On the way home from the hospital after receiving radiation on Christmas eve, my wife and I listened to a short podcast, a “dharma talk” emanating from the Upaya retreat center, where my wife has spent a couple of retreats.

I chose that talk because of the title–“Appreciation Density,” which struck me.  Pilots use the word “density” a lot, typically in reference to the quality of the air their engines breathe.  Air density is a big deal, because it determines the capabilities of the airplane and such critical things as the ability to climb, airspeed, and the distance needed to land and depart.   At high altitude airports, where the air is thinner, “density altitude” is so critical that automated systems make it part of the routine information given to pilots.

Generally speaking, airplanes fly better when the air is dense, that is, when more molecules are crammed closer together.   Heat causes the molecules to expand, creating fewer of them in a particular space, so heat generally makes an airplane fly poorer.   Humidity has a similar effect, as does altitude (the farther away from the earth the thinner the atmosphere gets).   So pilots often say “hot, humid and high” work against us when it comes to air density.

I miss flying.   I miss the feel of the stick in one hand and the throttle in the other.   I miss pushing on a rudder pedal, easing the stick and feeling the weight of the airplane shift as it carves a circle in the sky.  I also miss the taste of food, and the ease of swallowing.   I miss the strength in my body.  But none of those things are available to me now, and, as Peter Noone of Herman’s Hermits profoundly said, “It ain’t no use to pine.”

In fact, as the Upaya podcast reminded me, perhaps the only density that ultimately matters is “appreciation density.”   I have no idea how to define this from a Buddhist perspective.  The message, however, is simple: How deeply can one appreciate what one already has, the small miracles that are all around us?

In the last couple of months, I have been struggling to redefine the mask that I wear during radiation that pins me down like a butterfly on display from something that is choking me and threatening to cause me to aspirate on my own vomit to something that is there to heal me.   I have imagined the mask as a soothing hot towel, or a healing scarf, in order to turn my fear into something positive.

In a similar vein, I have also come to appreciate NOT flying.   It teaches me to value the time I have flown, or possibly can fly again.   It teaches me to appreciate the events that have filled in the spaces where flying used to be.  It teaches me to spend time honoring those instructors who have taught me some of the tricks of the trade.

One of the lessons learned from the tribulations of cancer and its treatment is that one of my key tasks is to increase the “density” of my appreciation.   I do deeply appreciate those whose prayers have traveled into the universe and landed my way.  I appreciate the kind and loving thoughts, and the incredible dedication of my family and friends who have fed and supported me.  I also am learning how to appreciate the small miracles around me.

There was a line in the podcast where the person speaking mentioned that, while indeed it is a miracle to win the lottery, it is even a bigger miracle to buy a lottery ticket, and perhaps even a bigger miracle to lose.   I smiled through my swollen cheeks because it rang so true.   It is a wondrous thing indeed to be able to buy a lottery ticket, to participate in any way in this gift that is life.   Every breath we get to breathe is indeed a miracle.   To find deep appreciation in small things is to increase our “appreciation density,” and the denser our appreciation, the better we fly.