Shinybass Journal Entry 04/01/24

A couple of days ago I had this big, grand idea for a journal entry. I was going to talk about the possibility of conquering all; the notion that nothing is impossible. I still firmly believe that idea. I live with it (occasional self-loathing be damned), and that was before we had to conquer something else entirely. You really can do what is seemingly impossible. 

A hundred years ago, I was approached to work on video content for a new artist. I knew as much about creating videos from scratch as I knew about AP German: Nichts. (I had to look that up just now). Motivated by the unknown and the chance at a new income stream, I jumped in. Now I love creating new work in that medium, and I love trying to figure out new approaches to this little bit of me that lay dormant. 

Flashback to college. Somewhere in my senior year of what seemed like a decade-long tenure in my post-secondary school experiment, I was assigned a 10-page paper as a final project. 10. Effing. Pages. My little brother was a freshman at the same school and witnessed my anguish first hand as I delayed said assignment again and again. I think one page was written the week of the due date. Several more were written and sleepily printed on the dot matrix printer (double spaced, of course) just hours before the deadline. I don’t remember my grade, only the fear of having to write the thing beforehand, and hoping the printer would last the whole way through. 

And now, strangely, ironically even, I write books. Fear conquered! Now on the psychology part of it. What is that? Do I just run into fire? Is that my thing? You know, I’m honestly OK with running into the abyss. I find the best answers in there. I also know that I am capable of the (seemingly) impossible. 

Some days, however, with my wife’s cancer diagnosis, I can’t do much. Or at least it feels that way. I feel my hands are tied, too bust and not busy enough at the same time. We’re going to be fine, really, on all fronts. Medicine, ‘the plan’, keeping our spirits up, that’s the course. We’ll get through this fire together and make s’mores along the way. 

This past week was tough. Maegan had a bad reaction to something from her treatment, sending her to the ER (for the second time) after just one dose. This latest reaction put her at Vandy for 3 days, which sent our little family into a different place. Ironically, with Miles’ (and Henry’s) Pre-K school and cochlear implant mapping, maintenance, and speech therapy, we’ve been at Vandy so much the last 5 years, I can almost tell you who will be working the information desk today. So she lay in bed with a bad rash, itchy from head to toe, little relief in sight. 

I went into defense mode, which meant just trying to keep myself and the others under our roof together. I mean, when I was touring full time, I would leave Maegan to the kids, and all was fine for days at a time. I could certainly handle a few days of lunches and laundry, but the underlying current of her condition brought a toll I didn’t expect; there is a real fatigue that set in for me as the thoughts went to her recovery. 

We made it out of the hospital and back home, and kept pushing through the shortened school week and into the soccer weekend. Sunday morning rolled around, and the kids found Easter baskets. Maegan looked around and realized she hadn’t put up any of her Easter or Spring decor at all. Changing the seasons at our house is her thing, and this week it wasn’t. 

In the middle of this, we have had a lot of friends ask how they can help. I mean, honestly, being able to work a flexible job in the middle of all of this is key. That means I need those sessions, or writing gigs coming in to make life easier. More than money or work, however, I absolutely have to give thanks to the people who have risen to the occasion in unexpected ways. 

First, I never really knew the value of having a meal sent over until it was sent over. To not have to cook in the middle of the madness is a true blessing. Thank you, friends for keeping that part of our lives easier. And guess what? We have 6 months of treatment ahead! Plenty of time to test your recipes on us! 

Our goal moving through school and into the summer is to keep life as normal as possible for the kids. They both know right now is not entirely ‘normal’, and they are handling it swimmingly.

When someone says they are there for us, it means the world. We may never call for ‘help’ but knowing there is a tribe that has our back is paramount. It makes life a little easier knowing the parachute is packed and available. It gives us peace of mind as we fly into the unknown. 

So back to being capable. In all of this madness, our family will come out stronger, and I will discover exactly what else we are capable of doing. I also want everyone to know that tokens of kindness, no matter the size, show me what humans are capable of. You may think nothing of it, but you have instilled hope and healing by your kindness. Those small things add up to a lot. 

So guess what? YOU are capable of great things. With small, deliberate acts you have moved a mountain. If you felt like you weren’t doing much today, I’m sure somewhere you have made the day better for someone else.  You certainly have for our family. Thank you. 

Keep fighting the good fight. I know I will. 

See you on the road!