Where I Stand

As a teenager I read many Dean Koontz novels. Several of them included brief poems between parts or chapters. And one of these poems has stayed with me all my life. It’s almost haunting, really, how it will invade my mind – even if I haven’t thought of it in months or years.

On the road that I have taken,
one day, walking, I awaken,
amazed to see where I have come,
where I’m going, where I’m from.

This is not the path I thought.
This is not the place I sought.
This is not the dream I bought,
just a fever of fate I’ve caught.

I’ll change highways in a while,
at the crossroads, one more mile.
My path is lit by my own fire.
I’m going only where I desire.

On the road that I have taken,
one day, walking, I awaken.
One day, walking, I awaken,
on the road that I have taken.

Maybe you can see yourself reciting this poem at one point in your life. Or maybe, like me, you identify with it today.

I can’t say that life didn’t happened as I planned; I realized planning was futile when I was just a teenager.  That was when I first had an inkling that ‘everyone’ doesn’t necessarily ‘have it right.’ I started to culture and nourish an ability – maybe even a gift – to create solutions and not just make decisions.

Looking back, this skill has served me well. Like a stand of trees it has grown and matured alongside me. It helps me overcome odds that seem insurmountable.  It guards me from being someone I’m not.  It shelters me from crushing self-doubt.  It lets everyone else know where I stand.

When I turned 30, I told myself the next 30 years were going to be the easy ones. After all, between 13 and 30, I had faced enough challenges for 2 lifetimes. Yep, I expected the next 30 years would be full of fun, relaxation, and fulfillment.

And why would I think otherwise? I worked hard. I endured. I did everything I could to setup the best possible lives for the ones I love and for myself.

But alas, shit happens. Rather, rare lung cancer happens. One moment I’m trying to convince a doctor that my cough isn’t an allergy. And a few days later I’m sitting in a hospital bed, weeping, asking a pulmonologist to spell the variety of cancer growing inside me.

This is not the path I thought.
This is not the place I sought.
This is not the dream I bought,
just a fever of fate I’ve caught.

I know only to deal with this as I have dealt with all other problems in life: head first and with a solid plan.  Of course, that would be meaningless without the love and support of my family and friends.

This December I was sitting in the barn with my mom as she worked, and a thought came to mind.  “You know,” I said, “I would rather have lung cancer and people who love me so much than be healthy without them.”

I guess that tells you where I stand.