I found my tumor during the 2012 Summer Olympics. I felt the small lump in my left breast while Brian and I were watching Team USA and while Teddy and Annabel were asleep upstairs, four and one years old, respectively. August 8, 2012. You have cancer.
Today, almost exactly 12 years later, the caffeine and the peace of a cute coffee shop are fueling me to reflect. What have I learned in the 12 years since? I don't really know, but I'd like to figure it out so I'm going to write because it's the way I think best. And it feels only fitting that I do so in the context of the Olympics. (Don't worry -- I will not use "win-lose" or "victory-defeat" type metaphors to cancer; those make me angry.)
So here's what I've learned in the last 12 years. I'll do four today, four tomorrow, and four on August 8th.
1. If you have people cheering you on, you have everything.
One of my favorite parts of watching the Olympics is watching the families and friends in the stands; I can't get enough of them. I'm sure the relationships aren't perfect -- what relationships are? -- but when it comes down to those defining moments, these people have shown up. They've flown from all around the world to cheer for their athletes -- to acknowledge their loved one's dreams -- dreams that they now share. If you have people cheering you on in life as you reach for your dreams, then you have everything. Ev-ery-thing.
2. It's good to know when and how to tell people to F- off.
Since the first one was sweet, the next one is salty. I love that Simone Biles called out Mikayla Skinner for her obnoxious, jealous comments about the 2024 women gymnasts. It turns out that I don't believe in the old adage, If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all. No thanks. For me, it's far better to be strong and honest, especially because "being nice" is subjective. Maybe Simone's comeback to Skinner wasn't "nice" to Skinner but I'm sure it felt awesome to her most-certainly-not-lazy teammates. I am inspired by people who aren't afraid to stand up to jerks. I prefer strong and honest to nice. The latter is fake. The former are real. Thank you, Simone, for showing us that we can call people out on their bull$hit and show class at the very same time.
3. We can never forget the gigantic world context of our lives.
Obviously, a social media back-and-forth between gymnasts is nothing relative to the world scene. I won't even pretend to understand the complexity (and indeed, the tragedy) of the politics behind so many Olympic moments. Israel and Palestine, Russia and Ukraine, North and South Korea, China-Taiwan, Sudan and South Korea, and I'm sure others I don't even know about. I've read some of the stories: athletes killed before they even made it to Paris, refugees fleeing their countries to train, families ripped apart by war. A few stories I didn't even have the stomach to finish reading.
Part of the magic of the Olympics is that through them, we celebrate a world coming together despite all of this darkness. But wow -- the privilege some of us have in being able to do that. I try, every day, to remember the bigger picture of my life. I am so small, so insignificant, really. There will always be an infinitely larger universe in which my being is microscopic. That reality no longer terrifies me, but in a way, it empowers me. The question is, how can I help? I will keep trying to answer that.
4. I could go all the way to Paris and lose and that's okay.
I used to think Olympic gymnasts were nuts. These people dedicate their whole lives to a moment that may never come to be. They tattoo themselves with Olympic rings and they pursue a dream that may never happen. They may get disqualified for flipping a swim turn just a bit too early. They may get sick from the dirty water and have to withdraw. Or they may just have a bad day. Then what? They go back home with the memory of complete failure? See, nuts!
The thing is, I don't think this way anymore. Three Olympic Games later, I am far less afraid of stating my dreams and failing at them. Actually, let me revise that...I'm still terrified of failure, but I'll dream and do anyways. I don't think this evolved mentality came from having cancer, but cancer played (and plays) a role, for sure. Then again, we should all have an urgency about our dreams, shouldn't we?
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