Amanda Dickson

Isn’t that what people say when the doctor finds a lump and for hours, maybe days, they think it might be cancer? Well, this time it wasn’t people – it was me.  And I came terrifyingly close to joining the club nobody wants to be a member of – women living with breast cancer.

The scare lasted 32 hours.  32 hours from the time the nurse called me to tell me the radiologist found something on my mammogram that didn’t look right to the time I walked out of the IHC Breast Care Center knowing what they saw was a lymph node and not a tumor.  32 sleepless hours during which all of my self-talk about not getting worked up over what could be nothing had no desired effect on me.  32 hours of worst case scenarios, worrying about how Aaron and the children would manage without me, already starting to miss the life I was still living.

“I have a new lease on life,” I’ve heard people say, and said myself in a facebook post this morning.  My friends kidded me that I ought to stop leasing and buy already.  But none of us can do that, can we?  We can only rent this fragile life for awhile, and we don’t get to set the terms.  My mom used to say, “The old must die but the young may.”   I’m neither old nor young, but I know today in a visceral way that I want more – more time with people I love, more time to learn and write and make a fool out of myself.  I want more of all of it, and I commit to you and myself today to do the only thing I can do to give myself more – waste less.

I will spend less time putting the boys off with “Well, maybe later.” If they want to go to the playground or McDonald’s or a park, and we’re not busy, that’s it.  We are going!  I will spend less time with people who treat me with anything less than kindness and respect.  Life is too short and there are too many other people.  I will spend less time worrying that my husband doesn’t find me attractive any more and open my eyes to the not-so-subtle way he looks at me.  I will say “yes” whenever I’m inspired to and “no” most of the time, both without guilt or apology.  I will love, love, love and fall flat on my face doing it, and I won’t care one bit. 

Thank you, God, for this day.  Thank you for this sweet life.  Thank you for my brother Grant, who isn’t really my brother, but after 17 years on the air together, feels like blood to me.  Thank you for the sound of my children in the background whenever I talk to Aaron on the phone.  Thank you for Mexican food and curling irons and tanks filled with gas.  Thank you for emails from my father, time with Laurel at Barnes and Noble and tickets to see U2.  Thank you for journals and heart felt compliments, both given and received.

I have never felt so in love with my life as I do on this day, the day after I found out the lump was a lymph node.

People talk to me all the time about how we need more bipartisanship in government and more civility in the media.  I agree – on both counts.  And I have a glimpse today as to why we don’t have it.

Because when we are presented with the moment when we can take the higher road, think better thoughts about people, tell the better story – we don’t.  Case in point – the story this week about the Matheson brothers.

Let me admit to you that I have great personal respect for both Scott Matheson Jr. and his brother, Representative Jim Matheson.  Scott was a professor of mine in law school many moons ago.  He taught civil procedure and the 1st amendment, and he taught ethics – not in an actual class – but by example.  When I heard that he was nominated to the 10th Circuit Court of Appeals, I was delighted.  He may be the best legal mind ever nominated to such a position from this state.  And then I heard the next question – did President Obama nominate him just to buy his brother’s vote on health care?

Really?

I know the timing.  I know the pressure.  I’m not quite as naive as I look.  But whether you agree with Jim Matheson on the issues or not, has he ever done anything to make anyone believe he is so unethical that his vote on such an important matter, or any matter, could be bought with a job for his brother?  There is no question we can’t ask as members of the media, and no allegation we can’t level as political opponents.  I get it.  But just because we can ask the question, doesn’t mean we should – because when we do, we change the news.  We change the discussion.  We choose sensation over civility.

I don’t make the decisions about what stories are covered or how they are covered, but I do believe we can lift the tone and the service of our reporting by lifting our intentions.  What was our intention in asking if the vote was bought?  We knew the answer would be “NO!!!!”  So . . . what was our intention?  To stir it up.  To suggest a scandal, which we believe will lead to bigger ratings than being respectful would.  What would our intention have been if we didn’t ask the question?  To show respect where respect is earned, to value civility, to lift the level of our discourse, and let the ratings be what they will.

It happens one decision at a time.  That’s how the media becomes more civil.  That’s how politics becomes more bipartisan.  In one difficult moment, someone who is in a position to do so makes the right decision, even if it may lead to uncomfortable justification after the fact.  “No, I’m not a wimp.  That’s not news.  Unsubstantiated malicious suggestion is not news.”

Then the rest of us applaud.  That’s our job. 

And the snowball begins to pick up steam.

I have had a dream for many years, an unrealistic dream, to be sure, but the dream of hosting some kind of program on television.  The dream is fueled by working hand-in-hand with a TV station, seeing what’s involved, knowing the personalities, feeling comfortable in their world.  But the origin of the dream is Phil Donahue.

That’s showing my age.

I grew up loving Phil Donahue, the way he’d run through the audience and ask the most thought-provoking questions, often after pausing with the microphone under his chin.  He came from radio, like me.  I was even a caller on his program once.  It was 1993.  The topic was the anonymity of organ transplantation. 

I have a passion for talking with people, like Phil had, like Oprah has.  Don’t get me wrong – I love my radio job, but I long to talk for more than the :30 news segment will allow.  I have dreamed about what it would be like to sit with people, on camera, and learn about them, thereby learning more about myself and my world.  It is the strangest paradox – an altruistic desire with an egocentric by-product. 

To the point of this blog - I found out today that a man I admire greatly does not think I have what it takes to be on television.  I don’t know his reasons.  They may be non-specific.  They may be related to my age or appearance, or my sometimes manic energy.  I don’t know.  But when I learned of his criticism, I thought – it may be time to let this one go.

When do you let a dream go?  When is your critic just . . . right?  Darnit! You have always wanted to be a novelist, but at some point you accept that you are probably never going to write the novel.  Accepting that you are never going to sail around the world or be a millionaire or . . . host a television program . . . is the hardest thing.  It is not in my nature to give up a dream – or to give up anything.  But at some point, isn’t it just throwing good energy after bad?

When do you give up a dream . . . so that you can find and pursue another one?  Help me dear reader.

I found myself crying in Barnes and Noble the other day.  I know.  I know.  How ridiculous!  It wasn’t what Oprah calls her “ugly cry,” just a soft tear or two escaping, hopefully unnoticed by shoppers with gift cards to spend on lattes and The Atlantic Monthly.  The tears were tears of frustration, the worst kind.  I would much rather cry from something tangible, something hard and painful and worthy, than to cry from frustration.  See?  Even the reason for my crying was unsatisfying.

I’m not sure if I can articulate the frustration to you here, and it’s probably not important.  It’s not why I blog.  I’m writing today because of the thought that lifted me out of the funk.  As I sat ignoring my tea and longing for relief, I remembered the Saint Francis poem. . . it is in giving that we recieve.  It is in pardoning that we are pardoned.  It is in dying to self that we are born to eternal life.  A tiny bit of air creeped in.  And I thought, “Give yourself away.”

Give yourself away. 

I’ve been focusing so much in recent months on me, my needs, my desires, my goals.  What do I want to achieve?  Where do I want my writing to go?  How can I build my public speaking business?  How can I find more time to run?  Me.  Me.  Me.  Not now.  Not today.  Today my mantra is “Give yourself away.”  Give youself to your children – give your full and loving and patient attention.  Give yourself to your husband, your admiring and devoted attention.  Give yourself to your father in phone calls that don’t feel rushed.  Give yourself to your co-workers and listeners and readers in ways that are open and unashamed.

As I had these thoughts, I took deep breaths.  Fresh, light, forgiving breaths.  I may have even laughed.  Then I picked up my purse, chucked the rest of  the tea I had let seep too long, and went home to play with the boys.

I received this letter from a friend who is serving his third term in Iraq.  In honor of Veteran’s Day and with his permission, I share it with you here . . .

Amanda, This is Dean–your old UPS Man in Iraq(again) This is my third tour and I must admit I am getting a little weary of war. How are you? Hows the family? I miss you and Grant–I miss hearing your voice in the morning. I have a Veteran’s Day message I wanted to share.

The Fog of War, in America.  As Veterans day approaches I have been concerned about what appears to be an identity crisis in America. The country is at war and yet the airwaves are filled with the news of enemy attacks, but these attacks are not about the war on terrorism, they are from my American brothers and sisters fighting back home, both from the left and the right and everywhere in between. It is an odd thing for a soldier to hear news of such a conflict at home. I need to know that my American family is alright and that there is some love and peace at home. When my kids fight at home it is always passionate and sometimes heated, but not like this. It seems as though discussion and debate has been turn into anger and hatred. The attacks are getting vicious and personal. The war of words is having causalities and yet the one thing that America isn’t seeing is that this really is a national FOG.

This national fog is like the battlefield fog of war with it’s same blurred lines, lack of vision, confusion, and chaos on whatever political battlefield you are taking sides with. The first fog related causality of war is the truth, without vision and clarity on the battlefield, the truth is just too hard to find. Sometimes in the heat of moment I need to separate my kids and remind them just who they are. It seems to lift the fog and remind them what really important.

On Veterans Day, I would like you to remember us out here and the battles we are fighting for you and for the freedom loving families in Iraq and Afghanistan. We have as an American family suffered much through the centuries, but we as a family have stayed together. After 9/11 we were unified and we drew strength from each other. We have, in the past, been attacked and wounded as a nation. We will probably be attacked again in the future. It is not by the fall that we are judged, but rather it is how we rise and stand together that find renewed strength. Our forefathers have fought against evil and oppression and tyranny from the very beginnings of our country. Inscribed on the Jefferson Memorial are these words ” I have sworn upon the altar of God eternal hostility against every form of tyranny over the mind of man” Thomas Jefferson. Whenever we have been attacked or been momentarily beat down, we never coward to evil, but instead we have united together to defeat those the evil in our day. As long as we never accept defeat we will never be defeated. As long as we are vigilant and true and we trust in GOD we not live in fear. As long as we recognize the fog for what it is, with wisdom we will not rush to action—but first seek to clear the fog so that clarity and foresight will guild our political and military minds.

Most of all remember who we are—We are Americans, our inexhaustible love of freedom is our greatest strength. It is our most endearing quality. It is that love of freedom and desire to assure that as many in our power and resources in the world enjoy that same freedom from oppression that enjoy. We, by our very existence, invite the world to live free and be governed by the rule of law and by freely elected officials. We will always seek to free the oppressed and downtrodden. We will feed the hungry, impart aide and help to the poor and afflicted. We are the last and brightest beacon of freedom in the world—for those who suffer the indignity of tyranny, we are their last hope. From within the mind of the terrorist we are the most dangerous force in the world not because of satellites or technology, but because of the strength that true freedom gives us. We are dangerous because we are free. The long standing freedom from oppression makes us bold in battles. The strength we get from being a freedom loving people has infusion in our bones the core belief and the strength of character to “Never Accept Defeat!”

Being free makes us highly adaptive and innovative in battle, and that makes us a dangerous force in war. This war has found in many young men and women the warrior inside and the hero at home. The warrior inside is found when the enemy is at the gates. The hero never takes this honor on itself, but at home we reverence the sacrifices made by those who serve. To not be forgotten and to be appreciated by those at home makes my sacrifices for my country a sacred privilege that will remain with all the rest of the days of my life. I have learned more about “Duty, Honor, Country” at this time of war than I ever thought I would. It humbles me when people thank me for my service. The something sacred that happens when soldier and citizen meet in the spirit of thanksgiving, it is then you are reminded that true thanksgiving is found when the feeling is mutual. The gratitude that I have for the privilege it is to serve my country is lost in the frailty of mere words or slogans, and for the most part it leaves you speechless in the moment. It is times like these that I feel the greatest love for my country and the kind of pride that is really a higher form of honor. This is how I think of my American family when I am away at war. There is a fog of war in America today. Try not to lose your identity in the national fog, remember who you are. We need those who can see through the fog of war. We should move forward carefully with foresight and wisdom, only a foolish man speeds up in the fog. We are a trusting people and many have stood up and claimed to be the one who will lead the American people them through the fog and confusion and the darkness into the clear brightness of day and hope of tomorrow. We have seen these promises countless times in the American landscape, and we have survived them all.

Remain true to your beliefs and the best of how you envision America for our children, but don’t live in fear and hate. Pick your battles for that which you hold dear, but remember that we are all brother and sisters and that certain realities never change over time, namely that “A house divided against itself cannot stand.” On Veterans Day, please remember why we are here, and for the cause that we serve—the cause of freedom. We are the most powerful force for freedom on the planet, and it’s because of the American family that we hold dear. Keep the light on for us, we’ll be home soon. Remember the words of the Battle Hymn of the Republic, “As He died to make men holy, let us live to make men free…” We are proud to be your American Soldiers.

God Bless America. MAJ DEAN ANGELBUER CAMP TAJI, IRAQ

I am 45 years old, half-way to 90, but like many of you – I just don’t feel it, at least most days.  Most days I feel 30, maybe 35.  I feel energetic, enthusiastic and curious, all the qualities I associate with youth.  But I did catch myself asking the question last week – am I too old to wear that?

The “that” in question was a pair of black boots that come slightly above my knees.  The heel is not as high as the one in this picture, 3 inches I think, but otherwise they remind me of these boots.  I tried them on at DSW (terrifyingly terrific place), and felt as kickin’ as I have felt in a very long time.  That was it.  Had to have them.

Having brought them home and shown them to my husband (”Oh . . . yeah,” was his slow reaction), I have yet to wear them in public.  I fear I may have bought something to make me feel young when I am not, in fact, so young any more.

How do you know when something you’ve bought is too young for you?  I mean – I don’t wear mini skirts or halter tops any more, not that I wore too many of those in the first place.  I know some articles of clothing are clearly over the line, wherever the line is.  And I know when I see a woman my age or older who is over the line, I feel sorry for her, for her failed attempt to retain her youth through clothing reserved for her daughter’s generation.  I never want anyone to look at me that way – with pity for an obvious attempt to turn the clock back with a pair of boots.

Should I wear them?  Could I wear them with jeans?  Would that be terrible?  No skin would be exposed – just boot and jeans? If the answer is no, tell me, and they’ll stay in my closet to be admired on rare occasion before I give them away to someone who can wear them with reckless abandon. 

Thank you in advance for your advice.