Because the last thing anybody wants is to get what they need

This just happened:

A D.C. panel has rejected plans for a $425 million development that would cover the intersection of Interstate 395 and Massachusetts Avenue's web of paved roads and freeway signs with a hub of offices, retail and residences.

And here is why it happened:

The District's Zoning Commission took issue with the project's retail plan and massive building sizes, saying the 2-million-square-foot development seemed more like a fortress for workers and residents than a destination.

"It does not feel like it's going to be an inviting, attractive space," said Commissioner Peter May. "There's no real reason to be in [there] except to go get whatever it is that you need ... so I'm just not convinced that it's laid out the way that it should be."

Thank you, Peter May.  Because the last thing I want is a place two blocks away from me to “go get whatever it is that I need.” 

At least he’s standing up for the neighborhood folks:

Local Advisory Neighborhood Commission Chairman Robert Amos, who attended the meeting, said the rejection took him by surprise.

"We looked at the retail strategy and we liked what we were seeing ... and we thought they had a plan to bring in the type of retail that would make it a place people would want to go to," he said.

Or maybe not. 

Anyway, just wanted to make sure you knew that unelected “National Park Service Designees” can turn down $425 million development deals because the plans don’t “feel” right to him. 

A return to normalcy

Following the upheaval of World War I, Warren Harding took to the campaign trail in 1920 promising a “return to normalcy.”  It worked, sort of.  At the very least, Americans bought it, and Harding won the election (only to die two years later).  But I’m not sure the nation ever actually “returned to normal.”  It just continued to exist, the best it could, in the postwar era.

I’m more sure about my own prospect of a return to normalcy: nonexistent.  To be morbid for a moment, they say the worst part of grieving over the death of a loved one comes after the initial whirlwind.  After the funeral.  After the messages, visitors, and well-wishes dry up.  Those things soften the initial blow, for sure.  But they also delay the inevitable – the time when, like it or not, you have to adjust to a new reality.  One you don’t like, didn’t ask for, and aren’t quite sure how to deal with.

In many ways, I feel like a completely different human being these days.  In nine months, I graduated from law school, took the bar exam, moved out of Ann Arbor, was diagnosed with cancer, was treated for cancer, went into remission, moved to a new city, and started a new job.  Everyone deal with most of those things – most of my law school friends went through everything except for the cancer part.  But there’s no doubt those are pretty significant life events.  Each one changing you more and more, until one night, you’re sitting in a pile of tax forms, bills, student loan docs, and medical records, wondering what the hell just happened to your life. 

***

The hardest part is just trying to live on a day-to-day basis.  I’m working now, living with the girlfriend, getting settled into DC, and so on.  I’m supposed to get up in the morning and go to work, ride the bus, pay bills, cook dinner, clean the apartment, and so on, just like everybody else.  All the while, it’s like the Universe is telling me, “Act normal.”  And I’m just like, “Act normal?! You just tried to #$!%ing kill me! And now you want me to act normal?!”  Somebody just took a shot at my head and I got grazed by the bullet.  Excuse me if I’m not ready to let my guard down yet. 

But there is a point – and this is what I’m moving toward – where you have to move on.  Of course, moving on means punting life-altering decisions one month down the road, always looking ahead to the next doctor’s appointment, and dealing with the reality of having an increased risk of developing other serious health problems for the rest of my life.  But I deal with those things the way I’ve dealt with most of this junk – with little more than a shoulder shrug.  Because like so many things throughout this ordeal, there’s just not that much I can do about it.  So why bother?

That doesn’t mean that nothing has changed.  In fact, virtually everything has.  My habits, my diet, my routine, my worldview.  It’s just that, with so many changes in such a short period of time, I’m not sure how much of that is attributable to cancer, or how much is attributable to, say, not being a student for the first time in 20 years, or being in a new city, or starting a job.  Closing the bar on a Tuesday night would be frowned upon at this stage in my life whether or not my armpit exploded this summer. 

***

Dr. Anderson was right: It’s easier to deal with cancer when you actually have cancer. Of course, that’s a conditional statement.  But it’s essentially true.  When I was actively fighting to Get Rid of the Seaward (hey that’s the name of the site!), I spent every moment of every day fighting, and I could focus all of my energy on doing just that.  Now, I’m supposed to focus on a million other things at once, often pretending that absolutely nothing is or was ever wrong, and that’s tough sometimes.

But so was dealing with cancer.  The fact that something is tough isn’t an excuse to let it control you or adversely impact the way you go about your life.  So sometimes, when I wonder how I’m going to deal with all this, I just remind myself that I don’t have to.  Just go on living my life.  Control what I can control and beyond that, whatever.  I think the most important part of dealing with the aftermath, so to speak, is realizing that you don’t really deal with it. In fact, you can’t.  And if you try, you’re just going to burn yourself out.

So really, I just go through my days like Peter from Office Space. Not in the sense that I don’t care about my job and wear sweatpants to work – I actually really like my job.  But I just carry a very “eh” attitude around these days, if that makes sense. It’s rather fatalistic, but it’s realistic too I think. After cancer, everything else just isn’t as serious as it once seemed.  Nor is there any reason to spend any time worrying about the future, because it’s not going to do anything for me. 

Sometimes, the easiest way to return to normalcy is to figure out that there’s no way that will ever happen.

The future of the Seaward

The cancer has been beaten into remission, I have my short-term figured out, I’m not hunting doctors anymore, and, perhaps most significantly, I have a job where I have to bill hours, greatly reducing my ability to get up at 11am, get pissed off at the world while eating breakfast, and spending my afternoons blogging about how pissed off I am.  Nor can I stay up until 2am talking about my feelings. 

So what am I going to do with all this?  I’ve decided to keep things going for the foreseeable future, for a couple reasons:  1) As I’ve said, this crap is never over – I will hopefully be seeing a local oncologist within the next couple weeks, then I’ll get a scan in March, and so on, 2) I always have something to say about something, which might be irritating in real life, but more acceptable on a personal blog that you can tune out at will, 3) I have www.nickcheolas.com registered through next August.  So I might as well do something with it. 

In any event, I’ll keep putting random things up around here whenever I feel like it. I finally got around to downloading Windows Live Writer, which I’ve planned to do since October but for some reason never got around to.  This thing makes my blogging life much easier, so I’m glad I did it after 170-some posts.  Smart move.

One thing I really struggle with is maintaining a theme.  As you can tell, the blog reflects my thoughts at any given time.  As you can also tell, my thoughts are all over the place.  Early on, there was enough cancer-related junk that the whole blog was cancer-y.  That’s not fun, but at least I had a coherent theme.  The cancer developments will still be a major component here, but I think I’ll just put up whatever I feel like writing about.  If you want to read it, cool.  If not, I won’t cry.  Topics I’ll hit frequently (besides cancer):  Detroit (the city I “love to bash,” according to one commenter); stuff I find cool about Washington, DC; journalism; and quasi-politics – I say “quasi” politics because I don’t want this to become a hyper-partisan zone (even though I maintain balance by hating both sides equally).  It will mostly be me making fun of stuff. 

Above all, if something strikes me as blog-able, I’ll throw it up on here if I feel like it.  I have no idea how this is going to go, but that’s my plan.  If I can get myself to sit down in front of the computer and I’m in a good writing mood, I can knock out a couple posts at a time.  It’s getting myself to do that that is sometimes a problem.  Plus I have real adult-like things to do now. Gotta keep up with those responsibilities. 

So that’s what you’ll get.  You’ll certainly get a heavy dose of me adjusting to Life After Cancer, but you’ll get whatever else I feel like yapping about at any given time.  All updates on treatment/tests/doctors and such will remain here. 

That is the plan for now.  Have a tasty day. 

The Capitol South Effect

Since I live in Chinatown, visited China in 2005, and maintain a niche interest in the country, here's a brief, mostly-true lesson in Chinese history:

In ancient China, emperors and other high-ranking officials kept a horde of concubines in the Forbidden City.  The concubines served a couple purposes:  First, they ensured that the rulers would have no problem conceiving a son, thereby extending their dynasty.  Second...Emperors have needs too.  So, you know.  Concubines. 

But the Emperors needed some dudes around too.  And when you mix a bunch of guys and a bunch of concubines in a "Forbidden City," bad stuff can happen.  Think "Jersey Shore" with Asians.

So the Emperors - bright as these guys were - came up with a plan:  They would castrate the men.  Because seriously, there's no better way to assert your dominance over a man and prevent him from knocking up your concubines than to castrate him.  So that's why we have the Palace Eunuchs of Ancient China. 

So there's your crash course in Ancient Chinese leadership:  Rulers, concubines, and eunuchs. 

Anyway, whenever I step out of the Capitol South Metro Station only to see a 68-year-old white Congressman walking in between a 24-year-old blonde bombshell and a 22-year-old dude named Clayton with spot-welded hair who wears a tan sport coat with a checkered tie and navy pants, Ancient China is the first thing that pops into my head.