I read an essay in the New York Times the other day that resonated deep within my soul.
The essay, “Train Yourself to Always Show Up,” was written by Rabbi Sharon Brous, co-founder of the IKAR community in Los Angeles, and adapted from her book, The Amen Effect: Ancient Wisdom to Mend Our Broken Hearts and World.
My friend, Patty, shared the essay on Facebook during the week commemorating the yahrzeit, or anniversary, of her daughter Bethany’s unexpected and tragic death.
In the essay, Rabbi Brous quotes Middot 2:2, from the Mishnah, an ancient text considered the first major work of rabbinical literature.
Middot 2:2 describes a pilgrimage ritual to the Second Temple, where hundreds of thousands of Jews would converge on Jerusalem and walked in circles. In the ritual, when pilgrims enter the Temple, they turn to the right and walk counterclockwise.
However, if a pilgrim was hurting, grieving or afflicted with a disease, they turned to the left and walked clockwise.
As the left-turning pilgrims walked, the pilgrims they encountered were instructed to ask questions: “What happened to you?” “What ails you?” “What are you suffering from?”
The right-turning pilgrims bore witness to the suffering of their brothers and sisters.
“What happened to you?”
“My father died.”
“What happened to you?”
“I have cancer.”
Middot is a directive.
Acknowledge those who are hurting.
Pay attention to those suffering.
Bear witness.
Show up,
Understand that making the left turn into the Temple is coming for all of us.
Show up for others because they will one day show up for you too.
I had a similar conversation with my friend, Trevor Maxwell, the founder and CEO of Man Up to Cancer, for Further Together: The ORAU Podcast, the podcast I host for my company. I’ve been doing a number of interviews with leaders and friends in the cancer space as an add-on to the white paper I wrote for work.
In the white paper I make recommendations for research projects I hope my company will undertake based on issues I’ve seen as an activist in cancerland.
One of those recommendations is to quantify the benefits of peer-to-peer support for men facing cancer. Man Up to Cancer is dedicated to helping men avoid isolation while being treated for the disease people fear the most. That support – and the means to encourage men to avoid isolation – comes in the form of a private Facebook group, Zoom meetups, in-person chapter gatherings and an annual weekend retreat.
I told Trevor that I get asked on occasion why I spend so much time in cancerland. After all, I’m a 12-year survivor who has been NED for almost 11 of those years.
Why do I keep putting myself out there?
There is an obvious physical reason. Because of my colostomy, I will never be able to forget that I had cancer. The growing list of side effects from treatment also underscores the point.
But there is a heart, maybe even a soul, reason.
I feel called to it. I feel especially called to MUTC.
I’ve written before that attending the Gathering of Wolves, MUTC’s annual retreat, was life changing. I spent a weekend getting to know 110 men at various stages in the cancer spectrum, and had deep dive conversations with my best friend, Ryan.
It was truly unforgettable.
As a long-term cancer survivor, being able to offer support to men who are literally “in the shit,” as we say, is sometimes beautiful and sometimes heartbreaking.
We have lost men to this disease.
Men I love are actively dying.
Ryan gets a shit Christmas gift in the form of a brain lesion and emergency surgery. (He has recovered remarkably well, by the way, thanks be to God.)
“It must be so hard,” someone says to me at church.
Sometimes.
Harder than words are adequate to express.
And also beautiful.
Because I get to be part of walking men home. Walking with them through treatment. Offering prayers in the middle of the night.
Showing up comes in many forms.
A simple text message to let a guy know I’m thinking about him.
“I hope your MRI results are unremarkable.”
“I pray your colonoscopy is clear. Enjoy the nap.”
”You have always inspired me. I will miss you deeply.”
Sometimes showing up is as simple as a phone call.
“Is anyone available to talk?” is a message that gets posted regularly in The Howling Place, MUTC’s private Facebook group.
“Yes. I’m available.”
One call I made recently was to a guy who was physically hurting. He didn’t have anything on his mind, he just wanted someone to acknowledge what was happening to him.
He turned left into the Temple.
“What happened to you?”
”Everything hurts and I can’t get comfortable.”
”I’m so sorry. I know this isn’t easy.”
Some phone calls are deeper, for sure. Talking a guy off a ledge or, more often, a guy just wants to talk it out. Not because any of us who respond have answers. But, we have empathy and understanding for the situation.
“What happened to you?”
“No one understands what I’m going through.”
“I hear you.”
I show up not because I’m anything special, but because people showed up for me. And, I know what it’s like to have people I loved stop showing up.
People who were part of my life before diagnosis disappeared during treatment.
I don’t know why. They just did.
I’m not angry about it. Maybe my experience triggered memories of a loved one who died of cancer, or of the horrors of treatment.
Facing cancer isn’t pretty.
Those of us who offer support to other men in MUTC, we’re like first responders going up the stairs of a high-rise while people are coming down.
“What happened to you?”
“I’ve exhausted all treatment options. My doctors are recommending hospice care.”
“I don’t know what to say, but I’m here to listen if you want to talk about it.”
And, always, always, “I love you.”
Those three words spill out in MUTC texts, Facebook posts, Facebook Messenger, FaceTime and Zoom conversations like water. Or wine. Or bourbon.
Societal expectations of men are hella confusing, and often put men in a no-win situation.
On the one hand, men are expected to be stoic, to man up and face whatever challenges they encounter without complaining, chin held high.
“Be a man. Don’t cry. Just do it.”
On the other hand, if you’re too self-reliant, you’re exhibiting toxic masculinity.
“Be a man, but not like that.”
And then there’s the third hand. If you exhibit affection for other men, your sexuality gets called into question.
Our society doesn’t know what it needs or wants its men to be, and men are suffering for it. When it comes to men and cancer, I can assure you societal expectations, societal norms no longer matter.
This also is not a “he-man woman hater’s club.” Men need to be able to talk to other men about their cancer experiences. Query each other about side effects.
In case you haven’t noticed, men and women are different. We can’t be treated the same way, and we don’t talk to each other in the same ways.
MUTC provides a safe space for men to be men, regardless of race, color, creed, religion, sexual identity or cancer type.
If you’re a man facing cancer or are a caregiver to someone with cancer, you are welcome.
I unabashedly love the men I work with on the MUTC leadership team, and all of the nearly 2,500 men I have the opportunity of knowing and supporting in our community at large.
I love them.
No pretense. No reservations. No conditions.
I love them because I see them.
I have been and may again be them.
Because I once turned left in the Temple and someone saw me.
“What happened to you?”
“I was diagnosed with cancer.”
“Me too. Let’s go for a walk.”
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