Journal
While Michael and Phoenix park the car, I check in at a long line of stations on the first floor of the hospital for the scheduled removal of Phoenix’s port.
I’m just doing the thing we always do: date of birth, address, sign three papers on the electronic signature pad, double check our hospital bracelets, when I feel a nudge to pay attention.
The best way I can describe this is like moving the dial on my intuition by a quarter inch and tuning in.
When I do, I hear something.
I’m looking at the woman with two neck tattoos, a rose tattooed on the back of her left hand, and a necklace with a big gold D on it, this employee taking my information and entering it into the computer like she does all day, and I get a clear sense that she needs to let herself love who she loves, that she’s hesitant to allow herself to move forward with a relationship. I flush all over with the clarity of the message.
I ask the sensation, “Am I supposed to share this?” The sensation gets stronger.
The woman behind the desk tells me we’re done and I can take the glass elevators up to the second floor to surgery. I say thanks, take a deep breath, and go for it.
“I have something that came to me that I want to share with you. If it doesn’t resonate, please forgive.” I pause like I’m about to plunge into cold water. “I get this sense that you are unsure if you should move forward with a relationship or not and I just want to tell you yes. That it’s ok to let yourself love who you love.”
Her eyes get huge.
I stumble forward, “There is a war between your heart and your head and it’s ok to let your heart lead....” I trail off. “Does this mean anything to you?”
“Oh my God,” she says. “This is EXACTLY what I’m going through. I just rekindled something with an ex and I just texted my cousin trying to figure out if I should move forward with it or not. Oh my God. Oh my God. This is crazy. I feel so much better.” It’s true.
Her eyes are brighter, her face is lighter; it’s like fifty pounds have fallen off her back.
“Oh, wow,” I exhale. “It’s so vulnerable to say stuff about someone’s personal life to a stranger. I’m so glad it meant something to you.”
We grin at each other, two humans in the middle of the mystery. I walk away to buy coffee and it comes to me that I need to write it down, put something in her hand to remember.
I dig through my backpack, find a Post-it where I’ve written “atom bomb” and “Einstein’s brain,” like one does on Post-it’s.
I tear it in half and write: “Let yourself love who you love.”
Then I watch from across the lobby until her station is empty and I run across and hand it to her like I’m delivering a love note.
“Here,” I say. “It’s just one sentence but it’s the essence. Good luck on your journey.”
She’s in the middle of texting. I imagine she’s texting her ex: “Let’s do this. Let’s go for it. Life is short. I want to be with you.” I hope this is EXACTLY what she’s doing.
She thanks me again. I walk away, marveling at the resonance.
These kinds of encounters have started happening to me more and more since cancer, where I hear something and then I have to decide if I’m going to risk making a fool of myself in the hopes that the message I’m carrying needs to be delivered.
It’s happened with two nurses, a radiologist, and the tech at the Honda service station last Friday.😜😜
It helps to have the messages come while we live in Cancer Land because never have I been more confronted with the brevity and preciousness of life. Why would I waste a chance to say something that might help someone in their journey? It’s only my ego that is scared of “getting it wrong.” The spirit of me knows the truth, that “what you seek is seeking you.”
Life is not a scavenger hunt orchestrated by a magician who wants to keep the good things always a trick and a clue away from being found. It’s a feast laid out on an endless table prepared by the most generous of benefactors. Everything we long for is already here. Move the dial 1/4 inch.
Take the risk. Let’s give each other permission slips on Post-it’s to Let Ourselves Love Who (or what) We Love.
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