The Shape of Days

There’s this strange, quiet warping of time that happens after a diagnosis. The clocks still tick, the sun still rises, the cats still scream for breakfast like they haven’t eaten in 84 years—but something in the air feels different. Like I’m walking through a dream that knows it’s being dreamed. Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about the shape of my days. Not the hours, not the schedule I’ve long since stopped pretending I’m “keeping busy” but the actual shape. The contours of what a day means now. The soft edges of mornings with my wife, the gentle absurdity of Chip climbing into a box he’s already chewed through, the small rituals that anchor me when everything else is spinning. It’s funny what sticks and what slides away. Before, there was a constant forward pressure. Stuff to do. Bills to pay. Cars to curse at. Now, everything’s… quieter. Not in a bad way. More like a stillness. A kind of calm you only get when you’ve been forced to stop pretending you’re invincible. There are things I miss already. Not because they’re gone—most of them aren’t—but because I know they won’t always be here. Or I won’t. I’m not being morbid; I’m just being honest. That’s the trick with this kind of thing: you start getting very, very good at honesty. Mostly with yourself. Like: yes, this sucks. It super sucks. It’s absurd and unfair and maddening. But also: life’s still happening. Good moments are still good. A really cold glass of iced tea? Still slaps. Pancake’s slow blink. Still magic. My wife’s laugh? Still the best sound I know. It turns out there’s a kind of freedom in the narrowing. When the big plans fall away, there’s more room for the little things. And maybe that’s the point. Maybe we spend too much of our lives looking at the horizon and not enough time noticing the flowers growing through the cracks right in front of us. I don’t have some grand takeaway. I’m not here to inspire you with a Ted Talk voice and a PowerPoint slide titled “10 Lessons from Brain Cancer.” I’m just here. Still here. Living the day I’ve got. Letting it shape me back. And for now, that’s enough.