Number 4 is probably the toughest thing to do, but a fabulous subject crammed so far into a hole that no one knows what the hell it is...is just that. Your bottom time ain't gonna last forever.
It has been 11 years since I heard that I had cancer. I was 33 and in the middle of my postdoctoral fellowship ("so young, such a shock, yadda yadda..."), so I thought that this news was particularly unwelcome. In truth, I doubt it was any more unwelcome to me than it would be to anyone else.
Among the slew of gifts that came my way as soon as word broke was Lance Armstrong's book, It's Not About the Bike. Now, regardless of Lance's doping status, the guy's badass status is undeniable. He had stage 4 testicular cancer, fought it, and then went on to climb the Alps on a bicycle over and again. But I digress. The contents of the book contained what has become truly special to me - a quote from a letter written to the newly-diagnosed Lance by a fan who'd also survived a deadly disease:
"You don't know it yet, but we're the lucky ones."
That resonated. At first, it was because it pissed me off. I was bald, sick, facing a bunch of scary surgeries, and almost always the youngest one in the chemo ward. Luck, my hiney. But over time, the meaning became more clear.
When you really understand for the first time that you are not immortal, it is scary...but it can be very freeing. No longer was I just going to just go through motions, waiting for stuff to happen to me, waiting for things to change. Rather, I decided that I better get catalytic on life's ass. In many ways, the decisions I made in that year define me more than almost any others I've made.
The point here is not that we should all run out and try to experience badness. But we are, all of us, the lucky ones. And if we don't feel lucky? We all have the power to control our negative space, even if it just means adjusting our attitude and working harder towards a goal.
