In the busiest and craziest chapter in my life to date I allow myself a pause. I deserve it. I must take a pause otherwise I will die, I think. And if I get sick again, it will be all my fault. In my mind, in my world, I’ve come up with a belief that may seem totally ridiculous to many. Stress causes cancer, triggering the little Tasmanian Devil of the cells. If I allow myself to become a basket case I become the cause of my own disease and demise. I must chill out.
And lately there’s been a lot of stress, the stress of a rigorous academic program, the necessary work hours that come with it, the rough and tumble long distance marriage.
But the Smith Center, just a hop and a skip away on the metro line, seems most reasonable and feasible, even though Hawaii is so tempting. Besides, the staff at the center have basically waived my registration fee, so now I have no excuse. I trudge through the snow and ice and arrive at the center, a pretty brownstone anchored by an art gallery with amenities including a spacious modern test kitchen, and plenty of space for meetings and rest and respite.
