Thrivers, Not Survivors

Thoughts sometimes come crashing into my head like a demolition ball. They collide with the stones and boulders that have formed over the years.

Powerful thoughts, these. They move the immovable, breaking down the "tions" (assumptions, conventions, and preconceptions). They prove that we don't have to calcify as we get older—we can evolve.

The latest one has me completely rethinking "survivorship".

Conventionally, survivorship is defined thusly:

Survivorship: In cancer, survivorship covers the physical, psychosocial, and economic issues of cancer, from diagnosis until the end of life. It includes issues related to the ability to get health care and follow up treatment, late effects of treatment, second cancers, and quality of life.

Lance Armstrong is the poster boy for survivorship (ah, there's the cycling connection). His personal struggle with survivorship led to his deeply driven, public crusade to battle cancer on all fronts. It matters not what we may think of him as a person or as a cyclist, within the cancer context he is Saint Lance.

Sepia = Serious. Passchendaele, World War I

But that is the Lance of recent memory—the Lance of today, the champion cyclist cum anti-cancer advocate. Like all of us who have survived, he struggled. Not just to get on the bike, but with life in cancer's wake. He was tired, overwhelmed, downtrodden—a shell of his former self—physically, emotionally, intellectually, and spiritually. Battling cancer takes a heavy toll. Like Sherman's march on Georgia or the trench warfare in the Ardennes, it razes all, leaving desolation in its wake.

Yet, nature finds a way. Razed lands nurture new crops. Deep forests emerge from the desolation. Life begins anew. .

"Live with Purpose"

I got an email from a fellow Pelotonia rider and cancer survivor. He signed off thusly: "Live with Purpose"

Pithy

He is a constant encouragement to not simply glide through life, but to be conscious and present in our lives. To be mindful. To be there.

Saying (or writing) it is far harder than it may sound. Life may begin anew, but it must first struggle to break through the trodden soil and the cracks of our former lives. The ever-present seeds of life must break free, haltingly emerge, and endure before they can flourish once again.

Survivorship matters. But getting beyond it is the greater goal. It is not enough to survive. We must thrive.

"I'm in Cancer 'Stage S'"

Survivorship is a stage. It is a step. It is the period when you are in remission, getting checkups, and regrouping. It is when you are looking through the pieces of what was once your life. It is a time of fitful starts, when you collide headlong into barriers—some of your own making—and rebound into some other, unforeseen circumstance.

Here's a general description of cancer's stages.

It's when you start to take root once again, making a new life.

I experienced it. Lance experienced it.

Then we—somehow—got beyond it.

Cancer's stages have unique characteristics. We are accustomed to hearing about "Stage IV" or "Stage IIB". They are shorthand descriptions of cancer's advancement through our bodies.

Rodin's Gates of Hell. Not a pretty place.

"Stage S" is my label for survivorship. At some point, all non-terminal cases end up here.

But Stage S is not a destination; it is a stage. It is a gate through which we aspire to pass. All those long nights, all those troubled daydreams, all those dark and heavy emotions—depletion, emptiness, loss, sorrow, and anger—are a visceral hell on Earth—a suffering Dante would recognize, Milton could describe, and Rodin could realize.

The dark days of survivorship will have their time. They must. But we are not meant to dwell there. We are built of sterner stuff; our lives were made for something greater.

Stage S is a place of transience, not residence. It may take us years to leave, and many of us will fail, but those who persist can achieve the next stage: "Stage T"

"I'm in Cancer 'Stage T'"

Thrive, Don't Just Survive

Stage T cancer is when you are living with purpose—mindfully, consciously. It is when you are making real the promise of your renewed life.

Verdant. Lush. Earthy. Organic. Thriving. That's a pretty place.

It is the rebuilding phase, when you actively discard the unwanted from your old life and create new history—day by day.

Saint Lance is in Stage T. The Lance Armstrong Foundation is one manifestation of his new life. His comeback, during which he actively promoted cancer awareness and activism—meeting with global leaders to secure committments to battle cancer—is another powerful example of cancer's Stage T.

I'm not Lance. But I do—with all humility—consider myself to be passing through Stage S and into Stage T.

For me, living with purpose means:

• Writing this blog
• Being a partner—not just a husband to BCB (Beautiful and Charming Bride)
• Being present in my children's lives—not just a father to my LAs (Little Angels)
• Riding 200 miles per week (in the summer)
• Sharing my love for riding and fitness by teaching spin classes and coaching the Iron Chicas
• Fundraising for cancer research

But I don't always get it right. In fact, I probably get it wrong more than I get it right. But I am mindful. I am conscious. I am purposeful

Stage S is the period of recovery and indecision.

Stage T is the rest of your life.

It is realizing your promise as a person and your promises that you have made. Not everyone gets there. Many struggle within Stage S and never emerge. It is hard, hard work.

Socrates is credited with stating: "the unexamined life is not worth living." It is a truth that avoids a simple (yet critical) fact: examining one's life is hard. Looking at one's self critically requires more than studious navel-gazing. It goes deeper. It requires you to ask: who do you want to be?

Every Day, for the Rest of Your Life

The Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog.
Caspar David Friedrich

Staying in Stage T is a daily exercise. It is a daily affirmation. It is a struggle that has its good and bad days. When things are going well, cancer is a distant memory—something you witnessed from the window of your speeding train. It lingers for a moment, but recedes as the new landscape—exciting, new, filled with promise—rushes forward into your consciousness.

When things are going badly, your private hell beckons.

I imagine this experience most closely resembles the struggle of recovering addicts. I suspect that they follow a similar path, through Stage S and into Stage T. I know theirs, too, is a daily exercise. We can learn from one another.

What happens next? I don't know. Where do you go when you have passed through into a time when your life has meaning?

From my vantage point, the next stage is the realm of gurus, spiritual leaders, and shamans. Wise folk who can guide, but who will not direct. Experienced and knowledgeable people for whom the definition of "humanity" extends beyond my understanding.

Yep, it's woo-woo stuff. When we aspire to be more, we must imagine more.

But isn't that what life is all about?

Thrive.