Embrace Uncertainty

Elanie caught her reflection in the ornate mirror and immediately looked away. It seemed wherever she turned, she could see herself, even in the mirror fixed to the wooden canopy above the bed. It was disconcerting and she tried to focus on the furniture and décor. The Frida Kahlo Museum was beautiful, though simple, colorful and bright like much of her artwork. Lush plants in the small courtyard, offered life to a house that was now cold, invaded by strangers who longed to hear the whispers of the artists who had once resided within.

Outside in the bright sunlight, Elanie tried to shake the coldness around her heart. A cappuccino and oversized doughnut from El Jarocho in hand, she settled herself on a short stone wall around a group of trees and watched the young men and women set up their stands, woven necklaces with crystals, bright colored bags, pants and jackets, incense, and trinkets casually hung and placed on makeshift tables or blankets spread on the cobblestone plaza floor. She was in Coyocan, a bohemian oasis in the middle of Mexico City, one of the biggest and most bustling cities in the world, not to mention with the best tostadas sold at long tables in the middle of a large colorful fruit and vegetable market.

Opening her backpack, Elanie took out her wide brimmed floppy hat and covered her strawberry blonde hair, put on her sunglasses and rubbed sunscreen over her face, neck and ankles. Looks like that was going to have to be her daily routine from now on, no matter the results. She opened her the little black notebook given in the welcome pack the first day of the retreat and sketched what she remembered of Frida’s self-portrait.

“Embrace uncertainty? Interesting concept.”

Lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t heard the man approach. It was Dante, the event coordinator for the group. He was looking at the words handwritten on the backside of the book cover, opposite her drawing.

“It’s the theme of our trip. And honestly, something I just can’t quite get my mind around.” She patted the stone next to her, “Got some time to sit down?”

Dante surveyed the scene around him and glanced at his watch. He was free until evening when the group would meet for dinner at La Casa de los Tacos.

“Nice drawing, too. Really captures the only woman who could embrace the unibrow and bring it to iconic levels. One woman's bane is another's bounty.”

Elanie laughed. “So true. No one truly rocks the brow like she did.” A sudden breeze ruffled the pages of the book, and a little paper blew out and skirted away, resting in the fallen leaves under a nearby tree.

“A153?" Dante picked up the scrap. "Looks like a long wait in line” He looked at the half-eaten pastry and smiled, “guess El Jarocho has gotten busier these days.”

Another smile. Felt good, Elanie thought. When was the last time she had let herself relax?

She took a small sip of the now cold coffee as she took the paper from his hand, tucking it safely back between pages.

“No, it’s not from El Jarocho. Actually…” Suddenly her appetite was gone, another breakfast to be abandoned. “It’s from the pharmacy back home. I don’t really know why I hold on to it.”

Maybe it was the sweet smell of incense wafting along the warm breeze, the distant hum of city traffic, permeated by the melody of pan-flutes and bongos, or perhaps the honest concerned look Dante was giving her that convinced her heart that being strong was no longer so appealing. She quickly looked away, afraid she may have misunderstood the invitation to share her burden, and afraid that if she didn’t open up now, to this perfect stranger in a perfectly strange place, she never would. The fear of failure would eat at her heart worse than the cancer that now plagued her fair skin.

“Or maybe I do. Guess it kind of marks a moment when uncertainty entered my life.”

“You know,” Dante motioned toward the Blue House, visible a few blocks away through the trees. “Frida Kahlo was all about embracing uncertainty. Her most prolific moments came at times when her future must have been most uncertain… after a terrible bus accident when her adult life was just beginning and then after remarrying the man with whom her relationship had always been laced with violent aggression and mutual infidelity. She had her leg amputated, attempted suicide, and was mostly confined to a wheelchair at the end of her life, yet she continued to create, expressing her pain through her brush. If you really analyze her work, you start to get a glimpse of the intense burdens behind the brow.

Erich Fromm, a German psychoanalyst who also lived here in Mexico City and taught at UNAM for several years really sums it up in a quote that goes something like this…” Dante closed his eyes, trying to remember the exact words, “Creativity requires courage to let go of certainty.”

Elanie listened in silence, letting Dante’s words sink in. There is no certainty when it comes to life, health or relationships. Anything can happen. A young woman could be impaled by an iron handrail and instantly be transformed from aspiring doctor to inspiring artist. My cancer could come back. It could spread and take my life. Or I could next week on the plane trip home. People may love what I write or they may hate it, just like they did with Frida. If I wait for certainty, I will die waiting.

But do I really have the courage to embrace uncertainty? Is it time to bite the bullet and put myself out there? Do I really have the courage to step out in faith?

Elanie watched as two birds splashed nearby in a puddle. Clouds were beginning to congregate on the horizon threatening another afternoon rainstorm, common in the Mexican spring time. Tarps were now being strung above the booths along the perimeter of the plaza, sheets of plastic covering the wares spread out below, the sudden rain an expected part of every day. It could come early or it could wait till evening, and somedays it wouldn’t fall at all, but when it did it would soak the pavement and flood low lying streets, only to instantly subside, giving way to a brilliant sun that smiled over the drenched city as if to say, you’ve been renewed and are now ready to go at it all again.

Elanie’s heart started to race faster than her thoughts. Could it be...? Cancer was a word filled with uncertainty, but perhaps, just maybe, there was a way she could embrace her cancer, take control of her life before the fear of "what ifs" took control. Cancer didn’t have to define her. It could be a well from which creativity could spring forth. Being a writer was akin to having cancer. Creativity meant vulnerability which leaves you open for biting critique and more often than not, scathing rejection. Success. Remission. Failure. Relapse. You never could be certain.

Tired of feeling she wasn’t good enough, desperate to believe she “had what it takes” Elanie still wasn’t convinced. Was she really ready to step out and become that… unsettled?

“Thanks, Dante. I just don’t know if I have that kind of courage….”

Before she could say more, an insistent buzzing intruded from the depths of her backpack. When she saw who was calling, Elanie furrowed her brow and raised her hand asking Dante to accept a pause in their conversation.

“It’s my mom. I think I have to take this.” Dante nodded in understanding as she stood and took a few steps, turning her back for privacy.

“Mom… Mom, slow down. I can’t understand what you’re saying. Ok. Yes. I can hear you now. Yes, I remember Doris Knightly. The sweet lady I used to chat with when we would visit Granma at the nursing home. She loved hearing about all my crazy book ideas. So sad to think she’s gone.”

Elanie abruptly stopped walking and turned back toward Dante, completely confused.

“What do mean she sent me a check? The funeral was last month! Lost in the mail, mom, what are you talking about? What?! Did you just say what I think you said? Twenty grand?!”

Clutching her hand to her chest, Elanie could barely whisper. “Mom, that’s enough to pay the hospital and still have enough for the down payment on the loft. I know. I don't even know what to say. Yeah. Okay, thanks, mom. Bye. Love you, too.”

Something about Dante’s curious look and words just spoken brought back Doris’ words as the old woman wagged a bony finger toward her in loving reproach.

“We never know how many days we have left on this earth, darling. You must make the most of what you have. Trust God. No matter what the world throws at you, you will always be enough.”

Doris had embraced her chemo treatments with flowing scarves and funky wigs, providing a bright and vivacious smile to everyone who passed through Laurelhurst Village. She constantly chided Elanie that she had a storytelling talent that was not to be wasted and that life was too short to worry about pleasing everyone or to ponder what could have been, or what may be to come. You only have now, she would say, her eyes brimming with her own stories never told, laced with heartache and regret.

If she could have channeled Doris’ spirit, Elanie imagined she would be standing behind Dante wagging that same lovely bony finger, her voice the melody of a treasured gramophone,

“Listen to the boy. He’s wise and, now that I notice, rather nice looking.”

Elanie felt her cheeks warm. Even when resurrected through imagination, Doris was still playing matchmaker.

“But, more importantly, listen to the words you have heard today. Embrace uncertainty. Have the courage to be creative, to be vulnerable and to let go. Go ahead, dear, let go, and the rest will take care of itself.”

“Hey, Dante, you wanna go and grab a cof....” Elanie stood, feeling more refreshed, determined and at peace than she had in months. Before she could finish her invitation, the first fat raindrop fell from the darkened sky, splattering in the puddle, dispersing the birds. Dante surveyed the clouds, located the nearest refuge big enough for two, and grabbed Elanie’s hand.

“Run!”