reconstructing the self

It's interesting to me how fascinated people are with my physical body now. Everyone is different in their reactions to how I look under the treatment. My daughter, as I mentioned once before, just wants me to look the way I used to. It is for her that I got that wig I'm wearing on my profile page--that's the one that makes me look most like I used to (except in a much better, more groomed kind of way). Although she is also a big fan of the blond look, too--in fact, she has no preference for the one or the other. Little kids know all about playing dress-up! The same goes for my mom--she's okay with hats and scarves, but she really wants me to look like, well, ME. Glamorous wigs with other people's hair styles are off-putting to her, even though, as I keep reminding her, I could change my haircut or color any day of the week even under normal circumstances (and when I was younger, I often did).

But now my family members are also getting sort of into that mean-assed punk look my undecorated, buzz-cut head gives me. That, too, is a very normal look for a certain segment of the society. The radiation has carved out a rather interesting, arrow-like geometrical pattern in my hairline that looks very deliberately placed. It definitely looks like a statement, although what it is I'm stating I'm not sure. I just know it's something in-your-face and controversial. All I need is one of those wife-beater black tee shirts with the pithy political comment on it to complete the look.

So back to the philosophical question of the day: What would you be if you could be anything? What parts of you would you keep? What would you throw away? Because that's the chance I get now, and believe me, I am making all new choices and I'm thinking about them a lot. Every single choice we make has repercussions. And the thing I've discovered through the process of my recovery is that sometimes we don't think about the kinds of repercussions we need to. For me it was always: how do I get my name out there. How do I improve my professional reputation. Do people respect my work. What will I do if they don't--ohmygod, let's not even go there.

And blah, blah, blah. Really, who cares?

This attitude adjustment is the single thing that has shifted the most in me since my event. It has reflected itself in all my relationships, as I mentioned earlier. But it has also come to play in this reconnection I've been making with my own past. There were so many things I used to like that I had forgotten about! Old songs--eighties music (I freely admit it--remember Corey Hart? "I Wear My Sunglasses At Night"? Hoot!), choral music, classical music I used to adore. I was originally a music major, don't you know, and once even harbored secret dreams of becoming a famous concert pianist. Too bad I hated performing so much. But the music we heard! Some of my favorites--which I can't even BELIEVE I had forgotten about until recently--The Saint Saenz organ symphony; the Dvorak New World Symphony; Borodin's Polovtsian Dances; the great piano concertos by Prokoviev (probably my favorite composer), Brahms, Rachmaninoff, and Shostakovich.

And I've started remembering other perspective-altering events from my past, like that day over twenty years ago when I was coming out of an evening class in the music department at UCLA and heard the most marvelous music drifting out of the performance hall. It was a practice session that the two performers scheduled later that week were putting on. They were playing the Franck Sonata for violin and piano, and it was one of those rare moments in music where everything came together, like some kind of synchretic cosmic force. It blew me away--I will never forget it. People from all over the building were drawn in to listen--the performance was that magnetic, and we all stood there, mesmerized.

I could think of nothing else for days afterward. I wanted to do it again. But of course you can never do these things again--not when we're talking about that kismet that makes up a live performance. All you can do is remember the experience through copies--recordings, etc. And they are very nice....but not the same. It's the original experience that changes you.

So yes--all these forgotten pieces of myself! Parts of me that used to be so important! And that, apparently, still are. It's wonderful to look into the recesses of the brain and find all this stuff again. It's like going through old chests in the attic or something. And it's all brand new again for me.

And anyone could experience the same--that's the wonder of it. Why did it take a brain tumor for me to refind myself and my priorities?

Wow.