Where our deep sadness and the world’s deep hunger meet
Sometimes vocation springs not from joy but from trauma and grief.
In spring 2009, I taught what I thought was going to be my last class ever. The mysterious breaking of two vertebrae in my back had led to a stage IV cancer diagnosis, and the year had begun with me resigning from virtually every aspect of my life. I went on sabbatical the following fall, intending to try to bring closure to my life before it ended.
Instead of dying, however, I went into my first remission. I’m not naturally an anxious person, but life-threatening illness can mess with one’s equilibrium. As my sabbatical came to an end, I didn’t know if I could handle returning to teaching. What if I signed back up for life only to have to resign from it all again?
Stanford neurosurgeon Paul Kalanithi, author of the heartbreakingly beautiful book When Breath Becomes Air, lived just a few years after his diagnosis with incurable cancer. In that short period of time, he too went into remission and gained back much of his strength. His oncologist suggested he go back to working as a neurosurgeon. When he reminded his doctor he was dying, she responded, “True. But you’re not dying today.”
