Living with Uncertainty

I wake up every morning not knowing if my cancer will come back. Again.

Twice now, I’ve sat in oncology offices hearing words like “remission” and “clear scans,” and twice I’ve learned that those words don’t necessarily mean “cured.” They mean “not right now.” Every headache could be nothing. Or a brain tumor. Every unexplained back pain launches the same mental spiral: is this it? Is this when it comes back?

Here’s what I’ve figured out after two cancer diagnoses and dozens of triathlons: certainty is a myth we tell ourselves to feel better. And chasing it actually makes us worse.

The business world loves certainty. Strategic plans. Five-year budget projections. Risk mitigation frameworks. I’ve spent thirty years running nonprofit organizations, and I can tell you that none of those plans survive when reality hits. Funding gets abruptly cut. Regulations change. Pandemics happen. The families we serve don’t fit neatly into our program models or stop coming in because they are afraid of ICE. Certainty is comfortable. It’s also fiction.

Endurance athletics taught me this in a different way. You can train perfectly for an Ironman and still have race day go sideways. Weather changes. Your nutrition strategy fails. Your body decides mile 18 is where it quits cooperating. You can control your preparation, but you cannot control the outcome. The athletes who finish aren’t the ones who need certainty—they’re the ones who’ve learned to function without it.

Cancer crystallized that for me. You can do everything “right” and still get sick. You can survive treatment and still face recurrence. The scans will tell you what’s happening today, but they can’t tell you what’s coming six months from now. If I waited for certainty before living my life, I’d still be sitting in that first oncology office, paralyzed.

So here’s what I’ve learned about living with uncertainty: you don’t overcome it. You don’t conquer it. You don’t manifest certainty through positive thinking or vision boards. You build systems and mindsets that work regardless of the outcome.

I train each day whether my next scan is clear or not. I show up for FCA whether funding is secure or uncertain. I make plans knowing they might change. I invest in relationships knowing I might not be around to see them through. That’s not fatalism; it’s freedom.

The framework is simple: focus on what you can control, accept what you can’t, and keep moving forward anyway. Can I control whether cancer comes back? No. Can I control showing up for treatment, maintaining my fitness, and doing meaningful work today? Yes. So that’s where I put my energy.

Most people wait for certainty before taking action. They need to know it’ll work out before they start. They need guarantees before they commit. They’re still waiting.

I’m not.