​“Mother Nature hates a vacuum,” said Lillian, an 83-year-old breast cancer patient. “What do you mean?” I replied. “Think about it,” she said. “If you don’t plant grass, shrubs, trees, flowers, and other things that you want in your lawn, Mother Nature will fill it up with weeds.”

Life might be easier, simpler really, if everything was categorized into, well…categories, like always/never, either/or, yes/no, up/down, good/bad, all/none, perfect/imperfect, success/failure, black/white. However, that’s not reality. Life is not that compartmentalized but is multifaceted with shades of grey and a myriad of colors and possibilities.

Why is it so hard to ask for what you need? Maybe saying “I need…” feels selfish. The traditional roles of women as nurturers and caregivers have programmed us to consider everyone else’s needs ahead of our own, so needs often go unspoken and unaddressed. That’s not unique to either gender though, as men may have unexpressed needs as well.

I’ve never been fond of deserts, but then I don’t have much experience with them. My view of deserts is excessive heat during the day and freezing cold temps at night, no water and unusual vegetation, if there’s any at all. And then there’s the dangerous animals: rattlesnakes, bats, bobcats, vultures, Gila monsters, scorpions, tarantulas, and black widow spiders. It sends chills down my spine just thinking about those creatures. I see a lot of danger in the desert.

Recalling the past, we can become immobilized by nostalgia and guilt or be propelled into the future with wisdom. Looking to the future, we can fear the worst or plan and hope for the best. Being in the present moment, we can become distracted by technology and worries, or seek out gratitude, joy, and meaning and ultimately, find confidence and ourselves.

Years ago, when he was in his fifties, he was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s lymphoma. She was diagnosed with multiple myeloma. They had been married a number of years, and both of them were receiving treatment for their cancer diagnoses at the same time. Her treatment included a bone marrow transplant. She spent months in the hospital, and eventually a nursing home, with the expectation she would never be well enough to leave. Her condition was so severe at one point that several toes had to be amputated. (They both recovered and lived active, fulfilling lives.)

From Victim to Victor, by Harold Benjamin, Ph.D., was a popular book published a number of years ago that encouraged cancer patients to become active participants in the healing process. While that concept is a worthy endeavor, I never liked either of those words, “victim” or “victor.”

I love learning new words. I’d never heard the word “scanxiety” until a few years ago, but I love how the word perfectly describes that feeling: that sense of anxiety and dread over an upcoming scan.

We were having lunch at the Stagecoach Inn in Manitou Springs. I should say hoping to have lunch as the service was painfully slow, and more than an hour after finally placing our order, food was nowhere in sight. The conversation with my daughter and grandsons who were here on vacation was delightful, but everyone was hungry, especially my husband who was becoming increasingly irritated, as the restaurant wasn’t even that busy. Sensing his growing frustration and knowing that an impending confrontation with the waitress (if he could find her) was about to happen, I suddenly pointed to one of the impressive black bear head mounts on a nearby wall and blurted “Look at the bear!”