It’s been a while.

Lately, I’ve been just trying to keep my head above water. I haven’t exercised in months. I simply cannot find time to use the relaxation tools I learned from my weekend at the yoga institute. I’ve gained nearly all the weight back that took me 6 months to lose. I’m tired. I’m weak. I’m absolutely exhausted.

I know those things are certain.

And, given that I am writing this from my desk in my office at 9:00pm, I know with certainty that I have no idea where this train is headed.

I have no idea if my ovaries will rally up and grow tumors.

No idea if I’ll regain my range of motion in my arms and chest that I worked so hard to stretch.

No idea if I’ll feel the solid definition in my thighs that were a result of 4:30am runs, 2x a week cycling classes, and chasing my kids outside in a game of tag.

No idea if this paper I’m supposed to be writing — instead of blogging — will get done.

No idea when the next time is that I’ll log onto this blog to write a post.

I dragged myself to the Cancer Wellness class yesterday (after talking myself out of turning around 4 times and heading back home) and met up with my friend Denise. She has had more than enough loss in her life, has taken on the burden of her family, and has been deeply affected by her own cancer. I have no idea why almost every member of her family has been diagnosed with cancer. And, in Denise’s words, “I have no idea why we are all dying.”

I have no idea if I’ll run late to work tomorrow and make my 8:30am meeting

No idea if my day of “please do not book any appointments for me” will be filled up with appointments.

No idea if it’ll rain or be sunny (this is New England, after all).

No idea why the damn light in my office keeps turning off on me when I’m trying to type.


Now what?

What do we do, when we have no idea?

What do we do when don’t know what comes next?

We simply Be.

We be.

But, we don’t idly Be. We place ourselves in the Present. We let ourselves simply see life for what it is — it just is. So, we live it vibrantly, preciously, carefully, cautiously, fully, and completely.

I have no idea what the smile meant to the student I passed by in the hall who was looking sad.

I have no idea what my “hope you have a nice day!” meant to the woman at the supermarket check out line.

I have no idea if it meant anything to my coworker that I smiled at her today.

No idea what it meant when I told my daughter that “I wish I had a best friend like you when I was 8-years old.”

I do know, though, with certainty, that we just have to be the best we can be at that exact moment. That we try and be the kindest, most caring, most loving version of ourselves at that exact moment.

I know, with certainty, that the unknown is the only thing that we know.

Peace, love, and seeking kindness in each moment,

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  1. Cheryl says:

    Just Be, Liza. Be the shining example to us that you always are by just being you; Be the friend that we all need; Be the loving wife and mother; Be the warm smile; Be the Brave Girl. Luv ya lots! Cheryl

  2. Pingback: WITH UNKNOWN CERTAINTY | Mastectomy Recovery

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