The Long View

Every morning when I get to work, I write out a list of the things I need and want to do for the day. The list is always long. On it, it has O'Melveny work and meetings, daily fitness goals, Foundation brainstorming, calls with newly diagnosed patients or their spouses/children/etc., lunch and dinner plans, blog post ideas, and many, many other things. I tear through the list, day after day, happily attacking each task until the list is just a series of crossed out items. At the end of the day, I take a second to reflect, realizing that I've accomplished a serious amount of stuff. More importantly, though, I reflect on whether my day was truly valuable to myself and others -- did I connect with people, show my friends and family and colleagues that I love them, do my work with creativity and passion, take care of my body, make time to have fun? The answer is usually yes, but I still like to check. Then, I give thanks for the fact that I'm here, so alive and so well, and that I'm able to do exactly what I set out to do without physical limitations that hamstring so many people with cancer. If you wanted to know what goes on in the mind of WunderGlo on a daily basis, you just got it. It's all part of a larger goal. A much, much larger goal.

When you're told that your life is in jeopardy and could be ending soon, you start to think about the purpose of your life...what you want that purpose to be. Almost two years ago, cancer forced me to take the long view, and I'm not talking the 5-year-career-plan long view. I'm talking about the looooong view. As in, when I'm dead and gone -- whenever that may be (later rather than sooner, of course) -- what will be my legacy? When you think of your life in terms of your legacy, you've pretty much got the longest long view possible, since it extends way into the future to when you're no longer alive and able to shape that legacy. Loooooong view.

There are plenty of things I want to be remembered by, but the easiest and simplest way to explain my goal for my legacy is this: I want people to know that I lived. I want the world to know that I lived. I want to make that kind of an impact where the fact of my existence on this earth is known by people, and not just the people who know me personally. I'm talking serious impact here. I'm talking about making a profound difference by my efforts, my thoughts, my relationships and by the sum total of all the breaths I took while roaming around this planet.

It's a pretty big goal, but it's mine and it always has been, even before my diagnosis. So every day, I get up energized to tackle the big goal. I wake up inspired -- by the people and places I've loved and those I've yet to love, by the challenges of the day and of my diagnosis, by the beauty and pain and happiness and sadness that is a part of every human experience including my own. There is just SO MUCH in this world, and I want to drink it all up and be a part of it. It seems like a lot to drink up, but I've broken it down to make it more manageable. Every moment of my life is another sip of the biggest Big Gulp you've ever seen. Every moment is an opportunity to observe, grow, change, and affect things. It doesn't matter how grand or mundane the experience is -- whether I'm getting chemo, speaking in front of 100 people, fighting traffic (and singing in the car, no doubt) on the 101 Freeway, or watching Jaws for the 73rd time. Every moment is important. List by list, task by task, experience by experience, sip by sip.

There is no "down" time or "wasted" time when you take the long view. Every second is an opportunity to get out there and shape your legacy in big and small ways.

I've endured a lot to be here right now. Scalpels, scars, serious drugs. All in hopes of keeping me alive for as long as possible. I've worked hard and many others have worked hard on my behalf to ensure this moment. Because of all that, I know how precious each moment is. I know how precious this moment is.

This moment is my opportunity to shape my legacy. And I'm taking it.