🧠 🎶 🎉 CELEBRATE GOOD TIMES 🎉 🎶 🧠

Twenty-nine years ago, I had brain cancer. This week, I got my 29-year MRI follow-up. "They found nothing!" (Insert comic relief here)

Still standing.

Still here.

Brain looks good.

Scan is clean.

All things considered? Miracle-level stuff.

It never gets easier. The scanxiety. The what-ifs.

The rerun of trauma in your head while you wait for someone in a lab coat to tell you if your life gets to keep going. It’s exhausting. But that’s survivorship. It’s not ribbons or warrior memes. It’s real life, lived one unpredictable year at a time.

This news made my family cry like Elliot saying goodbye to E.T. That kind of cry. The kind that hits your soul because you didn’t realize how hard you were holding your breath until you could finally let it out.

That’s what survival feels like.

So what does it mean to still be here? It means everything. It means I get to keep fighting for people who aren’t here anymore. It means I get to represent everyone still stuck in the sludge of a broken system.

It means I get to piss off the right people and protect the right ones. It means I get to lead. To inspire. To build something better—for real.

I don’t know why I’m still here. But I am. And I’m not wasting it. Not one second.

If you’ve followed me, worked with me, trusted me, supported me—thank you. You’re part of this. And as long as I’m still standing here, I’m not stopping.

Let’s go flip some tables.