, fascinated by the textures, muted colours, and contours of the landscape. Maybe the problem is having too much scheduled time in November, especially teaching, which takes so much output of energy and contradicts Nature's flow of slowing down and drawing inward.
I feel extremely fortunate to be here today, while trying to take in the news from south of the border. It has helped to be surrounded by trees and fields, chickadees, blue jays, and honking geese flying overhead. We will need each other more than ever. And we will need to stay balanced, to hold beauty, kindness, and joy so that we can also witness and resist the injustices, reduce suffering where we can, and be light in the darkness.
