Six.

When you fight cancer, they tell you about the things you will have to battle. About the hair loss, the sick, the weight loss, the mouth sores, the bed sores, the surgeries, the deformations, the knee replacements, the infections, the fevers. It's information overload, and you try to soak it all in, but the knowledge slowly settles into your bones as your treatment becomes a routine. The slow repetition of infusions, complications and surgical procedures wrap around you in twisted vines until you understand.

But they don't tell you about the fight after cancer. The guilt. The confusion. The emotional damage that sits in the back corners of your stomach and rears it's head at the most inconvenient and surprising times. And they don't tell you what it's like to cope with life after cancer. The limp. The unstable joints. The questions. The label that you can never seem to shake.

They don't tell you about that fight. You just discover that battle all on your own. And then you either let it sink you, or you survive it.

And I refuse to be anything but a survivor.

I am six years cancer free.

I've nearly forgotten about that emotional damage that is still hiding out somewhere in my gut. I mean, I know it's still there because sometimes it rears its ugly little head and comes bursting forth. But I've accepted that it will take a long time to recover from it all, because here's the thing: you don't just come back from cancer. You don't just accept your survival and everyone else's death. You don't just say: "I had cancer and it's okay." Terrible things happen! And it's okay to be human and to feel sad about them. Here's the secret though, about terrible things. It is possible to come back from them, eventually, because beautiful things happen too. And I would never know; never see, never appreciate the beautiful things I have seen in the last six years without experiencing the terrible. I would never know the hope of the Gospel of the LDS church. I would never appreciate the incredible rush of falling in love that I experienced with my Best Friend. I would never know what it means to love someone unconditionally as I have loved my 32 second graders all the way in China. I would never value the sunset over the Yellow Sea, the way my car warms up in the morning, the way my knees bend as I walk upstairs, painting my roommates toes, taking afternoon naps, singing with the windows rolled down. I would never love those little things the way I do now, because I never knew how beautiful they all were. And for that, I am grateful for the terrible thing that was cancer. I am so incredible grateful for it.

I am still putting myself back together; even six years later, and I've come to realize that I might be putting myself back together for the rest of my life. But I am putting myself back together. And that is all that matters.

I am six years cancer free. And sometimes, I forget I even had cancer. But I did. I had cancer and I fought it every day. And it was terrible. But it was beautiful, too.

And every day is a continued battle and I continue to fight it. Because that's what being a cancer survivor is all about, really. Not just surviving, but fighting it every day. And loving every minute of it.

I am six years cancer free.

Fall in love

with the world.

After quitting his job, photographer and artist Kien Lam took a trip around the world. Over the course of a year, he visited 17 countries and took 6,237 photographs. Wanting to share his epic journey with others, Lam put his photos together to create a kind of time-lapse video. In a little less than five minutes, viewers are treated to beautiful shots of the U.S., England, France, Portugal, Spain, Morocco, Egypt, Turkey, Jordan, Thailand, Indonesia, Japan, Argentina, Uruguay, Chile, Bolivia, and Peru.

And we shed what was left of our summer skin

Cazz and I; we used to go for long drives on afternoons when the sun was bright and the wind was warm. And as I walked into my apartment today after a long day of being inside of an office, all's I could think of was how much I missed hot piece of metal of mine and the sheer sense of freedom that he gave me when I rolled down my windows, turned up the music and took a left instead of a right. Flat fields and clear skies and being one with the golden fields colored by September. I long for that. Yearn for it. It is when I feel the most peace and the most alive, all in one moment.

Today, Paige called me and told me that she wanted to go for a drive, because it was so stinking beautiful out.

And within three minutes she was at my apartment, and we had the windows rolled down and there was no destination, although we eventually ended up at the haunted swings in the back fields of Idaho. It's a single solitary patch of grass, surrounded by trees and two old wooden swings hanging from a rusted frame. And Paige and I sat and swung life away and let the Indian sun warm our backs and we talked about boys and first kisses and futures and how glorious these kinds of days are, when the wind is warm and the sun is slowly setting. And even though I had homework and Paige had a sore throat, it didn't matter. For a few minutes, there wasn't a single care in the world.

I really like the way Idaho makes me feel sometimes.

I'm busy and stressed and my soggy chemo brain is trying to retain so much,

but when I'm sitting in the middle of these vast potato fields, with a good friend and the sun,

everything is okay.

Everything will work out.

Happy Monday.

I'm not dying!

I used to hate my scar. It was puckery and red and just downright ugly and it was a constant reminder about the (excuse my language) Hell I went through when I was 16. And I hated that I would never be able to escape it; that I would always be marked and reminded of the things I had lost and would never get back.

But that was when I was 16 and still coming to grips with cancer and the fact that I was fighting for my life every day. Now that I'm a tad bit older and I can see that cancer is one of the best things that has happened to me (although I never want to have to go through it again), I have learned to love and embrace my scar. It is a daily reminder that I can overcome anything placed in my way; that I was given this life because I am the only one strong enough to live it. It reminds me not to take things for granted; to take the time to walk down the drive way and get the mail because I can. Every time I look at those 16 inches of imperfect skin, I think about the people I love that are in my life because of that dumb tumor named Ricardo. It is my badge of courage. I have accepted that it will be there forever and I don't mind it anymore. And on some days, I actually love it.

Something that I had to learn to deal with since my first surgery was the awkward questions and looks that I would get. It's funny how bold people can be when they see something out of the ordinary. Or how ignorant. On an almost daily basis during the summer, I get the look up and down, the puzzled glance or a statement along the lines of: "Wow, that's a doozy! What did you do?" or "ACL injury, huh?" or "You are too young to have an injury like that" or my personal favorite: "It looks like you're dying."At first, it irritated me. Didn't people have the common decency to not ask about something so personal? Does it look like it was a simple ACL injury? Yes, I know I'm too young to have such a bad knee. DO I LOOK LIKE I'M DYING? Now, I just brush it off and skirt around it if I can. And since August 24th, I can now proudly and with great relief say: "No, I am not dying." Because, in fact, I am five years cancer free. And in the great cancer medical world, that is as closed to "cured" as I will ever get. 

Can I tell you what it's like to be five years cancer free? It's like coming up for air after being underwater for too long. It's like waking up to the sunshine after a weeks worth of rain. It's like I can finally look forward for longer then five minutes without having to look over my shoulder to make sure something isn't creeping up on me. It's like the whole world has finally opened up before me, and it's brighter and more vivid and stunning then I've ever seen, because it is. I don't take things for granted like I used to. And my life is full of opportunities that I can finally take a hold of without anything holding me back because I'm not afraid to be away from Boston for long periods of time. I'm not afraid of losing my ability to breathe. I'm not afraid of my knee failing. I'm. not. afraid. 

I guess I never was afraid of cancer coming back, because if I had to live with that kind of fear, I would have drowned. But I was afraid of having to put my life on hold in order to fight it again. But now I feel like I can finally live without that fear. I can make plans and follow through with them. I can even go to China.

So, no, man at the McDonalds in Raymond, I'm not dying! In fact, I am very, very much alive.

I believe in miracles. In second chances. In love. In God. In answered prayers. In life.

sunset

But I know you will be back tomorrow.

Sunrise

 "It was a lovely meaning too lovely to put into words, which makes the dream so beautiful that you remember it all your life and are always wishing you could get into that dream again. It was like that now."

C.S. Lewis

On being alive

Today, Katie and I spent the morning buzzing around camp on the ATV, unlocking doors to the cabins, opening up waterfront and checking campsites. Then, Mom assigned us the task of visiting each latrine and making sure that they had lime buckets ("if you tinkle, use a sprinkle. if you poop, use a scoop") and cleaning check-lists. The sun was shining and the air was muggy and heavy with a lingering morning haze. I let Kate drive for a bit while I scribbled notes on the clipboard in an inky red pen. We were down at the amphitheater when all of a sudden, out of absolutely nowhere, the skies opened up and literally dumped buckets upon us. It was my turn to drive and Katie was laughing in the back as I gunned the throttle and shot up the hill towards the office; the rain drops hitting my face like a million tiny cold stings that imprinted into my skin. I could feel the water run down my knees and seep into my socks. I could feel it rolling across my checks and into the crevices of my ears as we raced through the wind. My hair was plastered in flat clumps to my forehead and my hands were turning numb in as I gripped the handles in an azure haze of oncoming water. I was laughing uncontrollably as I felt my mascara drip down in bold black lines and as Katie urged me onward in the most perfect summer rainstorm, I felt more alive then I have in months. And it was so beautiful.

I'm just in love with this world

and photographers who can take shots like these and compile them into products like this. 

Life is so beautiful

The Mountain from Terje Sorgjerd on Vimeo.

America, the Beautiful

I drove across the country this weekend.
I drove across the country this weekend.
And it was one of the most beautiful experiences ever.

I never understood how beautiful America was until this weekend. Every inch; every state has some kind of incredible aura to it. Stunning.

Eastern Utah has these beautiful Mesas that rise up from the ground with different layers of brown and black sediments streaking in lines. There is this weird rock canyon that I-70 winds through by Price, UT. The cliffs look like sea-sponge; all of these holes and arches carved out in intricate patterns that glow in the setting sun and cast shadows across the highway.

The Rockies in Colorado are massive and as you climb up through them, you pass through little ski-resort towns that are literally built into the sides of the mountains. The pass between these massive slopes is so narrow that West bound is built some 50 feet higher then East bound, almost like a double decker bridge. And at night, all's you can see are these shadows of the peaks and the constant curve of the highway as you climb and climb until you are 11,000 feet in the air.

Kansas is not dull and boring; like many people have told me. We drove through it at night and well into the morning, and the Kansas night sky is nothing like I have ever seen. It's even better then the sky in Idaho at the dunes. Thousands and thousands of stars, like illuminated grains of sand, scattered across the sky. And the sun rise over a flat horizon, with the edges of the world tinged in pink and soft orange as this massive golden globe creeps up and up, spreading the light across long fields.

Missouri and Illinois was filled with warm air that was heavy and made all of the trees that are sprouting green sway in the breeze. Little white blossoms on trees flew around in the wind and a light scent of flowers carried across everywhere.

Indianapolis, Indiana is one of the cleanest, streamlined cities I've ever driven through, and quiet for a city. Everything glows in the classic city glow, but there is a distinct glow to this city. It's alive with culture and growth.

Ohio has hills and hills and hills and highways that wind through them and roll up and down.

Pennsylvania has a lot of deer and trees and trees and trees that creep up over the road and cast beautiful shadows across the pavement.

Rural New York is breathtaking and historic. Beautiful colonial houses line the streets and stretch into the foothills of the mountains.

And then there is New England, and my beloved New Hampshire; which is a realm of it's own. There is something so distinct about New England air; it is so fresh and clean. The sun shines in rays; through the trees and there is such a gentle breeze that wafts life through every corner of my house.

America is beautiful and after seeing so much of it this last weekend, I know, without a doubt; that God is in the details. Nothing, but a higher power, could have created something so beautiful. This, I believe.

oh and also. New England sets my soul on fire and my heart will always belong to New Hampshire.
i love being home.