I’ve spent my entire life catching up.
My earliest memories are from being in the hospital battling leukemia as a 3-year-old; from as far back as I can remember, I looked to the future for an easier tomorrow. This early reconciliation with my own mortality drove me to go after my dreams and passions, while simultaneously growing inside me a fear of not realizing my potential – my friends call it overachieving – alongside a struggle with the calmness that comes with being content. These feelings ebbed and flowed throughout the three decades since I had cancer, coming on full force after traumatic experiences like the car accident I was in when I was 21. Today, the trigger isn’t obviously traumatic – the trigger is happiness.
I’ve been post-op for less than three months. As soon as I stepped off the plane from Florida in August, I jumped back into my San Francisco life full force. I feel like a puppy wriggling in life’s arms that just wants to be put down so I can run. But unlike the curiosity and chaos that comes with exploring a new beautiful world, when I hit the ground I ran full force towards the future. I feel alive in a way I’ve never felt before. I feel a deep-seated need to catch up. And like a new puppy that has been running around all day, sleep comes when I am not ready, and days are cut short by the ache of my still healing body.
People keep reminding me that it’s my Jesus year. There’s something about the 3rd year of each decade: age 3, I survived cancer; age 13 was my “golden birthday” and I picked up my first guitar; age 23, I explored Europe alone and fell deeply and recklessly in love; age 33, for the first time in my life, I’ve arrived.