"What that means is that it is highly likely that you have cancer."

 

My head was spinning. This is what my doctor said when I asked, "So, what does all of that mean in plain English?" after hearing a whole bunch of medical jargon that meant absolutely nothing to me. She said it in an even, matter-of-fact tone, like this was something she had said a million times before, like it was nothing new or surprising, like she was answering a trivial question such as, "How much is this gum?"

 

I got this unexpected phone call from my doctor in the middle of a workday. It was around lunchtime. It was the middle of June 2022. I mistakenly thought I could continue my workday like nothing had happened. I attended two more meetings after that call with my doctor. I wasn't present in those meetings. I eventually realized it wasn't going to work. I cleared my calendar and started googling all the medical terminology that I had managed to jot down as my doctor was spewing those words at me.

 

According to Google, the survival rate for thyroid cancer is very high. It is rarely fatal. And it tends to stay in one spot rather than spreading to other organs. Okay, so that is good news. I will probably live. Would the quality of my life be the same though? What type of treatment would I have to go through? What does that mean for my young family? By the way, is this fucking real? Is it really happening to me right now? Am I awake? Could this be a mistake? Humans make mistakes all the time. Doctors make mistakes. Could this be one of those mistakes that I will be able to laugh about someday? Cancer? Really? I am 37. A fit, healthy, happy (well, until a few hours ago, I certainly was) 37-year-old.

 

I had taken health for granted. I was presumptuous, overconfident about my health. The narrative I told myself, consciously and unconsciously, was, "I am healthy. I was born healthy, thankfully. I am able-bodied. My physical body is here to do what my mind tells it to do. It has functioned without failing and will continue to do so. I have a few more decades before I have to worry about fixing malfunctioning parts of my body." In this story, my body was no different from a machine - like a laptop or a car. They function well without needing repairs during their prime, as long as they aren't faulty ones. After their prime, sure, a few things might need to be fixed. But for most of their life, they work well and can even take some abuse as long as it's not too extreme. I'm from a family known for keeping cars for a long time. Most vehicles my parents owned served us well for over a decade. One of them was with us for more than two decades - a silver Hyundai Santa Fe. I was that Santa Fe in my story.

 

Our dear Santa Fe functioned just fine without much maintenance for most of its life. I was supposed to be like that car. I was too young to have any major illness. I was in my prime, still in my thirties. The news came a month before my 38th birthday. Yes, I suppose it's fair to say I had abused my body more than enough by not getting adequate sleep, not working out enough, and spending too many hours at my desk studying and working. But I was too indestructible to be affected by those small abuses, wasn't I?

 

Because I was so convinced of this narrative that I had created and repeatedly told for so long, I found myself completely numb, shocked, and in denial. I thought it was far more likely that somebody had made a mistake somewhere between the ultrasound clinic and my doctor's office than that cancer cells were present in my body. That year, we were dealing with my mother-in-law's terminal cancer. Even when the disease was so close to me in that way, the news I heard from the doctor was still too shocking. I'm just too young and healthy for this, I thought.

 

I felt terrible about sharing the news with my husband. He had been managing so well the stress and sadness caused by his mother's illness. His mom meant so much to him, and her battle with cancer was incredibly difficult for him, even though he rarely showed it. True to his nature, he remained calm and positive while being realistic and rational. This is truly his superpower. "We weren't told that you have cancer. We were told it might be cancer. We'll go through the testing and find out whether it is cancer or not, and if it is, we'll do what needs to be done," he said. "You are healthy and strong. Even in a scenario where we have to go through treatment, you will manage well. And of course, I will be there with you and for you."

 

That day, after spending more time researching, I stood up, closed my laptop, and looked at my home office. It was quintessentially me. I work from home most of the time, and this space is designed to suit my needs—just for me, no one else. This is the area in our house that I cherish and enjoy the most during my alone time. I looked at it and took a picture that day. I have a vivid memory of thinking, tears welling up, "Will I be able to use this space the way I have so far? Will I be able to work as I have? Will I be alive to use this space?" Despite what Google showed me, because the prevalent perception of cancer is that of a terminal disease, I went through such an emotional roller coaster that day. One moment thinking, "It's just a tiny nodule, so even in the worst-case scenario, I'll be able to get surgery to remove it and be more than fine. Remember? I'm indestructible." And the next moment being completely paranoid: "What if it has already spread to other parts of my body, or worse, what if it originated elsewhere and spread to my thyroid, and other organs are covered with cancer? What if this thyroid cancer is just the tip of a giant iceberg and I'm completely doomed? What should I do now? What about my daughter? She's only 4. What about my husband? And how would my parents take this news?" As I write this paragraph, I am reliving this moment, and my heart is racing.

 

During the next two months, as I was being referred to specialists and undergoing two biopsy tests, I pondered questions such as:

• If my life were to end soon, what would I be remembered for? What did I live my life for? What legacy would I leave behind?

• If I couldn't live and work as I have, and many aspects of my life needed to be altered and compromised, what would I prioritize?

• My life has to mean something, doesn't it? What does it mean to be alive?

 

What I couldn't come to terms with was that my life could end before I had really begun to live it. I mean, I was living with intention. I was enjoying my life to a large degree. I had created a family of my own that I cherished above all else. I had built a career I was passionate about through years of hard work. I had done my best each moment, most of the time, throughout my life. Yet, if I were to die here and now, could I confidently say what I had lived my life for? What my purpose was?

 

The first biopsy result was inconclusive, necessitating another test, which heightened my anxiety. The second result indicated that the chance of the thyroid nodule being cancerous was slim. The specialist determined that the probability was too low to warrant surgery for removal. Those two months of uncertainty - testing and waiting for results - were extraordinarily stressful, to put it mildly. I was naturally relieved and thought, "See? I'm indestructible. There is no cancer. It was just a brief nightmare. I'm awake now. Moving on." Or so I thought...

 

The greatest fear I experienced that summer was imagining one of my worst nightmares becoming reality: not being able to be there for my daughter throughout her life as she experiences its ups and downs. The thought of not being there to laugh with her, cry with her, celebrate her victories, and comfort her. The possibility of not being her biggest champion, sometimes a quiet supporter and other times her loudest cheerleader. Not being able to share stories that would help her learn about her roots, discover her identity, and explore life's endless possibilities. These thoughts were haunting me.

 

In October 2023, I ultimately underwent surgery to remove the nodule. The follow-up biopsy from summer 2023 (a year after that unexpected call from my doctor) indicated it was highly suspicious for cancer. The recommended course of action was surgical removal. Just before the anesthesia took effect, as I lay on the operating table in that frigid room, one thing that did comfort me was that my first book had been published. It was a collection of authentic, raw stories written in my true voice. Whatever happened, my daughter would have that piece of me. This was my final thought before drifting into unconsciousness.

 

​

Living with Purpose and Urgency

 

If these experiences taught me anything, it's the importance of living with purpose and urgency. Not spending a single moment on autopilot, but approaching every minute with clear intention. Not postponing pursuits with the assumption that abundant time and opportunities lie ahead. Instead, embracing each moment fully, right here, right now.

 

I believe everything happens for a reason. Yes, it's cliché, but I truly believe it. After that initial health scare in summer 2022 (which proved legitimate a year later), I persistently questioned, "What is my life's purpose?" I devoted considerable effort to aligning my time with that purpose. Through relentless questioning and pondering, I arrived at this purpose statement: to share authentic stories of living boldly and purposefully, inspiring others to do the same.

 

I deeply desire to connect with people on a fundamental human level. This differs from typical "networking" connections. We all share the universal desire to live fulfilling, joyful lives during our limited time here. That commonality binds us. We all experience exhilarating highs and devastating lows throughout our journey. This shared experience connects us profoundly. When we recognize and truly feel this connection with fellow human beings, we can practice genuine understanding, love, empathy, and compassion. Through this, we enrich each other's lives.

 

I contemplated how to prioritize my time and energy to fulfill this purpose. What immediate actions could I take? Where should I begin? These questions consumed me as I was staring at my purpose statement.

 

Writing has always come naturally to me. I began journaling at a young age, with my earliest memory being in sixth grade when I received a yellow notebook adorned with a large smiley face. I vividly remember deciding to use it as my journal.

 

Since then, writing has been my constant companion. I didn't really question why I did it, especially since no one had prompted me and there were no expectations (unlike most activities during my school years, which were dictated by others' expectations). It became a private dialogue between me and my thoughts. Sometimes it served as an outlet for anger and frustration, other times as a creative expression, and occasionally as a daily chronicle. Writing became integral to my routine, my existence. I cannot imagine not releasing my thoughts or capturing them in written form.

 

Another passion of mine is reading. I enjoy both nonfiction works that prompt deep contemplation and fiction that transports me to different worlds. I deeply admire authors who possess the exceptional ability and courage to transform their thoughts and imagination into words, allowing readers a glimpse into their minds. Publishing my own book had always been a dream.

 

As I pondered how to fulfill my purpose, my thoughts kept returning to this aspiration. But self-doubt crept in: How dare I? Yes, I want to share stories that can inspire others, but do I have worthwhile stories to tell? Especially the kind worthy of publication? Simply wanting to write doesn't grant me permission, does it? Have I reached the necessary milestone to attempt something as bold as publishing? I repeatedly told myself this story of "not good enough" and "not yet," becoming trapped in this limiting belief.

 

"Empowering" best describes my journey with my first book, Perfectly Incomplete. The process of taming self-doubt enough to begin writing, persisting when uncertainty threatened to drag me into powerlessness, finally publishing to share my stories with the world, and receiving readers' feedback proved to be one of my most exhilarating adventures. This journey is one of the most empowering steps I've ever taken to steer my life in the direction I wanted. I felt particularly strong and powerful—not the type of power over others, but the type of power to push myself through no matter what—especially after the health scare that had left me feeling extremely vulnerable.

 

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The Stories We Tell

 

To live the life we desire, it is so critical that we recognize the stories we believe in and constantly tell ourselves. We need to actively rewrite those that hinder rather than enable and empower us to live authentically.

 

Isn't life essentially a collection of stories and beliefs? I invite you to pause and think about this. The narratives we consistently tell ourselves shape our reality. The belief that cancer meant terminal illness (or at least was life-altering) sent me on that emotional roller coaster. The conviction that my first book would guide my daughter throughout her life provided comfort as I lay on the operating table. The belief that sharing stories creates human connection and that my experiences might benefit others motivates me to continue writing. Believing I was too young to worry about health led me to neglect it. Assuming I was too healthy for a cancer diagnosis left me shocked and in denial. The belief that I was insignificant and my stories weren't worth sharing initially paralyzed my writing efforts.

 

Since publishing Perfectly Incomplete, many readers have shared that they too struggle with impostor syndrome and hear similar experiences from others. Impostor syndrome wasn't the book's focus. I shared numerous instances of facing self-doubt and eventually overcoming it enough to publish. Our internal narratives can create impostor syndrome and trap us in endless cycles of uncertainty.

 

Readers also appreciated the authentic, vulnerable stories shared in the book. They felt seen and heard, encouraged to embrace their authentic selves. Many stories I hesitated to include (fearing they revealed too much incompetence, stupidity, or naiveté) resonated deeply with readers, I was told.

 

We humans share more commonalities than differences. Our beliefs and personal narratives often overlap. Some become cultural touchstones affecting generations. Unfortunately, not all these shared stories are positive or healthy. They can breed self-doubt, derail dreams, create adversaries, and trap us in negativity, shame, and blame.

 

I looked into the stories I had been telling myself - the stories that helped me get to where I am, the stories that discouraged me for so long. I verbalized them and put them into words. Doing this exercise helped me decide which ones to keep, change, or toss.

 

This book is a collection of those stories: the stories I told myself in the past and the stories I'm telling myself now to continually discover myself, tap into my previously untapped potential, and live the purpose of sharing authentic stories of living boldly and purposefully to inspire others to do the same.

 

 

How the Book Is Structured

 

This book comprises two sections: Past and Present. The first section presents narratives that previously shaped my reality, which I've actively revised. The second section contains current stories I'm telling myself to create my desired reality.

 

Twenty chapters explore these evolving narratives. Each concludes with key learnings and recommended books. As an avid reader, suggesting thought-provoking and inspiring books is my way of sharing love. I have read every book I recommend in each of the chapters. I recommend them because I believe they are worthy of your time exploring. Including recommended readings in my first book, Perfectly Incomplete, received positive feedback from readers, inspiring me to continue this practice throughout this book.

 

Each chapter tells its own story. Feel free to jump to the chapter that calls to you more than the others. Or feel free to read sequentially.

 

Storytelling enables us to share our dreams, fears, and love. I'm about to share my stories with you. As you read them, I invite you to reflect on your own stories.

 

Thank you for grabbing this book. Thank you for tuning into my stories. Let's begin.