Meaning in the Ordinary

The past few weeks have put a few unwanted thoughts in my mind. 

Last week, as part of a clinical trial, I went through a procedure called Bronchoscopic Microwave Ablation to treat a tumor in my left lung (surgery was on my right lung). And it all went great! Much simpler than lung surgery for sure - in and out in 4 hours. 

Unwanted Thought #1: there are still new tumors popping up, which is very consistent with metastatic colon cancer. 

I participate in a couple of online groups that provide support for folks with cancer. One of those is Colontown, which I highly recommend for anyone navigating the maze of colorectal cancer and treatment. And another group is called Man Up to Cancer, which is for men going through cancer. Though the name  might suggest otherwise, that mens’ group pushes on traditional, unhelpful male stereotypes with a very honest, open, and vulnerable community of sharing and reflection. (Turns out that is what works!)

While in one of the groups, I came across the 5-year survival rates for stage 4 colon cancer patients. It was a number I had either forgotten or pushed out of my memory. 

Unwanted Thought #2: 5-year survival rates.

In the course of this colon cancer journey, I’ve been fortunate to connect with a range of folks with colon cancer who have been more than generous with sharing lessons learned, suggestions, and just empathy in the shared struggle. I had one such interaction with a guy named Craig who my brother-in-law connected me to. 

Craig and I had one conversation which stretched out to 90+ minutes. He offered lots of hard-earned wisdom on genetics, metastases, navigating treatment and different providers, and doing all that amidst life with a wife and kids. I’m lucky to receive so much love from friends and family, and it’s a different conversation with someone who knows the journey intimately. Craig was nothing but kind and generous. 

Craig had popped in my head a few times in the last month, and I finally reached out to my brother-in-law to see how Craig was doing. Sadly, Craig had recently died from complications due to treatment. Though I barely knew him, I was so grateful for his companionship. 

Unwanted Thought #3: The realities of death.

If my head was a blender, thoughts of new tumors still popping up, 5-year survival rates, and a life getting cut short were getting pureed together, each adding to the other. 

I don’t think “unwanted” is the right descriptor for these thoughts, because I appreciate that we don’t get to only take in the easy, pleasant thoughts. The challenging thoughts are important to sit with too and move me in ways I need to be moved. Maybe it’s better to just call the thoughts difficult. And what made the recent thoughts difficult was the fear they stirred up in me.

I’ve got some trusted practices that help me hold and calm down that storm of fear (e.g. meditation, writing). And I think I’ve built a pretty healthy and honest relationship to death. But the fear still kicks up now and then…and this recent episode just happens to be one of those moments. 

A mess of questions and tasks come up when the fear is elevated and running a little wild. A quick tour of my head in this recent example: 

• What is needed to have our house ready to put on the market in the likely event Stacey would want to move into something with much less maintenance if I’m not around? 

• Set up a call with our realtor about what future options could make sense for Stacey and the kids, and have those ready to go. 

• I could live for 5, 10 or 30 more years. Or, as the stats suggest, I might live for 2 or 3 more years. If 2-3 years turns out to be my pathway, what’s mine to do in those 2-3 years? 

  • Where do I want to direct my time and attention? 

  • How can I love family, friends, my community, and myself well? 

  • What choices does that point to for work, insurance, family experiences, finances, etc.? 

There’s a bunch of practical things that come up, and there’s some giant questions about living to consider too. The reality is that I feel as good as I’ve felt in a while right now, while recognizing that can change quickly. And, looking back at the above questions, I’m in a pretty dang privileged position to even be asking the questions in the first place. 

The last question is the one that probably hangs me up the most. What would you change if you had 2-3 years to live? What would suddenly feel much more important or much less important? The truth is that death is a reality of life for all of us. So should it matter if we are looking at 2-3 years or 30 years? 

My good friend / unofficial therapist, Allison, has been a God-send of a partner in navigating these moments and questions. Through our many discussions, I’m reminded that it doesn’t have to be some giant change needed to find that more meaning-filled life. It might be as small as adding in that second meditation to the day. Or making more phone calls to friends. Or slowing my pace with everything so I feel more grounded more often. Or gathering the neighbors together. Or sitting in the sun with my feet in the dirt. 

I haven’t completely ruled out selling the house and living out of an RV with the family while traveling the country and home-schooling the kids (Is RV-schooling a thing?). But, in the meantime, I’m scaling it back a bit. How can I invite…better yet…how can I allow the Divine, that vibration of a deeper reality and interconnection, to live in the ordinary? Whether it’s 2 years or 20 years, maybe the most important thing to live fully into right now is dinner with the family tonight. 

So…may we each take a couple of deep breaths. May we be fully present and generous to the human, known or unknown, in front of us. May we create more conditions for love to move through us and among us. May we gently and graciously hold the fear in our lives. And may we find the Divine in the ordinary. 

Much love to you…

Matt

Snuck in a trip to the Davis Mountains area before the kids head back to school. It was soooo good.