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A variation on Bert Grimm’s iconic tiger. Add one of my favorite things to draw, a nudie chick. And yes of course last night we binged all of tiger king. #tigerqueen

One year ago today I learned that I had breast cancer. I had undergone some imaging and diagnostic testing after reaching out to my doctor’s office over some abnormal discharge, and on Friday afternoon, April 17th, I believe by accident, my test results posted on my online healthcare portal system. I say by accident because it was Friday afternoon, these results posted, and I couldn’t get ahold of anyone in the office for explanation because it was the weekend. I had to wait until Monday morning when I got a call from the nurse practitioner who did my initial breast exam, breaking the news to me that I had already figured out. The test results from the biopsy were in a foreign language to me, I’m not too savvy with scientific medical jargon, but I could read “invasive ductal carcinoma” and I knew exactly what that meant. I didn’t know what that entailed, the severity, the details, what the next step would be, but I knew it meant I had cancer, something I never imagined at twenty-nine. I spent the rest of the weekend crying, taking deep breaths, reading articles and forums and hashtags, and watching every bad rom-com available to me to take my mind off things. Only my partner and I knew, and spent 2.5 days absorbing the news and what that future may look like, before I could talk to a professional about what it really all meant, before I shared the news with my loved ones and the public. None of it was expected, and none of the journey of treatment went as originally planned, every step seemed to have an unforeseen fork in the road and adaptability was the name of the game. Times where I thought I had let go and given myself to the process, I learned I really hadn’t quite fully given myself to the unpredictable flow, that planning was a cute thought but to never get your heart set on one possible outcome. I think today, I’m as close as I can be to that present moment focus, to truly giving myself to the process. It’s been a year since I opened that lab report, and I’ve learned 10,000 lessons in 365 long days. I am incredibly happy to be here, looking back at how far I’ve come in that one year.
#youngbreastcancer #cancerversary

One year ago today I learned that I had breast cancer. I had undergone some imaging and diagnostic testing after reaching out to my doctor’s office over some abnormal discharge, and on Friday afternoon, April 17th, I believe by accident, my test results posted on my online healthcare portal system. I say by accident because it was Friday afternoon, these results posted, and I couldn’t get ahold of anyone in the office for explanation because it was the weekend. I had to wait until Monday morning when I got a call from the nurse practitioner who did my initial breast exam, breaking the news to me that I had already figured out. The test results from the biopsy were in a foreign language to me, I’m not too savvy with scientific medical jargon, but I could read “invasive ductal carcinoma” and I knew exactly what that meant. I didn’t know what that entailed, the severity, the details, what the next step would be, but I knew it meant I had cancer, something I never imagined at twenty-nine. I spent the rest of the weekend crying, taking deep breaths, reading articles and forums and hashtags, and watching every bad rom-com available to me to take my mind off things. Only my partner and I knew, and spent 2.5 days absorbing the news and what that future may look like, before I could talk to a professional about what it really all meant, before I shared the news with my loved ones and the public. None of it was expected, and none of the journey of treatment went as originally planned, every step seemed to have an unforeseen fork in the road and adaptability was the name of the game. Times where I thought I had let go and given myself to the process, I learned I really hadn’t quite fully given myself to the unpredictable flow, that planning was a cute thought but to never get your heart set on one possible outcome. I think today, I’m as close as I can be to that present moment focus, to truly giving myself to the process. It’s been a year since I opened that lab report, and I’ve learned 10,000 lessons in 365 long days. I am incredibly happy to be here, looking back at how far I’ve come in that one year.
#youngbreastcancer #cancerversary

One year ago today I learned that I had breast cancer. I had undergone some imaging and diagnostic testing after reaching out to my doctor’s office over some abnormal discharge, and on Friday afternoon, April 17th, I believe by accident, my test results posted on my online healthcare portal system. I say by accident because it was Friday afternoon, these results posted, and I couldn’t get ahold of anyone in the office for explanation because it was the weekend. I had to wait until Monday morning when I got a call from the nurse practitioner who did my initial breast exam, breaking the news to me that I had already figured out. The test results from the biopsy were in a foreign language to me, I’m not too savvy with scientific medical jargon, but I could read “invasive ductal carcinoma” and I knew exactly what that meant. I didn’t know what that entailed, the severity, the details, what the next step would be, but I knew it meant I had cancer, something I never imagined at twenty-nine. I spent the rest of the weekend crying, taking deep breaths, reading articles and forums and hashtags, and watching every bad rom-com available to me to take my mind off things. Only my partner and I knew, and spent 2.5 days absorbing the news and what that future may look like, before I could talk to a professional about what it really all meant, before I shared the news with my loved ones and the public. None of it was expected, and none of the journey of treatment went as originally planned, every step seemed to have an unforeseen fork in the road and adaptability was the name of the game. Times where I thought I had let go and given myself to the process, I learned I really hadn’t quite fully given myself to the unpredictable flow, that planning was a cute thought but to never get your heart set on one possible outcome. I think today, I’m as close as I can be to that present moment focus, to truly giving myself to the process. It’s been a year since I opened that lab report, and I’ve learned 10,000 lessons in 365 long days. I am incredibly happy to be here, looking back at how far I’ve come in that one year.
#youngbreastcancer #cancerversary

One year ago today I learned that I had breast cancer. I had undergone some imaging and diagnostic testing after reaching out to my doctor’s office over some abnormal discharge, and on Friday afternoon, April 17th, I believe by accident, my test results posted on my online healthcare portal system. I say by accident because it was Friday afternoon, these results posted, and I couldn’t get ahold of anyone in the office for explanation because it was the weekend. I had to wait until Monday morning when I got a call from the nurse practitioner who did my initial breast exam, breaking the news to me that I had already figured out. The test results from the biopsy were in a foreign language to me, I’m not too savvy with scientific medical jargon, but I could read “invasive ductal carcinoma” and I knew exactly what that meant. I didn’t know what that entailed, the severity, the details, what the next step would be, but I knew it meant I had cancer, something I never imagined at twenty-nine. I spent the rest of the weekend crying, taking deep breaths, reading articles and forums and hashtags, and watching every bad rom-com available to me to take my mind off things. Only my partner and I knew, and spent 2.5 days absorbing the news and what that future may look like, before I could talk to a professional about what it really all meant, before I shared the news with my loved ones and the public. None of it was expected, and none of the journey of treatment went as originally planned, every step seemed to have an unforeseen fork in the road and adaptability was the name of the game. Times where I thought I had let go and given myself to the process, I learned I really hadn’t quite fully given myself to the unpredictable flow, that planning was a cute thought but to never get your heart set on one possible outcome. I think today, I’m as close as I can be to that present moment focus, to truly giving myself to the process. It’s been a year since I opened that lab report, and I’ve learned 10,000 lessons in 365 long days. I am incredibly happy to be here, looking back at how far I’ve come in that one year.
#youngbreastcancer #cancerversary

One year ago today I learned that I had breast cancer. I had undergone some imaging and diagnostic testing after reaching out to my doctor’s office over some abnormal discharge, and on Friday afternoon, April 17th, I believe by accident, my test results posted on my online healthcare portal system. I say by accident because it was Friday afternoon, these results posted, and I couldn’t get ahold of anyone in the office for explanation because it was the weekend. I had to wait until Monday morning when I got a call from the nurse practitioner who did my initial breast exam, breaking the news to me that I had already figured out. The test results from the biopsy were in a foreign language to me, I’m not too savvy with scientific medical jargon, but I could read “invasive ductal carcinoma” and I knew exactly what that meant. I didn’t know what that entailed, the severity, the details, what the next step would be, but I knew it meant I had cancer, something I never imagined at twenty-nine. I spent the rest of the weekend crying, taking deep breaths, reading articles and forums and hashtags, and watching every bad rom-com available to me to take my mind off things. Only my partner and I knew, and spent 2.5 days absorbing the news and what that future may look like, before I could talk to a professional about what it really all meant, before I shared the news with my loved ones and the public. None of it was expected, and none of the journey of treatment went as originally planned, every step seemed to have an unforeseen fork in the road and adaptability was the name of the game. Times where I thought I had let go and given myself to the process, I learned I really hadn’t quite fully given myself to the unpredictable flow, that planning was a cute thought but to never get your heart set on one possible outcome. I think today, I’m as close as I can be to that present moment focus, to truly giving myself to the process. It’s been a year since I opened that lab report, and I’ve learned 10,000 lessons in 365 long days. I am incredibly happy to be here, looking back at how far I’ve come in that one year.
#youngbreastcancer #cancerversary

One year ago today I learned that I had breast cancer. I had undergone some imaging and diagnostic testing after reaching out to my doctor’s office over some abnormal discharge, and on Friday afternoon, April 17th, I believe by accident, my test results posted on my online healthcare portal system. I say by accident because it was Friday afternoon, these results posted, and I couldn’t get ahold of anyone in the office for explanation because it was the weekend. I had to wait until Monday morning when I got a call from the nurse practitioner who did my initial breast exam, breaking the news to me that I had already figured out. The test results from the biopsy were in a foreign language to me, I’m not too savvy with scientific medical jargon, but I could read “invasive ductal carcinoma” and I knew exactly what that meant. I didn’t know what that entailed, the severity, the details, what the next step would be, but I knew it meant I had cancer, something I never imagined at twenty-nine. I spent the rest of the weekend crying, taking deep breaths, reading articles and forums and hashtags, and watching every bad rom-com available to me to take my mind off things. Only my partner and I knew, and spent 2.5 days absorbing the news and what that future may look like, before I could talk to a professional about what it really all meant, before I shared the news with my loved ones and the public. None of it was expected, and none of the journey of treatment went as originally planned, every step seemed to have an unforeseen fork in the road and adaptability was the name of the game. Times where I thought I had let go and given myself to the process, I learned I really hadn’t quite fully given myself to the unpredictable flow, that planning was a cute thought but to never get your heart set on one possible outcome. I think today, I’m as close as I can be to that present moment focus, to truly giving myself to the process. It’s been a year since I opened that lab report, and I’ve learned 10,000 lessons in 365 long days. I am incredibly happy to be here, looking back at how far I’ve come in that one year.
#youngbreastcancer #cancerversary

One year ago today I learned that I had breast cancer. I had undergone some imaging and diagnostic testing after reaching out to my doctor’s office over some abnormal discharge, and on Friday afternoon, April 17th, I believe by accident, my test results posted on my online healthcare portal system. I say by accident because it was Friday afternoon, these results posted, and I couldn’t get ahold of anyone in the office for explanation because it was the weekend. I had to wait until Monday morning when I got a call from the nurse practitioner who did my initial breast exam, breaking the news to me that I had already figured out. The test results from the biopsy were in a foreign language to me, I’m not too savvy with scientific medical jargon, but I could read “invasive ductal carcinoma” and I knew exactly what that meant. I didn’t know what that entailed, the severity, the details, what the next step would be, but I knew it meant I had cancer, something I never imagined at twenty-nine. I spent the rest of the weekend crying, taking deep breaths, reading articles and forums and hashtags, and watching every bad rom-com available to me to take my mind off things. Only my partner and I knew, and spent 2.5 days absorbing the news and what that future may look like, before I could talk to a professional about what it really all meant, before I shared the news with my loved ones and the public. None of it was expected, and none of the journey of treatment went as originally planned, every step seemed to have an unforeseen fork in the road and adaptability was the name of the game. Times where I thought I had let go and given myself to the process, I learned I really hadn’t quite fully given myself to the unpredictable flow, that planning was a cute thought but to never get your heart set on one possible outcome. I think today, I’m as close as I can be to that present moment focus, to truly giving myself to the process. It’s been a year since I opened that lab report, and I’ve learned 10,000 lessons in 365 long days. I am incredibly happy to be here, looking back at how far I’ve come in that one year.
#youngbreastcancer #cancerversary

One year ago today I learned that I had breast cancer. I had undergone some imaging and diagnostic testing after reaching out to my doctor’s office over some abnormal discharge, and on Friday afternoon, April 17th, I believe by accident, my test results posted on my online healthcare portal system. I say by accident because it was Friday afternoon, these results posted, and I couldn’t get ahold of anyone in the office for explanation because it was the weekend. I had to wait until Monday morning when I got a call from the nurse practitioner who did my initial breast exam, breaking the news to me that I had already figured out. The test results from the biopsy were in a foreign language to me, I’m not too savvy with scientific medical jargon, but I could read “invasive ductal carcinoma” and I knew exactly what that meant. I didn’t know what that entailed, the severity, the details, what the next step would be, but I knew it meant I had cancer, something I never imagined at twenty-nine. I spent the rest of the weekend crying, taking deep breaths, reading articles and forums and hashtags, and watching every bad rom-com available to me to take my mind off things. Only my partner and I knew, and spent 2.5 days absorbing the news and what that future may look like, before I could talk to a professional about what it really all meant, before I shared the news with my loved ones and the public. None of it was expected, and none of the journey of treatment went as originally planned, every step seemed to have an unforeseen fork in the road and adaptability was the name of the game. Times where I thought I had let go and given myself to the process, I learned I really hadn’t quite fully given myself to the unpredictable flow, that planning was a cute thought but to never get your heart set on one possible outcome. I think today, I’m as close as I can be to that present moment focus, to truly giving myself to the process. It’s been a year since I opened that lab report, and I’ve learned 10,000 lessons in 365 long days. I am incredibly happy to be here, looking back at how far I’ve come in that one year.
#youngbreastcancer #cancerversary

One year ago today I learned that I had breast cancer. I had undergone some imaging and diagnostic testing after reaching out to my doctor’s office over some abnormal discharge, and on Friday afternoon, April 17th, I believe by accident, my test results posted on my online healthcare portal system. I say by accident because it was Friday afternoon, these results posted, and I couldn’t get ahold of anyone in the office for explanation because it was the weekend. I had to wait until Monday morning when I got a call from the nurse practitioner who did my initial breast exam, breaking the news to me that I had already figured out. The test results from the biopsy were in a foreign language to me, I’m not too savvy with scientific medical jargon, but I could read “invasive ductal carcinoma” and I knew exactly what that meant. I didn’t know what that entailed, the severity, the details, what the next step would be, but I knew it meant I had cancer, something I never imagined at twenty-nine. I spent the rest of the weekend crying, taking deep breaths, reading articles and forums and hashtags, and watching every bad rom-com available to me to take my mind off things. Only my partner and I knew, and spent 2.5 days absorbing the news and what that future may look like, before I could talk to a professional about what it really all meant, before I shared the news with my loved ones and the public. None of it was expected, and none of the journey of treatment went as originally planned, every step seemed to have an unforeseen fork in the road and adaptability was the name of the game. Times where I thought I had let go and given myself to the process, I learned I really hadn’t quite fully given myself to the unpredictable flow, that planning was a cute thought but to never get your heart set on one possible outcome. I think today, I’m as close as I can be to that present moment focus, to truly giving myself to the process. It’s been a year since I opened that lab report, and I’ve learned 10,000 lessons in 365 long days. I am incredibly happy to be here, looking back at how far I’ve come in that one year.
#youngbreastcancer #cancerversary

One year ago today I learned that I had breast cancer. I had undergone some imaging and diagnostic testing after reaching out to my doctor’s office over some abnormal discharge, and on Friday afternoon, April 17th, I believe by accident, my test results posted on my online healthcare portal system. I say by accident because it was Friday afternoon, these results posted, and I couldn’t get ahold of anyone in the office for explanation because it was the weekend. I had to wait until Monday morning when I got a call from the nurse practitioner who did my initial breast exam, breaking the news to me that I had already figured out. The test results from the biopsy were in a foreign language to me, I’m not too savvy with scientific medical jargon, but I could read “invasive ductal carcinoma” and I knew exactly what that meant. I didn’t know what that entailed, the severity, the details, what the next step would be, but I knew it meant I had cancer, something I never imagined at twenty-nine. I spent the rest of the weekend crying, taking deep breaths, reading articles and forums and hashtags, and watching every bad rom-com available to me to take my mind off things. Only my partner and I knew, and spent 2.5 days absorbing the news and what that future may look like, before I could talk to a professional about what it really all meant, before I shared the news with my loved ones and the public. None of it was expected, and none of the journey of treatment went as originally planned, every step seemed to have an unforeseen fork in the road and adaptability was the name of the game. Times where I thought I had let go and given myself to the process, I learned I really hadn’t quite fully given myself to the unpredictable flow, that planning was a cute thought but to never get your heart set on one possible outcome. I think today, I’m as close as I can be to that present moment focus, to truly giving myself to the process. It’s been a year since I opened that lab report, and I’ve learned 10,000 lessons in 365 long days. I am incredibly happy to be here, looking back at how far I’ve come in that one year.
#youngbreastcancer #cancerversary

Gouache 2020. A reminder.

Ray Carver died of lung cancer at 50. This poem of his is inscribed on his tombstone. It's final poem in the last book of poetry he wrote shortly before his passing.
I read a lot this year about the frailty of life. I feel I've looked death in the eyes more than ever in the last 3 years of my existence. I spent much of this year working on myself in quiet ways. I remembered how to live life with intention and with reasons that feel right to me, to live steeped in reality and the present moment and not for the gaze of an arbitrary mass, for the approval of something outside myself, or in search of "what's next?" This year I lost love, lost people, lost some of the dreams I envisioned my life to be. Had my heart absolutely shattered. This year I learned to welcome grief into my world as a constant. A friend you have to sit with from time to time, something that goes hand in hand with experiencing great joy or love or beauty. With these losses, I gained the opportunity to open my heart up further, to crack myself down the middle, rip everything wide open and sift through all the darkest parts. With great pain comes tremendous growth. Life will never be without loss or hurt. Move with love and kindness. Don't leave this world with people guessing where you stood, tell them while you have the chance. Love while you have the chance, this moment is the only one we have. This time around is the only one that matters. Say what you mean and mean what you say, don't forget that words mean things. Your actions count.
Thank you to all of you who keep sticking around, really. I'll be seeing you soon. ♥

Ray Carver died of lung cancer at 50. This poem of his is inscribed on his tombstone. It's final poem in the last book of poetry he wrote shortly before his passing.
I read a lot this year about the frailty of life. I feel I've looked death in the eyes more than ever in the last 3 years of my existence. I spent much of this year working on myself in quiet ways. I remembered how to live life with intention and with reasons that feel right to me, to live steeped in reality and the present moment and not for the gaze of an arbitrary mass, for the approval of something outside myself, or in search of "what's next?" This year I lost love, lost people, lost some of the dreams I envisioned my life to be. Had my heart absolutely shattered. This year I learned to welcome grief into my world as a constant. A friend you have to sit with from time to time, something that goes hand in hand with experiencing great joy or love or beauty. With these losses, I gained the opportunity to open my heart up further, to crack myself down the middle, rip everything wide open and sift through all the darkest parts. With great pain comes tremendous growth. Life will never be without loss or hurt. Move with love and kindness. Don't leave this world with people guessing where you stood, tell them while you have the chance. Love while you have the chance, this moment is the only one we have. This time around is the only one that matters. Say what you mean and mean what you say, don't forget that words mean things. Your actions count.
Thank you to all of you who keep sticking around, really. I'll be seeing you soon. ♥

Ray Carver died of lung cancer at 50. This poem of his is inscribed on his tombstone. It's final poem in the last book of poetry he wrote shortly before his passing.
I read a lot this year about the frailty of life. I feel I've looked death in the eyes more than ever in the last 3 years of my existence. I spent much of this year working on myself in quiet ways. I remembered how to live life with intention and with reasons that feel right to me, to live steeped in reality and the present moment and not for the gaze of an arbitrary mass, for the approval of something outside myself, or in search of "what's next?" This year I lost love, lost people, lost some of the dreams I envisioned my life to be. Had my heart absolutely shattered. This year I learned to welcome grief into my world as a constant. A friend you have to sit with from time to time, something that goes hand in hand with experiencing great joy or love or beauty. With these losses, I gained the opportunity to open my heart up further, to crack myself down the middle, rip everything wide open and sift through all the darkest parts. With great pain comes tremendous growth. Life will never be without loss or hurt. Move with love and kindness. Don't leave this world with people guessing where you stood, tell them while you have the chance. Love while you have the chance, this moment is the only one we have. This time around is the only one that matters. Say what you mean and mean what you say, don't forget that words mean things. Your actions count.
Thank you to all of you who keep sticking around, really. I'll be seeing you soon. ♥

Ray Carver died of lung cancer at 50. This poem of his is inscribed on his tombstone. It's final poem in the last book of poetry he wrote shortly before his passing.
I read a lot this year about the frailty of life. I feel I've looked death in the eyes more than ever in the last 3 years of my existence. I spent much of this year working on myself in quiet ways. I remembered how to live life with intention and with reasons that feel right to me, to live steeped in reality and the present moment and not for the gaze of an arbitrary mass, for the approval of something outside myself, or in search of "what's next?" This year I lost love, lost people, lost some of the dreams I envisioned my life to be. Had my heart absolutely shattered. This year I learned to welcome grief into my world as a constant. A friend you have to sit with from time to time, something that goes hand in hand with experiencing great joy or love or beauty. With these losses, I gained the opportunity to open my heart up further, to crack myself down the middle, rip everything wide open and sift through all the darkest parts. With great pain comes tremendous growth. Life will never be without loss or hurt. Move with love and kindness. Don't leave this world with people guessing where you stood, tell them while you have the chance. Love while you have the chance, this moment is the only one we have. This time around is the only one that matters. Say what you mean and mean what you say, don't forget that words mean things. Your actions count.
Thank you to all of you who keep sticking around, really. I'll be seeing you soon. ♥

Ray Carver died of lung cancer at 50. This poem of his is inscribed on his tombstone. It's final poem in the last book of poetry he wrote shortly before his passing.
I read a lot this year about the frailty of life. I feel I've looked death in the eyes more than ever in the last 3 years of my existence. I spent much of this year working on myself in quiet ways. I remembered how to live life with intention and with reasons that feel right to me, to live steeped in reality and the present moment and not for the gaze of an arbitrary mass, for the approval of something outside myself, or in search of "what's next?" This year I lost love, lost people, lost some of the dreams I envisioned my life to be. Had my heart absolutely shattered. This year I learned to welcome grief into my world as a constant. A friend you have to sit with from time to time, something that goes hand in hand with experiencing great joy or love or beauty. With these losses, I gained the opportunity to open my heart up further, to crack myself down the middle, rip everything wide open and sift through all the darkest parts. With great pain comes tremendous growth. Life will never be without loss or hurt. Move with love and kindness. Don't leave this world with people guessing where you stood, tell them while you have the chance. Love while you have the chance, this moment is the only one we have. This time around is the only one that matters. Say what you mean and mean what you say, don't forget that words mean things. Your actions count.
Thank you to all of you who keep sticking around, really. I'll be seeing you soon. ♥

Ray Carver died of lung cancer at 50. This poem of his is inscribed on his tombstone. It's final poem in the last book of poetry he wrote shortly before his passing.
I read a lot this year about the frailty of life. I feel I've looked death in the eyes more than ever in the last 3 years of my existence. I spent much of this year working on myself in quiet ways. I remembered how to live life with intention and with reasons that feel right to me, to live steeped in reality and the present moment and not for the gaze of an arbitrary mass, for the approval of something outside myself, or in search of "what's next?" This year I lost love, lost people, lost some of the dreams I envisioned my life to be. Had my heart absolutely shattered. This year I learned to welcome grief into my world as a constant. A friend you have to sit with from time to time, something that goes hand in hand with experiencing great joy or love or beauty. With these losses, I gained the opportunity to open my heart up further, to crack myself down the middle, rip everything wide open and sift through all the darkest parts. With great pain comes tremendous growth. Life will never be without loss or hurt. Move with love and kindness. Don't leave this world with people guessing where you stood, tell them while you have the chance. Love while you have the chance, this moment is the only one we have. This time around is the only one that matters. Say what you mean and mean what you say, don't forget that words mean things. Your actions count.
Thank you to all of you who keep sticking around, really. I'll be seeing you soon. ♥

Ray Carver died of lung cancer at 50. This poem of his is inscribed on his tombstone. It's final poem in the last book of poetry he wrote shortly before his passing.
I read a lot this year about the frailty of life. I feel I've looked death in the eyes more than ever in the last 3 years of my existence. I spent much of this year working on myself in quiet ways. I remembered how to live life with intention and with reasons that feel right to me, to live steeped in reality and the present moment and not for the gaze of an arbitrary mass, for the approval of something outside myself, or in search of "what's next?" This year I lost love, lost people, lost some of the dreams I envisioned my life to be. Had my heart absolutely shattered. This year I learned to welcome grief into my world as a constant. A friend you have to sit with from time to time, something that goes hand in hand with experiencing great joy or love or beauty. With these losses, I gained the opportunity to open my heart up further, to crack myself down the middle, rip everything wide open and sift through all the darkest parts. With great pain comes tremendous growth. Life will never be without loss or hurt. Move with love and kindness. Don't leave this world with people guessing where you stood, tell them while you have the chance. Love while you have the chance, this moment is the only one we have. This time around is the only one that matters. Say what you mean and mean what you say, don't forget that words mean things. Your actions count.
Thank you to all of you who keep sticking around, really. I'll be seeing you soon. ♥

Ray Carver died of lung cancer at 50. This poem of his is inscribed on his tombstone. It's final poem in the last book of poetry he wrote shortly before his passing.
I read a lot this year about the frailty of life. I feel I've looked death in the eyes more than ever in the last 3 years of my existence. I spent much of this year working on myself in quiet ways. I remembered how to live life with intention and with reasons that feel right to me, to live steeped in reality and the present moment and not for the gaze of an arbitrary mass, for the approval of something outside myself, or in search of "what's next?" This year I lost love, lost people, lost some of the dreams I envisioned my life to be. Had my heart absolutely shattered. This year I learned to welcome grief into my world as a constant. A friend you have to sit with from time to time, something that goes hand in hand with experiencing great joy or love or beauty. With these losses, I gained the opportunity to open my heart up further, to crack myself down the middle, rip everything wide open and sift through all the darkest parts. With great pain comes tremendous growth. Life will never be without loss or hurt. Move with love and kindness. Don't leave this world with people guessing where you stood, tell them while you have the chance. Love while you have the chance, this moment is the only one we have. This time around is the only one that matters. Say what you mean and mean what you say, don't forget that words mean things. Your actions count.
Thank you to all of you who keep sticking around, really. I'll be seeing you soon. ♥

Ray Carver died of lung cancer at 50. This poem of his is inscribed on his tombstone. It's final poem in the last book of poetry he wrote shortly before his passing.
I read a lot this year about the frailty of life. I feel I've looked death in the eyes more than ever in the last 3 years of my existence. I spent much of this year working on myself in quiet ways. I remembered how to live life with intention and with reasons that feel right to me, to live steeped in reality and the present moment and not for the gaze of an arbitrary mass, for the approval of something outside myself, or in search of "what's next?" This year I lost love, lost people, lost some of the dreams I envisioned my life to be. Had my heart absolutely shattered. This year I learned to welcome grief into my world as a constant. A friend you have to sit with from time to time, something that goes hand in hand with experiencing great joy or love or beauty. With these losses, I gained the opportunity to open my heart up further, to crack myself down the middle, rip everything wide open and sift through all the darkest parts. With great pain comes tremendous growth. Life will never be without loss or hurt. Move with love and kindness. Don't leave this world with people guessing where you stood, tell them while you have the chance. Love while you have the chance, this moment is the only one we have. This time around is the only one that matters. Say what you mean and mean what you say, don't forget that words mean things. Your actions count.
Thank you to all of you who keep sticking around, really. I'll be seeing you soon. ♥

Ray Carver died of lung cancer at 50. This poem of his is inscribed on his tombstone. It's final poem in the last book of poetry he wrote shortly before his passing.
I read a lot this year about the frailty of life. I feel I've looked death in the eyes more than ever in the last 3 years of my existence. I spent much of this year working on myself in quiet ways. I remembered how to live life with intention and with reasons that feel right to me, to live steeped in reality and the present moment and not for the gaze of an arbitrary mass, for the approval of something outside myself, or in search of "what's next?" This year I lost love, lost people, lost some of the dreams I envisioned my life to be. Had my heart absolutely shattered. This year I learned to welcome grief into my world as a constant. A friend you have to sit with from time to time, something that goes hand in hand with experiencing great joy or love or beauty. With these losses, I gained the opportunity to open my heart up further, to crack myself down the middle, rip everything wide open and sift through all the darkest parts. With great pain comes tremendous growth. Life will never be without loss or hurt. Move with love and kindness. Don't leave this world with people guessing where you stood, tell them while you have the chance. Love while you have the chance, this moment is the only one we have. This time around is the only one that matters. Say what you mean and mean what you say, don't forget that words mean things. Your actions count.
Thank you to all of you who keep sticking around, really. I'll be seeing you soon. ♥

Y’all already know how important this show is to me. I could wax poetic for pages about all of it but I’ll try my hand at brevity here. Here’s the alternate version of label art I made for check yourself! the name’s type being an obvious ode to Margaret Kilgallen. Along with other small intimate touches I added while thinking of special people who were lost to the horrible disease that is cancer. Thanks for always letting me hang my whole heart up to dry publicly. Swipe to see the final edit.

Y’all already know how important this show is to me. I could wax poetic for pages about all of it but I’ll try my hand at brevity here. Here’s the alternate version of label art I made for check yourself! the name’s type being an obvious ode to Margaret Kilgallen. Along with other small intimate touches I added while thinking of special people who were lost to the horrible disease that is cancer. Thanks for always letting me hang my whole heart up to dry publicly. Swipe to see the final edit.

Y’all already know how important this show is to me. I could wax poetic for pages about all of it but I’ll try my hand at brevity here. Here’s the alternate version of label art I made for check yourself! the name’s type being an obvious ode to Margaret Kilgallen. Along with other small intimate touches I added while thinking of special people who were lost to the horrible disease that is cancer. Thanks for always letting me hang my whole heart up to dry publicly. Swipe to see the final edit.

Y’all already know how important this show is to me. I could wax poetic for pages about all of it but I’ll try my hand at brevity here. Here’s the alternate version of label art I made for check yourself! the name’s type being an obvious ode to Margaret Kilgallen. Along with other small intimate touches I added while thinking of special people who were lost to the horrible disease that is cancer. Thanks for always letting me hang my whole heart up to dry publicly. Swipe to see the final edit.

Y’all already know how important this show is to me. I could wax poetic for pages about all of it but I’ll try my hand at brevity here. Here’s the alternate version of label art I made for check yourself! the name’s type being an obvious ode to Margaret Kilgallen. Along with other small intimate touches I added while thinking of special people who were lost to the horrible disease that is cancer. Thanks for always letting me hang my whole heart up to dry publicly. Swipe to see the final edit.

Still got that dog in me

Ever get your heart so broken you don't even know if snoopy can save you ?

Still got that dog in me

Ever get your heart so broken you don't even know if snoopy can save you ?

Still got that dog in me

Ever get your heart so broken you don't even know if snoopy can save you ?

Still got that dog in me

Ever get your heart so broken you don't even know if snoopy can save you ?

Still got that dog in me

Ever get your heart so broken you don't even know if snoopy can save you ?

Still got that dog in me

Ever get your heart so broken you don't even know if snoopy can save you ?

This summer felt like one of the most difficult but beautiful ones I can recall. The kind of chapter where every shortcoming and insecurity you’ve ever had fills your body until you feel unable to hold the pain inside yourself. Let yourself fall apart but pick up the pieces. Take responsibility for all your mistakes, learn lessons the hardest way possible, not on purpose, but because you didn’t know better. Break your cycles. Forgive yourself for your failures. The grass isn’t greener somewhere else, the grass is greener where you water it. Don’t take anything for granted. All of your actions count, your intention, and where you pour your energy. Time is our most precious currency. Notice what you prioritize, the things you give most of yourself to, the things you do when you’re hurt. Do they make you happy or proud? Do they serve you or harm you? Pour some love back into your own heart. Life is still beautiful even when it hurts. Sit under stars surrounded by redwoods with your girlfriends in a hot tub, skip rocks for hours on the river laughing til you wanna cry. Find peace in the smallest moments, watch your clothesline sway in the breeze and take the deepest breath you ever have. Sob on the floor of your sister’s new gym, your best friend’s couch, the back corner of the bookstore you grew up going to. Shake it off. Feel the grief of losing something that was so important to you and process how you got there. Feel that on top of the longer-standing grief of losing your former self to cancer. Feel all your feelings. Don’t hide, do the hard, hard work. So hard it feels impossible at times, so hard, you spent your whole life putting off digging in this deep. Let love in. Keep living for those who couldn’t. Feel gratitude in every waking moment. Be proud of your vulnerability. Know that facing the struggle head-on now, means hopefully you won’t have to spend the rest of your life fighting miserably against the one person who matters most, you. Know that if you can learn to love yourself better, everyone you ever care about will reap the benefits as well. The only person you have control over is yourself. There is no easy way out, there’s only through.

This summer felt like one of the most difficult but beautiful ones I can recall. The kind of chapter where every shortcoming and insecurity you’ve ever had fills your body until you feel unable to hold the pain inside yourself. Let yourself fall apart but pick up the pieces. Take responsibility for all your mistakes, learn lessons the hardest way possible, not on purpose, but because you didn’t know better. Break your cycles. Forgive yourself for your failures. The grass isn’t greener somewhere else, the grass is greener where you water it. Don’t take anything for granted. All of your actions count, your intention, and where you pour your energy. Time is our most precious currency. Notice what you prioritize, the things you give most of yourself to, the things you do when you’re hurt. Do they make you happy or proud? Do they serve you or harm you? Pour some love back into your own heart. Life is still beautiful even when it hurts. Sit under stars surrounded by redwoods with your girlfriends in a hot tub, skip rocks for hours on the river laughing til you wanna cry. Find peace in the smallest moments, watch your clothesline sway in the breeze and take the deepest breath you ever have. Sob on the floor of your sister’s new gym, your best friend’s couch, the back corner of the bookstore you grew up going to. Shake it off. Feel the grief of losing something that was so important to you and process how you got there. Feel that on top of the longer-standing grief of losing your former self to cancer. Feel all your feelings. Don’t hide, do the hard, hard work. So hard it feels impossible at times, so hard, you spent your whole life putting off digging in this deep. Let love in. Keep living for those who couldn’t. Feel gratitude in every waking moment. Be proud of your vulnerability. Know that facing the struggle head-on now, means hopefully you won’t have to spend the rest of your life fighting miserably against the one person who matters most, you. Know that if you can learn to love yourself better, everyone you ever care about will reap the benefits as well. The only person you have control over is yourself. There is no easy way out, there’s only through.

This summer felt like one of the most difficult but beautiful ones I can recall. The kind of chapter where every shortcoming and insecurity you’ve ever had fills your body until you feel unable to hold the pain inside yourself. Let yourself fall apart but pick up the pieces. Take responsibility for all your mistakes, learn lessons the hardest way possible, not on purpose, but because you didn’t know better. Break your cycles. Forgive yourself for your failures. The grass isn’t greener somewhere else, the grass is greener where you water it. Don’t take anything for granted. All of your actions count, your intention, and where you pour your energy. Time is our most precious currency. Notice what you prioritize, the things you give most of yourself to, the things you do when you’re hurt. Do they make you happy or proud? Do they serve you or harm you? Pour some love back into your own heart. Life is still beautiful even when it hurts. Sit under stars surrounded by redwoods with your girlfriends in a hot tub, skip rocks for hours on the river laughing til you wanna cry. Find peace in the smallest moments, watch your clothesline sway in the breeze and take the deepest breath you ever have. Sob on the floor of your sister’s new gym, your best friend’s couch, the back corner of the bookstore you grew up going to. Shake it off. Feel the grief of losing something that was so important to you and process how you got there. Feel that on top of the longer-standing grief of losing your former self to cancer. Feel all your feelings. Don’t hide, do the hard, hard work. So hard it feels impossible at times, so hard, you spent your whole life putting off digging in this deep. Let love in. Keep living for those who couldn’t. Feel gratitude in every waking moment. Be proud of your vulnerability. Know that facing the struggle head-on now, means hopefully you won’t have to spend the rest of your life fighting miserably against the one person who matters most, you. Know that if you can learn to love yourself better, everyone you ever care about will reap the benefits as well. The only person you have control over is yourself. There is no easy way out, there’s only through.

This summer felt like one of the most difficult but beautiful ones I can recall. The kind of chapter where every shortcoming and insecurity you’ve ever had fills your body until you feel unable to hold the pain inside yourself. Let yourself fall apart but pick up the pieces. Take responsibility for all your mistakes, learn lessons the hardest way possible, not on purpose, but because you didn’t know better. Break your cycles. Forgive yourself for your failures. The grass isn’t greener somewhere else, the grass is greener where you water it. Don’t take anything for granted. All of your actions count, your intention, and where you pour your energy. Time is our most precious currency. Notice what you prioritize, the things you give most of yourself to, the things you do when you’re hurt. Do they make you happy or proud? Do they serve you or harm you? Pour some love back into your own heart. Life is still beautiful even when it hurts. Sit under stars surrounded by redwoods with your girlfriends in a hot tub, skip rocks for hours on the river laughing til you wanna cry. Find peace in the smallest moments, watch your clothesline sway in the breeze and take the deepest breath you ever have. Sob on the floor of your sister’s new gym, your best friend’s couch, the back corner of the bookstore you grew up going to. Shake it off. Feel the grief of losing something that was so important to you and process how you got there. Feel that on top of the longer-standing grief of losing your former self to cancer. Feel all your feelings. Don’t hide, do the hard, hard work. So hard it feels impossible at times, so hard, you spent your whole life putting off digging in this deep. Let love in. Keep living for those who couldn’t. Feel gratitude in every waking moment. Be proud of your vulnerability. Know that facing the struggle head-on now, means hopefully you won’t have to spend the rest of your life fighting miserably against the one person who matters most, you. Know that if you can learn to love yourself better, everyone you ever care about will reap the benefits as well. The only person you have control over is yourself. There is no easy way out, there’s only through.

This summer felt like one of the most difficult but beautiful ones I can recall. The kind of chapter where every shortcoming and insecurity you’ve ever had fills your body until you feel unable to hold the pain inside yourself. Let yourself fall apart but pick up the pieces. Take responsibility for all your mistakes, learn lessons the hardest way possible, not on purpose, but because you didn’t know better. Break your cycles. Forgive yourself for your failures. The grass isn’t greener somewhere else, the grass is greener where you water it. Don’t take anything for granted. All of your actions count, your intention, and where you pour your energy. Time is our most precious currency. Notice what you prioritize, the things you give most of yourself to, the things you do when you’re hurt. Do they make you happy or proud? Do they serve you or harm you? Pour some love back into your own heart. Life is still beautiful even when it hurts. Sit under stars surrounded by redwoods with your girlfriends in a hot tub, skip rocks for hours on the river laughing til you wanna cry. Find peace in the smallest moments, watch your clothesline sway in the breeze and take the deepest breath you ever have. Sob on the floor of your sister’s new gym, your best friend’s couch, the back corner of the bookstore you grew up going to. Shake it off. Feel the grief of losing something that was so important to you and process how you got there. Feel that on top of the longer-standing grief of losing your former self to cancer. Feel all your feelings. Don’t hide, do the hard, hard work. So hard it feels impossible at times, so hard, you spent your whole life putting off digging in this deep. Let love in. Keep living for those who couldn’t. Feel gratitude in every waking moment. Be proud of your vulnerability. Know that facing the struggle head-on now, means hopefully you won’t have to spend the rest of your life fighting miserably against the one person who matters most, you. Know that if you can learn to love yourself better, everyone you ever care about will reap the benefits as well. The only person you have control over is yourself. There is no easy way out, there’s only through.

This summer felt like one of the most difficult but beautiful ones I can recall. The kind of chapter where every shortcoming and insecurity you’ve ever had fills your body until you feel unable to hold the pain inside yourself. Let yourself fall apart but pick up the pieces. Take responsibility for all your mistakes, learn lessons the hardest way possible, not on purpose, but because you didn’t know better. Break your cycles. Forgive yourself for your failures. The grass isn’t greener somewhere else, the grass is greener where you water it. Don’t take anything for granted. All of your actions count, your intention, and where you pour your energy. Time is our most precious currency. Notice what you prioritize, the things you give most of yourself to, the things you do when you’re hurt. Do they make you happy or proud? Do they serve you or harm you? Pour some love back into your own heart. Life is still beautiful even when it hurts. Sit under stars surrounded by redwoods with your girlfriends in a hot tub, skip rocks for hours on the river laughing til you wanna cry. Find peace in the smallest moments, watch your clothesline sway in the breeze and take the deepest breath you ever have. Sob on the floor of your sister’s new gym, your best friend’s couch, the back corner of the bookstore you grew up going to. Shake it off. Feel the grief of losing something that was so important to you and process how you got there. Feel that on top of the longer-standing grief of losing your former self to cancer. Feel all your feelings. Don’t hide, do the hard, hard work. So hard it feels impossible at times, so hard, you spent your whole life putting off digging in this deep. Let love in. Keep living for those who couldn’t. Feel gratitude in every waking moment. Be proud of your vulnerability. Know that facing the struggle head-on now, means hopefully you won’t have to spend the rest of your life fighting miserably against the one person who matters most, you. Know that if you can learn to love yourself better, everyone you ever care about will reap the benefits as well. The only person you have control over is yourself. There is no easy way out, there’s only through.

This summer felt like one of the most difficult but beautiful ones I can recall. The kind of chapter where every shortcoming and insecurity you’ve ever had fills your body until you feel unable to hold the pain inside yourself. Let yourself fall apart but pick up the pieces. Take responsibility for all your mistakes, learn lessons the hardest way possible, not on purpose, but because you didn’t know better. Break your cycles. Forgive yourself for your failures. The grass isn’t greener somewhere else, the grass is greener where you water it. Don’t take anything for granted. All of your actions count, your intention, and where you pour your energy. Time is our most precious currency. Notice what you prioritize, the things you give most of yourself to, the things you do when you’re hurt. Do they make you happy or proud? Do they serve you or harm you? Pour some love back into your own heart. Life is still beautiful even when it hurts. Sit under stars surrounded by redwoods with your girlfriends in a hot tub, skip rocks for hours on the river laughing til you wanna cry. Find peace in the smallest moments, watch your clothesline sway in the breeze and take the deepest breath you ever have. Sob on the floor of your sister’s new gym, your best friend’s couch, the back corner of the bookstore you grew up going to. Shake it off. Feel the grief of losing something that was so important to you and process how you got there. Feel that on top of the longer-standing grief of losing your former self to cancer. Feel all your feelings. Don’t hide, do the hard, hard work. So hard it feels impossible at times, so hard, you spent your whole life putting off digging in this deep. Let love in. Keep living for those who couldn’t. Feel gratitude in every waking moment. Be proud of your vulnerability. Know that facing the struggle head-on now, means hopefully you won’t have to spend the rest of your life fighting miserably against the one person who matters most, you. Know that if you can learn to love yourself better, everyone you ever care about will reap the benefits as well. The only person you have control over is yourself. There is no easy way out, there’s only through.

This summer felt like one of the most difficult but beautiful ones I can recall. The kind of chapter where every shortcoming and insecurity you’ve ever had fills your body until you feel unable to hold the pain inside yourself. Let yourself fall apart but pick up the pieces. Take responsibility for all your mistakes, learn lessons the hardest way possible, not on purpose, but because you didn’t know better. Break your cycles. Forgive yourself for your failures. The grass isn’t greener somewhere else, the grass is greener where you water it. Don’t take anything for granted. All of your actions count, your intention, and where you pour your energy. Time is our most precious currency. Notice what you prioritize, the things you give most of yourself to, the things you do when you’re hurt. Do they make you happy or proud? Do they serve you or harm you? Pour some love back into your own heart. Life is still beautiful even when it hurts. Sit under stars surrounded by redwoods with your girlfriends in a hot tub, skip rocks for hours on the river laughing til you wanna cry. Find peace in the smallest moments, watch your clothesline sway in the breeze and take the deepest breath you ever have. Sob on the floor of your sister’s new gym, your best friend’s couch, the back corner of the bookstore you grew up going to. Shake it off. Feel the grief of losing something that was so important to you and process how you got there. Feel that on top of the longer-standing grief of losing your former self to cancer. Feel all your feelings. Don’t hide, do the hard, hard work. So hard it feels impossible at times, so hard, you spent your whole life putting off digging in this deep. Let love in. Keep living for those who couldn’t. Feel gratitude in every waking moment. Be proud of your vulnerability. Know that facing the struggle head-on now, means hopefully you won’t have to spend the rest of your life fighting miserably against the one person who matters most, you. Know that if you can learn to love yourself better, everyone you ever care about will reap the benefits as well. The only person you have control over is yourself. There is no easy way out, there’s only through.

This summer felt like one of the most difficult but beautiful ones I can recall. The kind of chapter where every shortcoming and insecurity you’ve ever had fills your body until you feel unable to hold the pain inside yourself. Let yourself fall apart but pick up the pieces. Take responsibility for all your mistakes, learn lessons the hardest way possible, not on purpose, but because you didn’t know better. Break your cycles. Forgive yourself for your failures. The grass isn’t greener somewhere else, the grass is greener where you water it. Don’t take anything for granted. All of your actions count, your intention, and where you pour your energy. Time is our most precious currency. Notice what you prioritize, the things you give most of yourself to, the things you do when you’re hurt. Do they make you happy or proud? Do they serve you or harm you? Pour some love back into your own heart. Life is still beautiful even when it hurts. Sit under stars surrounded by redwoods with your girlfriends in a hot tub, skip rocks for hours on the river laughing til you wanna cry. Find peace in the smallest moments, watch your clothesline sway in the breeze and take the deepest breath you ever have. Sob on the floor of your sister’s new gym, your best friend’s couch, the back corner of the bookstore you grew up going to. Shake it off. Feel the grief of losing something that was so important to you and process how you got there. Feel that on top of the longer-standing grief of losing your former self to cancer. Feel all your feelings. Don’t hide, do the hard, hard work. So hard it feels impossible at times, so hard, you spent your whole life putting off digging in this deep. Let love in. Keep living for those who couldn’t. Feel gratitude in every waking moment. Be proud of your vulnerability. Know that facing the struggle head-on now, means hopefully you won’t have to spend the rest of your life fighting miserably against the one person who matters most, you. Know that if you can learn to love yourself better, everyone you ever care about will reap the benefits as well. The only person you have control over is yourself. There is no easy way out, there’s only through.

Elaine Shallcross died of breast cancer the same year I was diagnosed. I worked on learning how to land this one simple trick between surgeries that year, for her, for me, for all of us because we’ve all experienced pain in the hands of cancer. Cancer took my left tit, my mental health, reconfigured my whole self image, but it also gave me a lot of things, a lot of life changing memories and love and support I’ll never forget. And though I clearly haven’t worked on making this trick any easier or better looking the last 2 years, all my tired body could do today was land this one silly unimpressive shuvit, and at least I can still do that, at least I’m still here fighting to do just that. Things take time, and I’m ready to chip away working at them again. @shuvitcancer forever. Truly.

Someone out there sees your worth, picks you up off the shelf beaming with the pride that they recognized something special and beautiful, something that adds life and joy, something rare. I’m sure of it.

in the moments that flashed before the end, it was you. It was always you

you notice things if you pay attention.

always in the mood.
#inthemoodforlove

you notice things if you pay attention.

always in the mood.
#inthemoodforlove

you notice things if you pay attention.

always in the mood.
#inthemoodforlove

choose her or lose her

choose her or lose her

choose her or lose her

choose her or lose her

choose her or lose her

choose her or lose her