There’s this line in one of the early episodes of Grace & Frankie, where Robert (Martin Sheen) says to Grace (Jane Fonda), as he’s telling her that he’s leaving her for his partner, Sol (Sam Waterston), “Admit it, you weren’t happy.” And Grace says, “I was happy enough.”

Is “happy enough” good enough? For some people it probably is. For others, it’s just not. Is it selfish to say, “No, happy enough is not enough” ? That’s the question of the hour for me.

Some days I was happy enough in my relationship with my soon-to-be ex-husband. Many days I was entirely too far from happy enough. I was upset, sad, miserable, angry, deflated, exhausted, disgusted. Not happy – not anywhere close to it.

I realized a while back that I just couldn’t live the rest of my life “happy enough.” I couldn’t live knowing there would be another heated disagreement, more accusations and criticisms. That’s how my relationship worked – some days were just fine. And it could be like that for days, or weeks, or months – everything peaceful and fine. And then, all of a sudden, everything would suck. My ex would pick fights, either with me or one of the kids. He’d criticize, and berate, and accuse, and need to have these long, drawn-out discussions for hours about everything that was wrong, all the issues I had (they were always my issues), all the ways I wasn’t proving that I loved him enough. Discussions that always left me exhausted, drained, and in tears. Until, all of a sudden, instead of being in tears, I was just enraged.

I think that was the end for me. I’d reached the tipping point, and all that was left was admitting it wasn’t going to work. I wasn’t ready to do that for a long time.

Two years ago, I realized my kids were leaving. Both would be heading off to college and we’d be empty nesters. And while many couples look forward to getting to this point in life, I dreaded it. I didn’t want to be home without my kids. It was then that I really knew “happy enough” would never be good enough for me, and I’d have to be the one to pull the plug and call it The End. And I did that earlier this year.

I’m the selfish one. I’m the one who only cares about myself. I’m the quitter.

These are the words used to taunt me. I don’t think he realizes that I just don’t care; that I’ll own all of those without issue or guilt.

Because there’s a time when being selfish, caring about yourself, and quitting are the things you just have to do. When you realize happy enough isn’t good enough, and there’s no other choice to make but the one for yourself. The one for more. The one that takes you away from happy enough, and gives you the chance for completely, unequivocally, unapologetically happy.

Yes, that’s what I choose.

Tell me what it is you plan to do with your one wild and precious life? ~ Mary Oliver

I’ve been in a holding pattern for the last two weeks, since I found out I needed a biopsy to rule out breast cancer. All future plans were quite suddenly circling the drain, waiting for word on whether I’d be moving forward as I thought I would be, or taking a completely unexpected path down the road of literally fighting for my life.

Thankfully, I got the results back Monday afternoon, and all is well. No cancer; not even a sign of any pre-cancer potential. I didn’t realize how much I’d been holding my breath until I heard those words from my doctor. What a relief.

The Summer Day

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

— Mary Oliver

What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life? This line from Mary Oliver’s poem struck me the first time I read it, and has stuck with me for years. WHAT. IS. IT. YOU PLAN TO DO WITH YOUR ONE WILD AND PRECIOUS LIFE?

Geez. It’s a simple question, but for me it comes with all sorts of pressure attached to it. Probably because I’ve felt like I was wasting my one wild and precious life. Not living it to the fullest. Not taking risks. Staying in a relationship that wasn’t healthy, wasn’t what either of us wanted or needed, and had no way of being what we wanted or needed. And then, two weeks ago, a significant smack upside the head.

DO SOMETHING with this wild and precious life, because who knows how long it will last.

My radiologist’s office made a mistake on my biopsy results, and included results for another patient in my report. Luckily I didn’t clue into it, but man was my doctor angry (that’s putting it mildly). There was one paragraph in my report stating that carcinoma was found, and surgery was recommended. I thought it was a reference to what *could* happen, and the reason for the biopsy. But, no. It was another woman’s results. Another woman who got the bad news I did not. Another woman who is now headed down that unexpected path of fighting to take her life back from cancer.

Last night, I got together with three very dear friends. One of them has a niece, B, who is 34 years old, and in the final stages of advanced lymphoma. None of the chemotherapy treatments have worked, so at this point they are just trying to make B as comfortable as possible, and hopefully strong enough that she can go home for a while. There is no hope for her; the cancer will take her. I’m so sad for her and her family; she is so young and it’s just not fair.

Thinking of both the woman whose results made it into my biopsy results in error, and B, makes me feel I must absolutely live my precious life as fully as I can. I need to care for this physical body of mine; keep it strong and healthy. I need to care for my spirit as well; I need to love myself. And I need to take responsibility for my life. No more coasting, no more excuses, no more rationalizing, no more wasting precious time.

I’m still not sure of what I’m doing. I have doubts, and questions, and reservations. I’m not clear about how I’ll support myself. I’m not sure where I’ll be living. I’m afraid of the unknown; afraid of making a mistake; afraid things will be worse than they are right now.

But I’m moving forward anyway. Because I really do want to make something of this wild and precious life that is mine. I am moving forward with clear biopsy results. Already, I’ve lived more life than my friend’s niece B ever will and have yet more time.

Every day is a gift. I have a responsibility not to squander it. Too many people don’t get tomorrow.