Fairhope, Alabama
It’s been a strange holiday season. The new variant has scrambled plans; we didn’t feel comfortable doing inside family gatherings while my body is still processing chemo for another three rounds. But after two years of practice with masks and the kids finally fully vaccinated, we can navigate a road trip and outdoor public spaces. I feel a nagging discomfort about those choices—-will we have a break through infection any way? When people say they understand, are they just being nice? What risks are we taking that we didn’t see? What time with extended family and friends have we lost that we will regret?
Is there a German word for fear of future regret?
I struggle with regret; neglecting the signs of cancer haunts me daily. When I think of dying younger than I intended, I regret the anxiety that ruled so much of my life already lived. The anxiety that kept me from traveling, the anxiety that kept me working overtime for free, the anxiety that kept me banging my head against brick walls, the anxiety that told me I’d never be a real artist, the fear that kept me from saying what I really felt/wanted/needed. Most of my regrets come not from mistakes I made in my choices or because of my shortcomings, but from staying silent, eating my thoughts and not saying simply Yes or more often, No.
I’ve said No this year more than ever before, and each time the internal suffering was so absent I didn’t even recognize the sensation. The anxiety groove in my brain had nothing to play, and I sat in the unfamiliar feeling of relief. And no one yelled at me. The terrible consequences of saying No were…imaginary.
I’m not cured, not of cancer nor of anxiety. But it seems possible now, that maybe, I’ll be able to live with both. As I photograph my little family, I had seen them moving forward without me in the photos and in my mind. But I have put myself in the frame again, ever so cautiously saying Yes.