Staying Open to Life’s Magic

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about how easy it is to get stuck in our own heads—especially when life throws something heavy our way. You know those moments when the world feels like it’s shifted beneath your feet, and all you can see is what’s been lost or broken? I’ve had my share of those moments, and I know how hard it can be to stop replaying the same painful thoughts over and over, almost like your mind has forgotten how to find the light again.

When something major happens—an illness, a loss, a disappointment—it’s natural to fall into that space of “why me?” or “this isn’t fair.” Sometimes it feels like the only place there is to stand. But I’ve also learned that staying there too long can quietly steal our joy, one thought at a time. The risk is getting stuck in a negative thought loop. Trust me, I’ve been there more than I would like to admit throughout this past year.

What I have learned and come to believe is that we have a choice, even when it doesn’t feel like it. The choice to shift our focus, to gently interrupt the spiral of negativity, and start looking—really looking—for the good that still exists around us.

It’s not about pretending everything’s OK when it isn’t. We need to feel the feelings—all of them: the sadness, the anger, the fear, the disappointment. They’re real, and they deserve our attention. But once we’ve felt them, we can start to open a little space for something else—something softer.

For me, that shift began with noticing, paying attention, becoming the observer, keeping my mind and heart wide open. Ultimately, I decided to stay open to life’s magic.

It may be the sun rising in the morning, painting the horizon with its beautiful hues.
It may be the music of Psithurism when walking through the forest, surrounded by the trees.
It may be an unexpected text, call, or visit from a friend who happens to know just what I need, exactly when I need it.

Those small, simple things—they are life’s magic. They remind me that beauty still exists, even when things are hard.

Late September, I learned of two new tumors in my brain. They were growing—in fact, had doubled in size over a three-month period. Fast forward to Thanksgiving weekend, I found myself at Sunnybrook Health Sciences Centre in Toronto, undergoing gamma knife radiosurgery with hopes of stabilizing. Another MRI in a few weeks will tell the tale. With metastatic disease continuing to return to my brain, we are currently discussing possible treatment plans.

In the meantime, I have built and I’m hyper-focused on a daily routine to heal inflammation in my brain and get my body to a state of optimal health—to ultimately starve cancer cells and prepare for possible treatment in the weeks and months ahead. I’m consuming nutrient-dense foods and doing everything possible to keep my nervous system calm. My plan is ambitious and doable, with discipline and a little help from my friends.

I’ve received several comments lately about my energy, that it’s noticeably improved. To me, this means my regime is working. Part of my plan is to reduce stress and negativity in my world. Is that doable? I say yes!

Life is hard. You bet it is! It can also be beautiful and magical, all at the same time.

The minute I open my eyes every morning, I’m faced with my loss of vision. To be honest, most days, the complexity of it all causes me much more grief than this life-threatening disease that continues to attack my brain.

Whether it’s the terrifying experience I have each time I attempt to cross the street on my own (yes, I have stepped out in front of both a vehicle and a cyclist), the frustration of pushing through the simplest of day-to-day tasks, or the fact that I don’t always recognize people I have known for years, my brain is always on overload. Large social events have become a lesson in humility.

Yet, a big part of my healing plan begins every morning, as I sit with my gratitude journal. It’s become a sacred ritual for me. I write about the things I’m thankful for—some from the day before, some from my childhood years, and everything in between. At times it’s something profound; other times it’s as simple as the taste of my morning coffee or the sound of the birds chirping outside my window. But each time I put pen to paper, I can feel a shift inside of me. Gratitude loosens the grip of the negative thoughts and helps me come back to what’s real and good and alive.

Slowly, I start to remember, joy isn’t something that just happens to us. It’s something we choose. We choose it when we notice the light. We choose it when we pause to breathe in the moment. We choose it when we decide that, even in the face of adversity, we can stay open to life’s magic. That, to me, is what healing looks like—not a perfect life, but a heart that keeps choosing joy, again and again.

Sending joy, peace, love, and light out to everyone who could use a little extra, today and always,

XO