I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve listened to another’s story of distress, fear, or grief. Each one shared with me that when talking to someone about what they were going through, the typical response went something like this: “Well, let me tell you about…my cancer diagnosis, my cousin’s cancer diagnosis, my ex, my dysfunctional boss, my struggle with depression, my loss, etc., etc…”

For many years now, I’ve suggested that we each have a word that is meaningful – a word that describes our focus and goals…just one word. The word I chose was “balance.” My word has never changed over time. It’s a valuable and descriptive word for me even though I never fully achieve it. But it’s always there – waiting for me to arrive.

It was 5:00 on a hot summer afternoon in northwest Oklahoma, and I was six years old. Unaware of the time but aware it was suddenly dark as night, I put on my pajamas, ready for bed because I was certain it was bedtime. Then I heard the sound of “the train.” My dad and brother struggled to hold onto the rope that held the heavy wooden door of the underground storm cellar in place, keeping our family safe as the tornado roared overhead. It was over almost as quickly as it appeared. The bright sun was out again, and even as a six-year-old, I felt silly for being so certain it was bedtime. It’s a funny thing to remember over the years, but that experience taught me that changes happen quickly, having a plan was important, and my certainty of the situation wasn’t accurate.

My previous blog, Choices, addresses how we choose to respond when confronted with life’s difficult events, such as a cancer diagnosis, the end of a relationship or job, or the death of a friend or family member. The choices are to let it define us, destroy us or strengthen us. But it’s a difficult road to navigate, and it takes time.

I’ve been thinking a lot about choices lately – how we have the freedom to make a myriad of choices and how the choices we make not only have consequences for us but also affect those around us.

I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve listened to another’s story of distress, fear, or grief. Each one shared with me that when talking to someone about what they were going through, the typical response went something like this: “Well, let me tell you about…my cancer diagnosis, my cousin’s cancer diagnosis, my ex, my dysfunctional boss, my struggle with depression, my loss, etc., etc.” While I believe friends have good intentions and are trying to be supportive and helpful, the end result is usually the opposite. The person initially sharing her experience consequently doesn’t feel supported or heard and often feels discounted, typically, by a one-upmanship response. (Your experience is obviously worse than mine, so mine doesn’t count.)

I’ve never been fond of deserts, but then I don’t have much experience with them. My view of deserts is excessive heat during the day and freezing cold temps at night, no water and unusual vegetation, if there’s any at all. And then there’s the dangerous animals: rattlesnakes, bats, bobcats, vultures, Gila monsters, scorpions, tarantulas, and black widow spiders. It sends chills down my spine just thinking about those creatures. I see a lot of danger in the desert.

There are feelings of adventure, excitement and unimagined possibilities when thinking about the beginning of a trip, a new project, relationship, or new job. Beginnings can also elicit fear of past failures, challenges or difficulties. The beginning of anything might be experienced as something to eagerly look forward to or something to be dreaded.

Some people need to know the odds, but knowing “the spread” of a football game doesn’t ensure a win or a loss. My favorite team learned that lesson recently. Some people want survival rate statistics following a cancer diagnosis, but those numbers don’t guarantee survival or death.