I'm Still Standing

Dear jo,

Actually, I’m sitting at the moment, not standing. But I’m thinking of the song that goes: 

“Don't you know, I'm still standin' better than I ever did?

Lookin' like a true survivor, feelin' like a little kid”

Surely not the same context that Elton John and Bernie Maupin intended in their 1983 smash hit—but for me and my cancer journey, it feels apropos. I really do feel like I have my feet on the ground in such genuine ways these days. Part of that may have to do with the regularity with which I get knocked down and have to get up again. G. and I felt kinda knocked-down after watching a documentary-style movie about cancer the other day. Broke through to some pain that’s been waiting for the caring attention it deserves. There are seemingly endless paths to, through, and around this dance called “living with cancer”—which we all do in our own way, whether in our own body, or in the body of someone we love, or in the spectre of an unknown future. For me, it’s so important not to judge another’s way of walking the path, and not to feel judged by the way I’m walking it, the way that we’re walking it.

But that’s impossible—”not judging.” Our brains are designed to assess, judge, decide. So many levels of judging, some of which we can’t even be aware of, our nervous system assesses and renders judgement quite instantaneously and automatically, serving and protecting us without our having to lift a finger. So, I can be forgiven for judging, I can forgive the part of me that judges “how I’m doing” on this cancer journey, I can forgive the part of me that judges “how my body’s doing” on this cancer journey. Forgiveness can be a way of getting back on my feet after getting knocked down.

Becoming aware of, feeling connected to, and cultivating a relationship with my feet has greatly aided the ways in which I stand. Some decades ago I learned to meditate by sitting cross-legged, and later became quite competent at the half-lotus position. It was routine to have the feet fall asleep, in a way disconnecting from that signal that my body would send. In the past couple years I’ve practiced some standing meditation and this seems to help with avoiding the groundlessness and disassociation that extended meditation can conjure. And through qigong practices, releasing unhealthy or diseased energy, and drawing in vibrant earth energy through my feet, through that biological tether to our beautiful celestial body—my feet have become an important conduit for healing. But they also need rest and care. My current medication oxaliplatin causes peripheral neuropathy in my feet: numbness, pain, blistering. So taking care of these precious appendages has been a daily practice. My friend N. recently knitted and sent us some delightfully comfy slipper socks to aid in this most important endeavor of caring for feet.

Discovering and rediscovering my feet, playfully exploring a sense of groundedness, and experiencing the joy of each step on this sensuous planet often feels quite childlike. Both in the excitement of novelty, but also in the sense of remembering and “re-feeling” what that was like—I’ve experienced newness like that before, it still lives inside of me, childlike fears of the unknown and unwanted, childlike excitement of discovery and expression. 

My Elton John collection peaked in the late 90s with I think about 20 albums. He's great, but I'm uncertain what stimulated such a fascination and commitment to his music in teenage Tony. “I’m Still Standing” is a fun song, but if you want to listen to a truly exceptional Elton John and Bernie Taupin composition, try “The Greatest Discovery” from 1970. And breathe.