What's next, after five years and one month

Substack, speaking, and social media: the continuation of curious optimism

Hi!

It’s been a few weeks longer than I intended to take. I’ve missed you!

I missed writing, too.

I made a conscious decision to take two weeks off in anticipation of the emotional weight of hitting my five-year cancerversary. As it turned out, I underestimated exactly how much the passing of the date would weigh on me—and after two weeks, I realized I needed another. And then one more.

After such a milestone, I think I was expecting to naturally and brilliantly come upon an “Aha! Here is what I am supposed to do next!” realization.

I’m not sure whether to blame naivety or alignment for that expectation; for a while, it seemed like insights were coming to me so easily. I suspect I mistakenly attributed that to where I was (feeling healed!) as opposed to the journey I was taking toward being healed: writing as a therapeutic tool to make sense of all the ideas swimming in my head—writing and speaking and t-shirts and TikTok and the next iteration of this Substack and dozens of other things. At night as I tossed and turned, they ordered and reordered themselves according to various priorities. I tried to listen to my inner voice, but ultimately concluded it might be as confused as I was.

This made me very cranky, and after two weeks I walked into my therapist’s office, slumped onto the couch, and sulked that I wanted a cheeseburger.

“You should probably have one,” she said agreeably.

By the end of the session, I had weekend plans in mind for a great burger and massages for Per and me—but no Substack. I had spent five years of life focused on the goal of survival—a very tight brief. With that context, I could accept that it might take me longer than a few weeks to decide what was next; I didn’t have to force myself to figure it out. I walked out feeling relaxed and unpressured; and when Per asked me how therapy was, I told him and then booked our massages.

The next day, during my Healing Spaces cohort, I received a journal prompt to capture the emotions I would feel if I were living my highest purpose. It was a hot-pen exercise: don’t think, just write:

My attention is immediately drawn to my heart, from which I feel positive energy bursting outward; I feel that energy travel from heart to my Italian hands, gesturing broadly. I am smiling, fully present in that moment, making a particularly cogent point to a group of people, to whom and with whom I felt connected, their uplifted energy reverberating back to me as they began to believe their potential to live happier, freer, more purposeful lives.

Maybe 45 seconds into this exercise, I realize that I am writing about speaking.

Oh.

I mean, duh. I’ve been talking about this cancer journey catalyzing a speaking career since literally days after my diagnosis. The fact that I found myself writing about speaking should not have taken me by surprise.

But I was embarrassed by it, and the cringe factor came out as I shared it with the group. My much-loved coach, Donna, gently probed about the disconnect between what I was saying and how I was saying it. As soon as she did, I started to understand why I hadn’t moved more naturally toward speaking in my quest for what might be next for me: speaking feels like the ULTIMATE ego-driven thing to want to do.

“I have figured something out!” speaking inherently says, “And I am ready to share my wisdom with you!”

I had spent enough time debating the role of ego versus soul in my life to be wary of anything that felt likely to push me in the wrong direction. The cancer landscape is full of survivors who are anxious to tell you how you can heal your cancer by doing exactly what they did; in comparison, my journey feels like equal parts inspiration and cautionary tale. Who am I to tell people what they should do?

But both this Substack and the Healing Spaces cohort have taught me a valuable lesson: healing happens in community. There is something magical that occurs when you commit to learning transparently with others; when you’re willing to say, here’s what I am experiencing, and here is what I think I might be learning about it; when you are curiously optimistic; and when you realize that there is no end to learning if you’re willing to open yourself to the stimulus and feedback of sharing with others.

What might it be like to pursue speaking—not with a goal of sharing an answer, but with the intent of creating continued learning for myself and curious optimism for an audience?

Once I come to grips with the idea of speaking as one of my long-term goals, a lot of the other things start to fall neatly into place, with the pleasant clicks of Tetris tiles organizing themselves without much effort.

Two days after writing this draft, but before sharing it with anybody, I met with a woman who had scheduled the time with me several weeks prior. It turns out she is a cancer survivor—and a speaker. She had also published her own memoir—something I’d still like to do, and a thought that was initially prompted by my hope of legitimizing and sparking a speaking career.

That same evening, I received a text from a friend, who wondered if I might be interested in speaking at an event; by the following afternoon, it was confirmed.

I’d like to think the universe is sending me signs on I’m the right path. I’m back to thinking about purchasing that ivory Alexander McQueen suit.

My plan is to keep writing here—a mix of day-to-day reflections and longer articles where I explore some of my past year’s learning in deeper form and with broader sources of expertise. The kind of writing that might inform a book, or a speech. Plus, a recipe from time to time—but only if they are good enough that I truly think they would make your life better if you tried them. I promise.

I already have a lemony turkey, beans, and greens soup recipe that is ready to go (and way better than it sounds).

And I’m bracing myself to go back to TikTok—knowing that being there consistently will be good practice for speaking and good for building a platform; and that committing to consistency will force me to be simpler and more straightforward and authentic, so Per doesn’t get bogged down in hours of editing.

As my art director, he’d probably rather be designing t-shirts (also part of the plan). And helping me to rebrand this Substack—most likely as We Are All Made of Stars, complete with a new logo I’m hoping you’ll help me create. Note: your next “send me stars” request is coming soon.

I’m so looking forward to continuing to share—and to keep healing with you in community.

Gina

One last summer haircut