A Year to Live
What would you do if that was all you had?
Loved ones,
I hope this finds you in exceedingly great health, abundant prosperity, and overall wellbeing!
In my last dispatch, I shared that my next big CT scan is fast-approaching (on October 22, for those keeping track), and I detailed some of the healing practices, tools and modalities that have been informing my journey since I completed chemo. That post is now live on my blog at nilspalsson.org/news.
If you read my last post, you may recall that it was so long that I had to cut it in half and save the rest of it for later publication. Today, I humbly share with you the remainder of that writing, which focuses on the healing powers of self-expression, having fun, finding purpose, and the ongoing life-transformation that is at the center of my healing journey.
“Hopefully, we don’t need a near-death experience or a terrifying diagnosis like the one I got this year to wake us up to the preciousness of this life and the sacredness of this moment. But most of us could probably use a good nudge.”
Creativity and Livelihood
All the massage, acupuncture, herbs, supplements and green juice in the world — and for that matter, all the chemotherapy and surgery in the world — pales in comparison to the transformationally healing power of really getting the messageof a particular dis-ease... and acting on it.
And when it comes to this experience with cancer, I have been listening in, feeling deeply, and opening to the bold and life-changing invitations that this irresistible teacher has issued me.
The more I’ve interrogated my little visitor, the more clearly I’ve understood that the answer has a lot to do with living the life I was born to live and expressing myself with greater authenticity.
If cancer has told me to do one thing, it’s write.
Write, write, write.
Tell my story.
Sing my song.
When I say “sing my song,” I’m not talking about performing an actual musical piece, but rather sharing my heart-song, liberating my voice — offering up whatever gifts I have within me, and putting down this story I've carried for so long.
I do love to sing and make music, and I do believe I’ve got some literal song-writing in my future — but for now, if I use the phrase “sing my song,” I'm mostly referring to writing my book — and other pieces, including these emails and blog posts — with the intention of expressing myself and sharing my truth.
Most of the time, when I’m not focusing on the healing process in my body or being present with Satya, I have writing on my mind.
As I’ve come out of the all-consuming era of chemo — and as I make it through this period of follow-up care, recovering lost muscle, rebuilding my lungs, liver and cardiovascular health, and purging out the many toxins introduced into my system during chemo — I’m finding more and more time to dust off my old book project, work on my website, and get back to my creative roots.
My burgeoning interest in writing is reflected in my recent reading choices. While I spent most of the summer reading and listening to healing-oriented books like Radical Remission, When the Body Says No, and Choices in Healing, I’m currently finding myself most drawn to books on the craft of writing.
Around the time I completed chemo, I enjoyed re-reading The War of Art, an old favorite by Stephen Pressfield. I then went on to house the wonderful and hilarious Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott — followed quickly by the equally dazzling Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert, with whom I feel a very strong kindredness.
Most recently, I've finished reading The Art of Memoir by Mary Karr, and I've dusted off the old publishing how-to manual, Putting Your Passion into Print, by David Henry Sterry and Arielle Eckstut. I was also just gifted Stephen King’s On Writing, and currently on deck is Joan Frank’s Because You Have To: A Writing Life.
What does all this say about my interests and driving passion?
One guiding question I’ve considered lately was posed by Liz Gilbert in Big Magic.
Most of us have heard the question, what would you do if you knew you could not fail? — and it’s a great one for considering our desires. But Gilbert asks another, perhaps more profound one: what would you do if you knew you would not succeed?
It is not about what outcome we desire, because the outcome is far away, and largely outside our control besides. The question is, in what process do we desire to engage? It’s not, what is the result you want? — but rather, what is the work that you choose to do?
Even if nobody reads it, even if it is scorned by reviewers and publishers (or, worse yet, ignored by them completely), I know that I need to get this book out.
It is a physiological need. I have a strong sense that this cancer came to me precisely because I was not heeding the call (and indeed had been actively suppressing it for so long).
Telling this story now truly feels like a matter of life and death. And when I get away on my own — when I go to the hot springs and return to my cottage or campsite after a soak, or when I have a weekend home alone while Satya is with her mother, or if I have extended time at my desk after she goes to bed or before she wakes up — what I eventually get around to is working on this sacred project.
And as I move into the next phase of my healing and recovery, with a few hours cleared each morning between getting Satya to school and picking her up or working out, what I’m most animated to do is cobble away at my humble book, Go Back and Fetch It.
“We cannot put off living until we are ready. The most salient characteristic of life is its urgency, ‘here and now’ without any possible postponement. Life is fired at us point-blank.””
Most of you know that I am a teacher. And I always will be. And a big part of me is stoked to get back to the school where I teach, as I miss my students deeply. (Especially my seniors! Love you guys!)
I know some of my students are reading this, as I’ve seen them subscribing to my email list over the last several weeks. I also know my colleagues and employers are reading this, as members of my work community have really showed up as some of my strongest supporters and teammates during this time. So I sometimes feel a little sensitive when it comes to sharing this evolution I am feeling in my professional desires and aspirations.
I am truly excited to return to the QFA community, and wild horses could not stop me from being there for the graduation of the Class of 2022, most of whom were just starting out as freshmen the same year I joined the team as a first-year mentor!
And I also know that, for my healing to be complete — for me to achieve true and sustainable remission — I need to make some major progress on this book and on organizing my creative world before I return to the demanding work of a full-time teacher and high school administrator.
Even if (when!) my next CT scan is clear, and I’m successful in making it to the Promised Land of remission without needing any further treatment, my intention is to spend the next few months focusing on this deep healing work. As I write and organize my inner world, I am processing and putting to rest past traumas that will all become more clear to readers in due time. For now, I just know that I'm on the right track, and I need to keep walking it.
The modest disability payments I receive from the state are due to continue through late-winter or early-spring, which is when my oncologist initially suggested I could expect to return to work.
He must have known back in June that, while my three rounds of chemotherapy only lasted those initial three months, there would be plenty of follow-up healing and rebuilding (both physically and emotionally) needed after that incredibly arduous summer.
The proceeds of the healing fundraiser my friend started for me are not only helping me deal with the primary pile of medical bills I’ve gotten from doctor visits and CT scans and chemotherapy and countless blood draws, and not only helping me to afford the complementary healing modalities and supplements I shared about in my last dispatch; they are helping me to afford the general cost of living (including rent, food, childcare and utilities) I need to meet whilst gratefully concluding this extended healing and creative retreat.
Once we meet the goal of this healing fundraiser, you can look forward to more exciting ways to enjoy my content and support my work, including though my Patreon page, on my website and YouTube channel, and via other avenues I’ll be sharing soon.
When I do return to my work in education, I desire to be rejuvenated and revivified, secure in my remission, and organized in my creativity — with enough of a head start on my book and other personal projects that I can meaningfully weave continued content-creation into my daily life going forward.
My vision is to return to work in a more balanced way that truly honors my emerging lifestyle preferences and makes space for my concurrent job of saying what I have to say and writing what I have to write. I envision working more from home and setting more unique work hours that allow for more independent writing time and being present for my daughter, which (I’ve noticed during these initial weeks of recovery) is an important need of mine.
With hard work, focus, and support from my community, I trust that I can create a meaningful and joyful life that celebrates and balances my varied passions and interests, all while successfully providing for my daughter and doing good service in the world.
Bucket Lists and Healing
How many times have you heard this story?
Person is diagnosed with some scary form of terminal illness and told by the doctor they have 6 months to live. Person makes some immediate and major moves to change their life (quits their stressful job, leaves their toxic spouse, comes out as the person they truly are).
Person focuses on doing what brings them the most joy, perhaps writing that novel they never had time for or taking that long-deferred trip around the world. Months later, person returns to the doctor only to find that they’ve recovered completely and there is no longer any evidence of illness.
Sound at all familiar?
It sure does to me.
Years ago, I read the book Spontaneous Healing by holistic wellness guru Andrew Weil, which explores not only the power of intention and visualization in bringing about remarkable remissions, but also the peerless healing power of making big changes and taking bold action to live our dreams, especially when confronted with seemingly insurmountable health challenges.
Dedicating time to Go Back and Fetch It seems to be a major part of what this experience of illness has been instructing me to do — something you can help me realize by becoming one of the inaugural pre-launch patrons on my Patreon site, which I'll be formally announcing in the coming weeks!
Another thing that cancer has been telling me since my recurrence was diagnosed: return to the wide world of travel!
I love traveling, and since becoming a dad, I’ve especially loved doing so with my daughter. We’ve road-tripped halfway across the country (screen-free!) and traipsed all over the West Coast. In 2017, when I was invited to attend the Transition Movement's International Hubs Conference in Santorso, Italy, I brought Satya along and showed her our ancestral homeland (on my mother's side) of northern Italy and southern Switzerland. And every time I've travelled with that girl, it has been a complete and utter blast.
A couple of years back, I took Satya Rose on a pilgrimage to my old home of New York City, where we enjoyed a carriage ride in Central Park, a cruise to the Statue of Liberty, a night on Broadway seeing our now-favorite musical, Wicked, and days upon days of walking Manhattan and eating more pizza than you can shake a breadstick at. It was one of the best weeks of my life.
Before Covid, I was planning to take Satya on a big trip to another major place from my past: London, where I lived in 2005. Like so many other would-be travelers of 2020, though, we ended up having to cancel that trip — and I swore I would use the refunded money to buy another pair of tickets overseas.
Then this bloody cancer episode happened, and out went my cash-on-hand (and, with it, all hope of crossing the Thames with Satya anytime soon).
But as this year has worn on, and as I’ve considered what it really means to heal — what it really means to live — I’m realizing that travel is just as essential a healing activity as diet, exercise, acupuncture, bodywork, or any of the supplements I’ve been taking.
The poet in me might even go so far as to say it’s as essential as water or breath itself.
After losing my dad, I read another one of those powerful texts that has had a major influence on my path: A Year to Live, by Stephen Levine. The book asks us all — whether or not we’ve been given a scary diagnosis by someone in a white coat — to embark on a journey of identifying (and doing!) what we would do if we had only a year remaining on this planet… and it gently posits that we ultimately might all benefit from living our entire lives this way.
The book guides us to pick a day about a year from now on which to ceremonially “die,” and supports us on the yearlong journey of setting things right, making amends, remembering and celebrating the gift of life we’ve already been given, and going about enjoying our final months in whatever manner would bring us most happiness and meaning.
As philosopher Jose Ortega y Gasset reminds us, “We cannot put off living until we are ready. The most salient characteristic of life is its urgency, 'here and now' without any possible postponement. Life is fired at us point-blank.”
Hopefully, we don’t need a near-death experience or a terrifying diagnosis like the one I got this year to wake us up to the preciousness of this life and the sacredness of this moment. But most of us could probably use a good nudge.
So how about it?
What would you do if you had just a year to live?
Where would you go?
What unfinished business would you want to clean up and close out?
What words or deeds would you hope to unleash before the hourglass runs out?
What deferred dreams would you stand up and realize at last?
For me, I’d spend time with my daughter, my mom, my sister, my family and friends. I’d look back on this life so far and give thanks. I’d reach out to some people and make amends for my past lapses. And I’d write this book.
Since my diagnosis, I’ve been working with increasing vigor on all of these projects, and as I enjoy this post-chemo energetic rebound, I desire to lean even more fully into this journey.
But there is one other thing I'd do with my "year to live."
I would take Satya on a big trip.
We would stop in New York and London, and then we'd voyage to our ancestral homeland (on my father's side) of Sweden and Finland, which we each have yet to see.
And, while I hope and desire (and, indeed, plan) to stick around this rock we call home for much more than another year, if I’m really living this life like I mean it, I’ve got to start acting on my dreams and taking big leaps.
In that spirit, I’ve begun to plan just such a big trip for this coming summer with Satya Rose, passing through my old home towns of New York City and London, then traveling by rail through some beautiful places in Europe (Paris, Amsterdam, and Copenhagen) before reaching the land of my forefathers: Sweden and Finland.
My grandpa was from a rural farming family near Malmo, in southern Sweden near the Baltic Sea. My grandmother’s family originated in northern Finland’s Lapland region, near Oulu. I’ve never been to either of these places — yet! — but insh'Allah, that’s all about to change.
I’m sharing this because I want to inspire everyone, even those without recent diagnoses of scary diseases, to make big moves and take those trips you’ve been putting off — and because, when I do take the plunge and book tickets for Satya and Dada’s Scandinavian Adventure, I want to do it without feeling any guilt or perceiving any need to hide my joy.
As the old Swedish saying goes, shared grief is half-grief; shared joy is double-joy.
So many friends and family members (and even distant relations and strangers) have given so selflessly to my healing fundraisersince it launched this summer after the diagnosis of my cancer recurrence — and all along, the purpose has been to help me survive the ordeal, continue paying bills, and maintain some stability and normalcy in my life. And I appreciate it beyond measure.
And.
With the hell that I walked through this summer, the dark corridors I've had to traverse, the sacrifices I’ve made in order to live, and the lessons I’ve learned from the powerful teacher that is cancer, I’m also recognizing that what I need in order to truly realize this healing journey is more than survival and bill-paying normalcy: It is thriving and living the extraordinary life I was put here to live — and sharing every beautiful moment of it with my loved ones.
I am very fortunate to have a great deal of hospitality out there in this beautiful world, including friends in New York and London and family all around Northern Europe to stay with, so planning and executing this trip wont be too much of a financial lift. I really just need to get us across the pond, score some Eurail passes, and spring for food and a few nights of lodging. And I am most excited to share this journey with my beloved daughter.
My strong intuitive sense is that, along with all the other healing modalities and practices I’ve committed myself to, and along with the writing and creative expression I’ve begun to focus my energy toward, making big moves to work through my bucket list will have a powerfully positive impact on my healing.
Even thinking about it, I can feel wellness surge in my body.
Since I’ve mentally begun to make these plans, I’ve felt some sensitivity about sharing them publicly — which makes me think, all the more, that I need to bring these visions to light. I hope you’ll understand and continue to support me as I prepare to take this next evolutionary leap!
So there you have it. Another (particularly long) portal into my soul and how I’m living and processing the healing journey these days.
I’m curious, as ever, to hear your feedback on any of this — and I’m grateful, as ever, for your companionship.
Thanks for being you!
Love,
Nils
