Thank God for my guest faculty member, Dr. Caryn Lerman.
From Survive to Thrive, which started last night at our MEA Santa Fe campus (and is being offered again September 6-10), is designed for people navigating the messy middle of cancer: not just the diagnosis, but the identity shifts, the relationship recalibrations, the big existential questions.
In other words, it’s not about medicine. It’s about meaning.
And here’s the honest part: I’m not showing up as the wise guide who has it all figured out. I’m showing up as a fellow traveler. As someone who’s been dealing with Stage 3 prostate cancer and will likely be heading back into treatment again in May.
So if you’re coming to the workshop hoping for a guru…you may be disappointed…unless you believe we’re all gurus in our own way.
If you’re coming for a compadre? Perfect.
Because what I’ve learned—am learning—is that cancer has a strange way of stripping away the unnecessary. It’s like Marie Kondo for your psyche. Suddenly, things that once felt urgent (email, ego, being right in meetings) lose their grip. And other things—time, love, meaning, presence—become vividly, sometimes uncomfortably, clear.
The workshop itself is intentionally intimate—about twenty people, all of whom understand that cancer isn’t just a medical experience, it’s a life experience.
You don’t have to explain why one scan can hijack your week. Or why “you’re done with treatment” doesn’t mean you’re done processing what happened.
That’s the space we’re creating: one where nothing is too messy, too emotional, or too unfinished.
And maybe that’s the real point.
We often think we need to resolve something before we can teach it, share it, or even speak about it publicly. But what if the opposite is true? What if the most powerful teaching comes not from having arrived—but from being in the middle of the terrain?
That’s certainly where I find myself.
I don’t know exactly what the next chapter holds. I do know that this experience—like so many midlife transitions—is asking better questions than it’s giving answers.
How do I want to spend my time?
What really matters now?
What does it mean not just to survive—but to thrive—even here?
How do I sort through the congested intersection of emotions?
So yes, I’m leading this workshop.
But I’m also attending it.
Listening. Learning. Letting go. Taking notes—probably more than anyone else in the room.
Because if cancer teaches you anything, it’s this: The curriculum is life. And Cancer School can feel punishing, but, hopefully if we’re lucky, we get to graduate.
-Chip