Everything Happens . . . And?

Being diagnosed with cancer teaches you a lot of things. When it comes to the people in your life, I truly believe that it brings out the best in them, and that they want to be helpful. That said, even the best intentions aren’t always executed in the best way. An experience that I had—and have learned is common among cancer patients—is that when friends or family find out about your diagnosis, they are saddened. Suddenly it becomes the patient’s responsibility to soothe them. Wait, I am the one with the cancer here, right? People, while searching for something to say, often end up making remarks like, “At least you have the good cancer,” or “Now that you’re cured, aren’t you excited to move on with your life?” I genuinely believe these statements come from a place of trying to offer comfort in a difficult situation, with no harm intended. One of the most common “helpful” phrases that seems overused in unexplainable situations—such as a cancer diagnosis—is, “Well, everything happens for a reason. Right?”

Many people lean on that sentiment for strength, rationalization, or as a way to navigate life’s crises. However, I believe this idea can be broken down into more meaningful and actionable pieces: accepting the randomness of existence, preparing for and learning from hardship, and building and practicing resilience. This is my perspective, but yours may differ. Much like how the same cancer diagnosis can lead to vastly different experiences from one person to another, the meaning of a phrase like “everything happens for a reason” can also vary widely from person to person. The randomness of existence.

I was raised in a religious household and taught that pre-existence was real and that nothing in life is random. I’m not sure if that’s true or not. What I do know is that my colon cancer diagnosis was described to me as “you won the bad luck lottery.”

If every moment of my life leading up to my diagnosis were scrutinized, I’m sure there would be indicators that could be seen as the “why” behind it. However, I have no family history of colon cancer, I don’t have Lynch syndrome, and all my genetic testing came back negative. Maybe there was a life before this one where I accepted—or even asked—to take on this challenge, but pragmatically speaking, there’s no way to reconcile that in the present. My son told me about a park ranger who has been struck by lightning seven times. I’ve seen videos of sinkholes that entire soccer fields or parking lots. Personally, I was diagnosed with colon cancer as a fit, otherwise healthy, 35-year-old husband and father of two beautiful boys. How much time is the right amount to spend on “woulda, coulda, shoulda” conversations about things like this? This isn’t to say you shouldn’t reflect, make appropriate changes, pray, or meditate. It also doesn’t mean you should just throw in the towel. My advice is to accept life as it happens and adjust as needed—whether in response to successes and disasters.

I live in Utah, and when autumn winds down and winter starts knocking on the door, I swap out my all-season tires for winter tires. I didn’t always do this. When I was younger, I had an experience that changed my approach. I was driving down the canyon when an unexpected fall snowstorm hit. My car was full-time all-wheel drive, and I assumed that would be enough. It wasn’t. That drive turned into a white-knuckle experience the whole way down—all because of an inch of snow, a sloped road, and average-quality all-season tires. That was the season I started buying dedicated winter tires for my cars. How do snow tires relate to cancer? I thought I had prepared enough just having an AWD vehicle. A close call taught me otherwise, and I adjusted. If I had simply shrugged and said, “Well, I guess everything happens for a reason,” without changing my approach, I would have been bound to repeat the mistake. Tragic things happen every day. Some of us have the privilege of learning from them as we move forward. If we don’t take advantage of that, we’re simply cheating ourselves. Don’t bury your head in the sands of helplessness. Learn from the crises in your life and let them fuel your growth wherever possible.

Talking about resilience is easy. Finding resilience in the middle of a tragedy? That’s nearly impossible. The good news is that most people fall somewhere in between. We build at least some resilience just living through our formative years—middle school, am I right? But when life is falling apart, basic resilience isn’t going to cut it. You need to train it.

I’ve had to learn resilience the hard way throughout my life. I left a church mission early, which led many in my community to see me as lesser-than. Navigating that wasn’t easy, but I gained resilience. I’ve had injuries requiring surgeries and lengthy recoveries—not easy, but again, I gained resilience. Until recently, I hadn’t actively trained resilience just for the sake of training it, but I had built a fair amount. I believe that’s why, when I was diagnosed with cancer, my response was: “OK, what do I do next? Cancer treatment alone gave me a lifetime’s worth of resilience training. But one thing I learned is that cancer can come back. When it does, it’s called a recurrence. I didn’t want that. My medical team gave me advice on how to make a recurrence as unlikely as possible. Even now, just over four years since my diagnosis, I still worry about it.

So, I decided to take steps to build more resilience. I won’t give specifics, because different things work for different people, but in general, I’ve created intentional physical discomfort. That has included cold plunges, run a couple of half marathons (I despise running), and hiking up to the local reservoir with a weighted vest as fast as possible. My rationale is this: If I can willingly put myself through these unpleasant experiences, knowing they’ll be difficult, maybe—just maybe—they’ll help prepare me for a future calamity.

I’m not necessarily opposed to the phrase “everything happens for a reason.” However, if you’re going to use it, I don’t think it can stop there. At minimum, it should be “Everything happens for a reason, and…” That “and” could mean something different for everyone. If you believe that everything happens for a reason, then put in the effort to be prepared—whether that means seizing an opportunity or facing a challenge. Taking accountability (though not necessarily responsibility) for how I moved forward through my cancer diagnosis, treatment, and survivorship helped me avoid a victim mentality and sharpen a growth mindset. I believe it can do the same for you.