“I’ve realized throughout all this: it’s okay. It’s totally fine to struggle. To have bad times. To doubt. To hate. To cry out in fear. That’s called being Alive.” — Alex
Dear Perspective, I’m in Vegas, walking down a hallway and wondering who designs the complex pattern carpets. I also have a feeling that I’ve wondered whether I’d ever get again. Butterflies. It’s 2021 and I’m giving an in real life talk again. It’s not quite fashionable in traditionally progressive circles to be in person right now, but when community is sometimes also about survival? It changes the decision. That’s what’s happened here. The Testicular Cancer Foundation has decided their members must meet in person. My friend Connor who runs the foundation tells me that this group needs each other and after more than a year of Zoom calls and being cooped up inside their homes members are starting to feel the real effects of not having community. Because when you’re a man and you’ve lost one or both of your testicles, being able to see other men like you? It’s mental health, therapy, community and survival wrapped in 3 days of programming. I meet Alex here as he’s one of those up beat, tons of energy guys. He also happens to be hilarious, tech savvy and a team player so he’s basically part emcee, part show runner and part graphics guru for the conference. Perspective, here’s where you come in. Later that night after he takes his photograph, he tells me the story of I woke up on the ground. He couldn’t speak. He wasn’t even sure he was breathing. The world was reduced to a few square feet of carpet and the underside of a bed frame. That’s when he noticed Theo’s toys. “Hmmm, So that’s where they went,” he remembers thinking. Alex was 33. He went to the emergency room. The diagnosis came a little later: Testicular cancer. In that moment, you–perspective–didn’t arrive as wisdom. You came in like a lightning bolt. Credit scores, promotions, whether or not a country club invite is coming? You shift quickly when you’re laying on the ground or a doctor says, “Cancer.” Life changing moments can clarify perspective. It can rearrange what feels important. Here’s what Alex told me: I was diagnosed in October of 2019 and declared in remission in September of 2020. And I’ve realized throughout all this: it’s okay. It’s totally fine to struggle. To have bad times. To doubt. To hate. To cry out in fear. That’s called being alive. What I’ve realized is that, without all the “bad shit” that’s ever happened to me, I wouldn’t appreciate all the “amazing shit” that I have around me. My Son Theodore, My Wife Samjah, all my family and friends, and my Testicular Cancer Brotherhood. That’s all worth anything this world can throw at me. I once heard psychologist Angela Duckworth describe something called post-traumatic growth. The idea stayed with me. Not because it glorifies pain, which it does not, but because it acknowledges what many people quietly discover after life knocks them down. Crisis can clarify. It can rearrange what feels important. Listening to Alex, I wasn’t thinking about theory. I was watching it unfold in real time. The way he smiled before he spoke, the way he moved easily from fist bumps to full hugs, the way he made room for other men’s stories without needing to dominate the moment with his own. You, perspective, gave him clarity about how he wants to spend his time while he still has it. Sincerely, Robert X. Fogarty
