For the first time in a long while, I feel a spark again.
It’s subtle, but it’s there — a second wind that’s guiding me toward something meaningful. I have a few projects on the horizon that I’m genuinely excited about, and that excitement feels… new. Familiar in a way, yet deeply different. Maybe that’s because this version of me — the one standing here now — isn’t who I used to be.

Over the past months, I’ve spent a lot of time looking inward. Trying to understand this “new me.” The one who carries both strength and fragility. The one who’s learning not to fight every twist in her path, but to flow with it — to dance with it.

A conversation with another member of the Stage 4 club shifted my perspective completely. He told me, “With Stage 4, you’re not a warrior, and you’re not a survivor — you’re a dancer.”
That really hand an impact on me and made me think. Then of course “YAAAAAAAASSSSSS!!!”

Because it’s true.
You stop trying to battle every cell, every scan, every fear — and instead, you learn to move with it. You sway between good days and bad, you rest when your body demands it, and you rise again when your spirit calls. You dance with life, with uncertainty, and yes, even with cancer.

Personally, I call my tumors and lesions “the parties.” They come and go, sometimes loud and wild, sometimes quiet and contained. Every so often, I check in — just to make sure they’re not getting out of control. It’s my way of keeping humor and grace alive in the middle of chaos.

Through reflection (and a lot of honesty), I’m finally starting to come to terms with who I am now — and even more, I’m beginning to appreciate what I’ve been through. Every setback, every scar, every “why me” moment has shaped this version of me that’s ready to create again.

The projects I’m working on are born from that journey. They come from the parts of me that have felt lost, found, broken, rebuilt, and redefined. I can’t wait to share them with you in the coming weeks — not just for those living with metastatic cancer, but for anyone trying to rediscover meaning in their own story.

Because maybe that’s what the second wind really is —
not the return of who we were, but the beginning of who we’re meant to become.