October Reflections: Birthdays, Ride-Alongs, and the Journey Ahead

October has always been an important month for me, but lately, it carries even more meaning. On October 22, I celebrate another year of life—a milestone I never take for granted since my diagnosis with glioblastoma. Just being here, breathing, writing, and sharing these words feels like a victory in itself. But October also marks a different kind of anniversary: one year since my police ride-along, an experience that shifted how I look at service, purpose, and the communities we all move through.

I will be honest: sometimes I struggle with what to write. I worry I am repeating myself, or circling back to the same themes. But maybe that is the point. Life with cancer is repetitive in its own way—cycles of treatment, scans, waiting rooms, moments of strength, and moments of fear. What changes is how we carry it, how we find meaning in the “same old” challenges. This month, I am reflecting on how the past year has been less about repeating patterns and more about deepening them.

Birthdays with New Meaning

Birthdays used to be a marker of age, maybe a reason to celebrate with friends, family, or cake. But after being told I had a year to live, birthdays now feel like something else entirely. They are no longer just numbers—they are victories. They are proof. They are a reminder that time is not promised, yet here I am, pushing forward into another year.

This year I find myself thinking less about what I am leaving behind and more about what I am still building. JohnVsGBM has grown from a personal fight into a movement of hope. What started with one brain cancer tee has expanded into collections that cover all cancers—from the whimsical Gnome Collection to the heartfelt Love Tee Collection. Every design carries a piece of me in it, but also a piece of you—because it is in wearing, sharing, and gifting these items that the movement becomes larger than me.

So when I blow out the candles this year, it is not about a wish for myself. It is about a wish for all of us—for more time, more laughter, more breakthroughs, and more moments of resilience we can pass along to one another.

One Year Since the Ride-Along

It is also the anniversary of something I did last September that most people never expect from me: a police ride-along. That night was a mixture of adrenaline, curiosity, and reflection. Sitting in the passenger seat, I watched as the city moved through its usual rhythms—calls, traffic stops, and moments of real human vulnerability.

The experience reminded me of the word “service.” The officers I rode with did not know who they would encounter or what challenges they would face. They simply showed up. And in that way, their work mirrors what so many of us living with cancer do every day. We wake up, not knowing what the day will throw at us—good news, bad news, or something in between. And still, we show up.

That ride-along gave me perspective. Service takes many forms: protecting neighborhoods, supporting survivors, raising awareness, or even just being there for a friend when they need someone to listen. I realized that my own mission with JohnVsGBM is another kind of patrol. Not through the streets, but through the world of cancer advocacy.

Repetition or Renewal?

Here is where I circle back to that worry I mentioned earlier—the feeling that I repeat myself when I write these posts. “Hope,” “resilience,” “strength”—do those words lose their meaning when I use them too much?

But maybe, instead of thinking of it as repetition, I should call it renewal. Like the tide rolling in, or seasons cycling through, the words return because they are timeless. Every time I say “hope,” it carries the weight of a new day, a new person reading these words, a new fighter or caregiver putting on a tee for the first time. Every time I talk about “resilience,” it is not a recycled phrase—it is a lived experience.

This October, I am reminding myself that it is okay to circle back, because each circle is wider than the last.

What I Have Learned in the Past Year

Looking back, this year taught me a few things I want to share:

• Time is layered. A year feels long when you count the days, but short when you think of how precious each day is.

• Community matters. Whether it was walking in an awareness event, reading messages online, or simply sharing a laugh with my husband, I have seen how deeply connection sustains us.

• Purpose evolves. At first, I just wanted to survive. Then I wanted to spread awareness. Now, I want to build something lasting—something that will keep raising awareness even when I cannot.

• Joy is in the details. A cup of coffee in the morning, a joke shared, a hoodie that feels soft and comforting—these little things matter more than I ever realized.

Looking Ahead

As I move through this birthday month, I am thinking less about what comes next in the clinical sense and more about what comes next in the personal sense. What collections I want to design. What stories I want to tell. What lives I want to touch.

I know October also holds a lot of awareness campaigns: breast cancer, liver cancer, and many others. But for me, October is awareness of something broader: that life is fragile, messy, and beautiful all at once. That anniversaries are not just reminders of the past—they are invitations to keep going.

A Final Thought

So here I am, writing again after a pause. It has been a month since my last post, but maybe that pause was necessary. Sometimes we need silence to understand the sound of our own lives.

If you are reading this, I hope you find in my words not just repetition, but resonance. Because life, especially life with cancer, is not about saying something new every time. It is about holding onto what matters, saying it again, and reminding each other that we are still here.

This October, I celebrate another year. I remember a ride-along that showed me what service means. I honor the circles of hope that keep widening, and I invite you to walk this next circle with me.

Together, let us keep showing up.