Here’s an excerpt:

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 1,000 times in 2011. If it were a cable car, it would take about 17 trips to carry that many people.

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When I want more drama in my life, I’ll start auditioning again.  ~~ Coral Levang

Those of us who love people and helping others are often caught up in the “drama” that surrounds them.  We want to help, so we listen and give advice.   Then, we are puzzled when we are listening to the same people cry about the same situations week-after-week, month-after-month, and year-after-year.

I am learning to concentrate on my own life  and letting others have complete responsibility for their own lives, behaviors and outcome.  It’s not always easy to do, because I’ve spent a lifetime playing a certain role in others’ lives.  Sometimes, I’m cast in the drama; at other times I play the understudy and jump into the role, when needed. 

When we pay attention more to others and their dramatic situations, it becomes a way for us to distract ourselves from looking at our own issues.  

I don’t think this is uncommon.  But when we concentrate on trying to “fix” others, we avert the focus on the thing over which we DO have control–our own behavior. 

Though it can feel like we are abandoning others by letting them deal with their own issues, we do others a disservice when we get so involved that we do too much.  But we are often blamed for the outcome, or find ourselves embroiled in a situation where we have no business.  And we do ourselves the bigger disservice by ignoring our own needs for change and growth.

Be compassionate.  Listen when others need to talk.  Help by encouraging others to make good decisions based on their own values, needs and desires.  Let them make those decisions for themselves.

Then do the same for yourself and your life.  Drama-free.

I think this Lincoln quote can be  interpreted in several ways.  So, I’d like to go on record by saying this:

“There are two kinds of hustlers out there.  Stop living life waiting on anyone who hustles you out of your time and your self respect and start hustling yourself into living the life you were intended to live.” ~~ Coral Levang

I flew in yesterday and a friend picked me up from the airport.  The weather was sunny and about 72 degrees with a slight breeze.  After a Mexican lunch in Old Town, we went down to the San Diego pier, and up to Balboa Park, just to get a little fresh air and to walk and catch up a bit.  I would like to go to the Maritime Museum during my stay.  One of the ships that is part of the museum was captured by my cell phone. 

It was the perfect way to spend few hours before heading to La Mesa to drop me off at another friend’s home, which is “base camp” while I’m here.

I’m excited to walk the 3-Day again, though I am seeing some evidence of possible rain for the weekend of the 18th through 20th.  Regardless of rain or sunshine, we will be walking the 60 miles, but I could really use the sunshine for the event.

This morning I was able to sleep in.  My friend, Karen, and her family left at about 6 a.m.  I’ve unpacked and will be donning my shoes to walk down and find a bead shop and Michael’s Arts & Crafts so I can get some things prepared for the 3-Day to offer for donations.  I want to get started on next year’s fundraising early! 

I have no plans to speak of really for this time in San Diego, except to raise breast cancer awareness, build memories with my friends here in the area, and will probably do a little bit of networking to see if their might be some viable opportunities in this area, despite what the naysayers tell us about the economy and opportunities. 

And, if nothing else, I will enjoy the warmth of the sunshine and the smell of  the fresh ocean air, and I will simply…relax.

As most already know, I am walking in the last walk the 2011 season of the Breast Cancer 3-Day in San Diego on November 18-20th.  I’m so blessed to be able to do this again this year and thank each of my donors for your selfless generosity in helping to raise the money needed for this event.

This is my 7th time to walk this event since 2006.  That year, I walked two events and was on staff as coach for a third event.  It was the same year I met my friend, Kim Loofbourow, who was in her 30s and fighting cancer’s attack on her life.  That year changed my life in so many ways, which many of you have read several stories.  And the following year, I received my own early stage diagnosis.

Each year new people share their stories with me.  Many of them tell me of their own diagnoses.  Others tell me of their friends or lovers or sisters or aunts or any other number of people who have been lost  to breast cancer.  I have shed tears with each person who has entrusted me with his or her story.

This year, I’m walking for so many people, but this walk is for a special friend who lost his own life to esophageal cancer in January this year.  Jeff Little was only 32 years old.  He and I didn’t know each other long or very well, but we shared a super-glue bond of our own in his last month of life.

Jeff’s health was declining quickly and he was back in the hospital.  It was just a few days before Christmas, and Cherrissa (his wife) called me and asked me to go see him because he was having a tough time.  I wasn’t ready to face cancer and its effect on someone so soon after losing my dear friend, Kim, just a few months before.  But I agreed to visit, not knowing what I was to encounter.  Cherrissa asked me to “talk to him like I talk to (her).”

He put on a happy face the day I saw him.  I asked how he was and he answered in a way to not let on that he was having a hard time.  I looked at him and wasn’t sure what I was supposed to say, but I remembered the frankness that Kim and I always had in our conversations and I decided that was the ticket–honest, genuine talk.  And that was what we had. I told him that I’d been asked to come by and see him because he’d given up.  I told him that I was there to “kick his butt, if needed” to which he responded, “I’ll let you, because someone needs to.”

Jeff and I talked about dying that day.  One of the doctors told him that he “would not live to see Christmas.”  I listened to him as he went through so many emotions–anger, pain, confusion, fear, and so many more.

And then I asked him this question:  “Are you open to some feedback?”

He responded with a nod. I told him that I was ticked off at the doctor for saying that, as no one knows exactly when our moment will come.

And then I shared this:  “…but let’s assume the doctor is right.  You have five days left.  So, what are you going to do with them?  You have three children watching you.  You have Cherrissa.  You have parents and siblings and many friends.  All of these people are watching you, Jeff.  And they are not watching you die.  They are watching you live.  And YOU are teaching THEM how to live…in the face of death.  So, you can be bitter, angry, and give up now and you will teach them to give up when they face the tough stuff in life.  OR you can live what time you have left in love and joy and giving them the best of you for however long you have.  That will be what they remember.  Whatever you choose will be the gift you give them for the rest of their lives.”

We talked about my friend, Kim, and how she lived her last couple of months, and the relationship she and I had.  I gave him her picture and some of the words she and I shared.  We talked about walking the Breast Cancer 3-Day, and that he was sorry that he didn’t get a chance to walk it with me, wishing he hadn’t procrastinated and having regretted not doing it.  I told him that we would walk it together; he said he wouldn’t be able to walk too fast and I told him that I wasn’t a fast walker either.

I gave him my Survivor shirt from the Relay for Life, and a copy of the Serenity Prayer.  And we hugged and cried together, as he looked at me and said, “I’m scared, Coral.”   And I told him that I’d be there for him, just as I had told Kimmie I’d be there for her. What I didn’t tell him was that I was just as afraid as he was.

Jeff did live to see Christmas and the New Year.  He lived with courage as he faced each day, letting his family and friends know how much he loved them and sharing what he needed to share in the last month he lived his life.  He passed away on January 20th, 2011…a month and a day after he and I had those couple of hours together in his hospital room.

He wanted a picture of us together.  In that hospital room, with me looking like hell and barely having wiped the tears off of my face, I let Jeff take our picture with his cell phone.  It is one of my favorite pictures.

No regrets, Jeff.  You ARE walking the 3-Day…60 miles…San Diego…

You are walking with ME now.

* * * * *

Note from Coral:  Please support me as I walk again this year in the fight to end
breast cancer! The Susan G. Komen 3-Day for the Cure is a
60-mile walk over the course of three days. Net proceeds from the Susan
G. Komen 3-Day for the Cure are invested in breast cancer
research and community programs. Please use the link to the right to support this cause.  Thank you.

Tomorrow marks four years since I had my mastectomy.  Many things have changed since then–including my siblings and I losing our mother just a few short months ago.  I am ever-increasingly made aware of just how precious life is and how important others are to me.

Once again this year, I am taking a bold step by walking in the 2011 Susan G. Komen 3-Day for the Cure in San Diego, CA on November 18-20.   This will be the 8th event with which I’ve been involved; it is my 7th event as a walker.

According to the National Cancer Institute at the National Institutes of Health, it is estimated that there will be 232,620 new diagnoses of breast cancer this year in the United States alone with 2, 140 of these cases being men.  It is expected that in 2011, there will be 39, 520 women and 450 men die from breast cancer.  Statistics show that 1 in every 8 women will receive a breast cancer diagnosis in her lifetime.

Technological advances in medical treatment have lowered the mortality rates and allowed for earlier detection, but a cure has not yet been discovered.  It requires more research and a willingness for us all to take an active part in raising awareness and money, which is why I am committed to this cause.

Though October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month, we must be proactive year-long in taking care of our health and reducing risks for all cancer.  Schedule time to see your physician to discuss this options.  Please schedule your appropriate routine mammograms or prostate exams, and make sure that the women and men in your lives do the same.

Please take a moment to visit my personal 3-Day page to read why I am walking  this year’s 3-Day event for my 32-year-old friend, Jeff Little, who lost his life to cancer in January.  Please also consider making a donation in honor or memory of someone you know who has fought cancer of any kind.

Please get the message out by sharing this blog and asking others to support this worthy cause.

My heartfelt thanks goes out to all who have donated their time, money and support of me year-after-year since 2006 for this cause.  Thank you for your continued support.

The story is set in Jackson, Mississippi in the early 1960s.  Skeeter is a southern society girl who went off to college and has aspirations to become a writer.  She returns to the small town, but not to the mindset of her friends in the clique.  She collaborates with the household help, defying law to do so, to tell the truth of what goes on in the high society families, and in the treatment of their household help.

What struck me most about the message in this film is this:

Always be courageous enough to tell YOUR truth.  When you do, you will begin to change the course of history. 

When you have the courage to  say what you determine you need to say–what you are compelled to say– it changes who you are in relationship to the world around you.

It may be that you have to say some pretty tough things that people do not care to hear. It may mean that you have to say or write these things “anonymously.”  It may result in people not agreeing with you, not liking you, distancing themselves from you, or even dissolving a relationship with you.

Doing or saying what you feel is right or needed is not easy.  It’s difficult to face losing, especially when you know you’re likely going to “face the firing squad” alone.  It may become an emotional upheaval when you realize that those who were around before will not stand with you or by your side.  Yet, you know that it’s time you speak the truth, regardless of the consequence of doing so.

Be compelled.  Be courageous.  Be genuine.  Share your story.  

Tell YOUR truth.

I liked being able to identify people based on what they wore.  And I wanted to feel like I belonged and thought that being able to wear a uniform would mean that others would open their arms to me and include me in the group.

The uniform also represented “standing for” something.  I wanted to stand for what was right and good.

As a little girl there was a time I wanted to be a nurse.  Nurses wore crisp, clean, white uniforms with perfectly starched and formed caps.  Nurses had to be smart.  They had to be caring and show respect to others. 

As a young adolescent, I read the book, “Candy Stripers” by Lee Wyndham, and saw older girls from school in their red and white striped jumpers on their volunteer days before going to the hospitals.  Many of them talked about being a nurse someday.

Oh!  How I wanted to be a Candy Striper so I could wear the peppermint candy cane inspired uniform, but that idea was nixed by my parents.

It also didn’t take me too many years to realize that I would not be a good nurse, when I found out that there would be bedpans to empty, vomit to clean up, needles to poke, blood to wipe, and guts to stuff back in and sew up.  Of course, hearing nursing students talk about the cadavers was likely the clincher for my abandonment of ever wearing a nurse’s uniform.

Once I gave up the idea of nursing, I wanted to be an airline stewardess with “Fly the friendly skies” United Airlines.  Yes, stewardesses are what they used to call flight attendants back in those days.   They wore smart suits with heels and wonderful little hats.  Sometimes they wore white gloves.  The job of the stewardess was to make sure the passengers were comfortable and felt safe.

My dreams were shattered about joining their ranks, however.  Most airlines had a strict height and weight standard.

I seem to remember the requirements allowing only petite girls at that time, under 5’7″ tall and less than 125 pounds.  By the time I graduated from high school in 1972 at the age of 16, I was still several years too young to join the airlines, and I had already grown to 5’9″ and 130 pounds.

I did wear a uniform for a few years during my childhood days.  From fourth through seventh grades, I was a member of the Girl Scouts.

For the first three years, I was a Junior Girl Scout and wore a short-sleeved, light green uniform shirt dress with a yellow tie, a green belt, a sash for our badges, and a dark green beret.

In seventh grade I advanced to Cadette Girl Scout.  The Cadette uniform was my favorite with its white blouse and dark green a-line skirt. There was a dark green tie, that matched the skirt.  I wore the sash, and the same beret, but the emblem on the beret was replaced with a snazzier version.

I loved wearing the uniform out in public and being identified as belonging to a special group that was involved in good deeds out in the community.  Even our leaders wore uniforms.  I am not exactly certain of the reasons I didn’t continue on past the seventh grade.

I loved men in uniform.  They looked sharp and they represented peace, safety, justice and order.  I had the utmost of respect for fireman, policemen, soldiers, and others wearing the military uniform.  I believed that they stood for fairness and all that was good.  And when women were allowed to freely join these organizations, I knew I belonged in uniform and I knew I belonged in service to this country.

In just two days, August 23rd will mark  the 38th anniversary of the day I joined the United States Air Force.  I was so proud to be in uniform and belong to a small group of special people who were willing to serve this country.  I wore the Air Force uniform for nearly two years.  In 1976, I donned a Navy uniform and served until 1989. (Read “Thank You for Your Service” for my story and my promise to all veterans.)

I haven’t worn a uniform since those days.  I have to admit that I miss wearing it.  I miss the recognition it gave of belonging to a special group of special people.  I miss the crisp, starched uniforms and the polished look.

The days of my wearing a uniform are pretty much over now.  I’m too old to reenlist in the military.  Nurses now wear scrubs.  Girl Scouts wear t-shirts, hoodies, and sweatpants.  And I don’t care much to deal with rude, grumpy passengers who complain about how uncomfortable it is to fly the friendly skies nowadays.

I suppose there may come a time when I may wear a uniform again.  Walmart employees now wear blue polo shirts and khaki slacks.  I wonder if they would be willing to bring back the signature blue vest and consider adding a beret?

I can only hope.

My first year was 2006.  I walked the Seattle event, worked for the organization at the Dallas-Fort Worth event, and walked again in San Diego. 

Never did I realize it was in preparation for what was to come in my life. In June 2007, I was diagnosed with early stage Ductal Carcinoma.

I walked in Seattle again with Team WOBO in 2007, a month before my mastectomy, as well as the Seattle event in 2008, a few months after my DIEP Flap reconstruction surgery.

Last year in 2010, the Seattle and San Diego events were meant for me to honor someone who became a very dear friend.  Kim Loofbourow lost her valiant 4-year battle with breast cancer.  She was just a few days shy of her 42nd birthday.

Over the years, I’ve met so many people who have a story to share with their own diagnoses, or family and friends standing up to this disease.  More and more often I cross paths with people where cancer has challenged us all personally or the lives of those we love.

This year, I walk for all the same reasons I’ve walked before, but I am walking for my friend, Jeff Little, who lost his life at the age of 32 years old to esophageal cancer in January.  Cancer took away a father of three small children.  It took away a husband, a son, a brother, and a friend to countless others.  And it’s time cancer is stopped.

Jeff wanted to walk the 3-Day event in his lifetime, but never found the time to do so.  One of the last conversations we had before he passed away, he said, “I regret that I didn’t walk the walk with you.”  I promised him then, that I would take him with me this year and walk it together.

So, this year, I walk for  Jeff and all the others in my life who are battling cancers of all kinds.  I walk for all of my “sisters” who have been diagnosed with breast cancer in any and every stage.  I walk for those who are unable to walk, because they did not do it when they wanted, and now it’s too late.  I walk with those who, like me, are tired of losing people they love to cancers of any kind.

And I also walk for me.  I walk to stay as healthy as I can and build up my own strength.  I walk to prepare myself.  Just in case.  I walk again because I’m grateful that technology gives us opportunities to see things earlier than they used to be seen.  I walk again because I want a cure to be found.

Please visit the 3-Day website  or support me by making a donation in honor of someone you know who deserves a lifetime.

And I will do all the walking…for the 7th time.

My favorite vacations were the days when, as a single parent, my young daughter and I packed up the car with a cooler filled with sandwich fixings, raw veggies, soda pop and ice to begin our drive to wherever our wheels (and our moods) would take us.

I was in the military then, so it often corresponded with a transfer to a new duty station, and our car was filled with enough household items, clothes, blankets and pillows to get us through a week or two before our household shipment would arrive.  And we always seemed to have a dog or two trying to get comfortable in what little space was left.

We didn’t have much money for fancy hotels, lavish dinners, or trips to amusement parks, but we had some great adventures driving across country!  It was common for us to take a turn ten miles or more off of the planned route to explore.

We shared painted deserts, greasy diners along old state highways, Mt. Rushmore, walks along streams, and rooms in old motels with skeleton key locks that we were convinced were haunted. Signs stating “Ghost town–this way” took us in directions which left us disappointed or bewildered, but we spent hours in the car laughing, singing, talking, and sharing moments that I will forever cherish.

It’s been a long time since my daughter and I have taken a vacation together.  Her life is busy now that mine is beginning to wind down.    But, oh!  How I wish for the chance to share those special, yet simple, moments with her again.

I really need a vacation.