Keeping My Brain in the Game

Keeping My Brain in the Game

It has been almost a month since I last wrote. That always feels strange to say, because writing is usually the place I go when I need to sort things out. Life has not slowed down, though. If anything, it has picked up speed in a way that feels intentional, challenging, and oddly grounding all at the same time.

One of the biggest changes lately is school. I am currently enrolled at Western Governors University, working toward a Bachelor of Science in Human Resource Management. Saying that out loud still feels a little surreal. School was not always something I pictured myself returning to, especially at this stage of life, and definitely not after a brain cancer diagnosis. Yet here I am, logging in most days, reading, testing, writing papers, building spreadsheets, and genuinely enjoying it.

That enjoyment matters more to me than the degree itself. I know that may sound odd, but after everything cancer has taken, the ability to enjoy learning again feels like a quiet victory.

Cancer has a way of shrinking the future. Even when things are stable, even when scans look good, there is always an invisible clock ticking somewhere in the background. I do not live in constant fear of it, but I also do not pretend it does not exist. Time feels sharper now. More defined. Less theoretical. If cancer taught me anything, it is that time is not promised, and waiting around for the perfect moment to start something is a losing strategy.

So I did not wait.

I enrolled.

I picked a program that made sense, one that aligned with my work experience, my interests, and my desire to keep my mind engaged. Human Resource Management may not sound exciting to everyone, but to me it connects people, systems, fairness, policy, and problem-solving. It feels practical and human at the same time.

And most importantly, it keeps my brain fresh.

That part matters more than I can fully explain. After brain surgery, radiation, chemotherapy, and all the mental fog that can come along with treatment, there is always this quiet question lingering in the back of my mind. Am I still sharp? Am I still capable of learning new things? Can my brain handle complexity, pressure, and sustained focus?

School answers those questions in real time.

Some days are easy. Other days my brain feels overloaded, like too many browser tabs open at once. But even on the hard days, I show up. I read. I take notes. I test. I fail a practice quiz here and there, regroup, and try again. That process alone feels empowering. I am not just passively hoping my brain works. I am actively using it.

One of my favorite parts so far has been seeing how immediately applicable the coursework is. This is not abstract theory that lives only in textbooks. A lot of what I am learning shows up directly in my day-to-day work. That connection makes the effort feel worthwhile.

I recently completed an Excel class that pushed me harder than I expected. Spreadsheets sound simple until they are not. Formulas stack on formulas. One small mistake throws everything off. There were moments where I had to slow down, breathe, and remind myself that frustration does not mean failure. It just means learning is happening.

What surprised me most was how much I enjoyed it.

I took what I learned in that class and immediately applied it at work. That kind of instant feedback loop is incredibly satisfying. It reinforced that I am not doing this just to check a box or hang a diploma on the wall. I am doing this because it sharpens me. It makes me better at what I already do and opens doors to what I might do next.

I am on track to finish the program in the next few months through acceleration. That still blows my mind a little. The pace is fast, but it works for me. I would rather stay immersed than drag it out. Momentum matters. When my brain is engaged, it wants to stay engaged.

That said, even the best momentum has limits.

Tonight was one of those nights where my brain hit a wall. Not a gentle slowdown, but a full-on overload. Words stopped sticking. Concepts blurred together. I could feel that pushing harder would not help, and after everything I have learned about listening to my body, I finally listened.

So I did something completely different.

I retreated into my man cave, turned on Disney music, and focused on Legos for a couple of hours.

That might sound silly to some people, but it was exactly what I needed. There is something deeply calming about building something with your hands, following simple instructions, snapping pieces together, and watching something take shape. No pressure. No deadlines. No assessments. Just focus, creativity, and familiarity.

Disney music helps too. It always has. There is comfort in it, nostalgia mixed with optimism. It reminds me of joy without asking anything from me in return.

Those couple of hours reset me in a way studying never could have in that moment. They reminded me that rest is not quitting. It is maintenance.

Cancer forces you to learn that lesson whether you want to or not.

There was a time when I thought rest meant weakness. I pushed through exhaustion, ignored mental fatigue, and treated burnout like a badge of honor. Cancer stripped that mindset away pretty quickly. You either learn to respect your limits, or your body forces you to.

Now I try to listen sooner.

That balance between pushing forward and knowing when to stop is something I am still learning, but school has actually helped with that too. It gives structure to my days while also teaching me to pace myself. There is discipline in showing up, and wisdom in stepping back.

People sometimes ask me what I want to be when I grow up.

I laugh every time.

The honest answer is that I am not sure, and I am strangely okay with that. For the first time in my life, uncertainty does not feel like failure. It feels like openness. I am doing well. Work has been great. I enjoy what I do, I feel valued, and I am learning constantly. School complements that instead of competing with it.

I do not feel pressure to have everything mapped out anymore.

Cancer erased the illusion of certainty a long time ago. In its place, it left something quieter but more honest. A focus on doing what feels meaningful now. A willingness to try new things without needing them to define me forever.

Right now, that means learning, working, building, resting, and living.

I also have my next scan scheduled for the beginning of April. That is always a mental marker, whether I want it to be or not. Scans bring a mix of emotions I still have not found the right words for. Hope, anxiety, resignation, gratitude, fear, all tangled together. I do not dwell on it constantly, but I do acknowledge it. Pretending it does not exist has never helped me.

What helps is staying present.

School helps with that. Work helps with that. Even Legos help with that.

I am doing well. That feels important to say out loud. Not in a performative way, not to reassure anyone else, but because it is true. I am tired sometimes. Overstimulated sometimes. Unsure sometimes. But I am also engaged, curious, and grounded in ways I was not before.

Cancer took a lot from me, but it also stripped away excuses. It made time feel precious and made action feel necessary. If I want something, I reach for it. The world can be harsh, indifferent, and unforgiving, but waiting quietly has never protected anyone. You take what you need, you build what you can, and you rest when it is time.

Tonight was a rest night.

Tomorrow, I will log back into class. I will keep my brain fresh. I will keep learning. I will keep moving forward, even if I do not yet know exactly where I am headed.

And for now, that is more than enough.