Marcia Byalick

When I listened to myself and my friends and our first world problems, I discovered what they all had in common. Unmet expectations. “Expectation is the root of all heartache,” said the wise William Shakespeare. When I complain about the day I had… the traffic, the miscommunication, the wasted time… it’s all about assuming the traffic would cooperate, the email would be received on time, the elevator would be in working order. What if there was a world I just lived in the moment, encounter to encounter? Without expectations there’d be nothing that “should have” happened that didn’t. There’d be way less to complain about. I am, at best, a mediocre student of meditation. Emptying my mind and quieting my thoughts enough to let troubles drift off has been an elusive goal. But after looking hard at my grumbling self, maybe defusing a few of life’s inevitable triggers is a possibility. A look at today’s headlines should slap any of us into “I have nothing to complain about” mode. At Weight Watchers they used to reward a ten percent weight loss with a pin. If I cut ten percent of my griping, about two complaints daily, perhaps I can reward my loved ones with a me who quietly exhales the minor hassles and shares a glorious sunset instead....

The doctor called with my latest test results. “Your cat scan was stable.” she said. I was silent. My immediate reaction was that’s fine, serviceable, like propping up a wobbly table leg with a book of matches. “Everything OK?” she asked. Yes, everything was OK. OK is good, right? What was I expecting? What did I want her to say? Your cat scan was great? Yeah. Reason returned, however, as I contemplated the past year in the rear view mirror. The hardships we survived deepened my understanding of the word stable; its worth has appreciated a thousandfold....

No one I know thrived this past year. We’ve all felt cheated and deprived and scared. That fickle finger of fate wagged at everyone and everything we hold dear. Yet my friends showed up, challenging the test of time, over and over and over again. My nurturers and cheerleaders expanded to include the children of my friends…and the friends of my children. COVID and cancer turned the writers in my weekly Zoom class into dear ones sending poetry and orchids and loving notes. I made myself small and hid under the silver lining they embodied, and rode out the storm....

In a few days I’m going in for six hours of abdominal surgery. My friends ask, are you worried? Not consciously. When I focus on the logistics, I fully trust those charged with taking care of me. Am I anxious? Not really. My hands are warm, my heartbeat regular, my stomach fine. That’s not to say I’m in a comfortable state. It’s the waiting, the anticipation that’s doing me in....

I had my head shaved two months ago after my first chemo treatment. Anticipating all kinds of horrifying ego pain…and excruciating first glances in the mirror…and traumatizing my dear ones by the reveal of my naked head… l am shockingly, weirdly, gratefully at peace with it. In a making lemonade out of lemons moment, I am free for the first time in memory of being at the mercy of a bad hair day equaling a bad day....

In August I entered an alternate universe. I was already orbiting from six months of quarantine when, at a routine gynecologist appointment, it was discovered I had an as yet not-quite-named gynecological cancer. My mother died of ovarian cancer 34 years ago. The next few weeks woke me from my pandemic stupor....

In April, the average viewer logged in 41 hours of TV time a week. That’s why we can’t remember April. Thankfully, just when we’re beginning to exhaust the programs we were dying to watch, summer offers us the opportunity to make some memories. As the option of watching a squirrel run up a tree competes with Anderson Cooper and Bea Arthur, I’m betting on the squirrel. At least until sports return....

Every anxious thought is not a fact. Indefinite and excruciatingly uncertain as this time feels, it will end. And when it does, I believe we will all be proud of our emotional survival skills....