The ups and downs of life.
In my professional career, and more dramatically outside it, I’ve been struck by a remarkably robust, profoundly unfortunate phenomenon: the highs are far more short-lived than the lows.
I’m 29. I’m admittedly still young. But I do feel somewhat uniquely qualified to speak to this point because my life the past few years has run the full affective gamut. An entirely bizarre mix of profound fortune and misfortune.
I’m about to enter what is, on paper, the final year of my Ph.D. in psychology. But for me, graduate school has been lived not in semesters but, on average, in six-month increments. The time between my CT scans. At each of these bookends, doctors peer into my abdominal cavity to see whether the cancer I was diagnosed with three years ago this week has returned.
It’s a strange new ritual that exists alongside the usual ones—the talks and the cheap food and the trips to IKEA. And I’ve been delivered medical verdicts in the middle of our lab’s weekly meetings. When I was stuck in traffic, on the way home for Thanksgiving. In my office, just prior to meeting with a student.
|Read Full Article: What My Cancer Remission Has Taught Me About the Human Mind | Psychology Today|