Re-invention in progress.
Re-invention in progress.
Because life can be beautifully messy, and many moments—even the messy ones that get us TO the beautiful ones—are worth celebrating*.
* with or without confetti and a happy dance.
As an avid and celebrated procrastinator, Happy WhatEvs started… well, glacially. In February 2021, breast cancer burst into my life like the Kool-Aid guy, sucking all the oxygen out of the room. My lymph nodes, not to be outdone, side-eyed my boob, and said “Hold my beer” deciding to join the party, because, well…cancer is extra AF. So, 2021 became the “Year of Medical Bingo”—16 weeks of chemo, two surgeries, and seven weeks of daily radiation.
I kept working. Partly because bills exist, but also because I enjoy buying ridiculous things. (Do I need a rock tumbler? No. Did I buy one? Absolutely. I was going through a mosaic yearning. And don’t come looking for my statue of a T-Rex eating garden gnomes.) But even without a collection of fabulous if somewhat questionable purchases, I couldn’t afford to take more time off than absolutely necessary. So, the day after finishing radiation, I hopped on a plane to Miami for work, sans bra, because my skin had been radiated off. But I mean, it is Miami, so that seems kind of the right vibe.
During that whole mess, Happy WhatEvs started forming—not as a project but more like a half-baked thought marinating in the background. I was chasing the holy grail that all cancer patients pursue: a declaration of “no evidence of disease”, grinding through treatment, trying desperately not to be a burden to my loved ones. And listen, I know how to grind. (Not the fun kind—more like the “if you’re not the smartest in the room, you better work the hardest” kind.)
What got me through that year, weren’t the big wins – although that what was what I thought I was chasing: ringing the chemo bell; reducing the cancer size so I could have a lumpectomy rather than a mastectomy. You get the drift. Those are the big things that I marched toward –sometimes white-knuckling it. But what I found was that it was the small wins that made me successful – forcing myself on Sundays to eat and drink when all I wanted to do was sleep. My reality was, if I didn’t eat or drink on Sundays, I would spend the rest of the week vomiting. Seems like an easy thing right, eat drink, be in a better place. Here’s the rub. I would have chemo on Friday, by Sunday morning, I could barely open my eyes. All my body wanted was sleep. And deep sleep at that. Forcing myself up and to eat and drink made the rest of the week a little more manageable. I mean it still sucked, but with far less suck.
So doing this “small thing” yielded big results. But here’s the kicker… I couldn’t do it alone. Left alone, I just slept – nothing could get me up. I had to have family over on Sundays to make sure I would wake up and eat and drink – every three hours just a little.
It was on these Sundays, going through chemo, and the rest of my treatment that my entire outlook on life, the world, and my role in it began to shift – albeit slowly, and if I am being honest a little “unknowingly” – I really did view cancer as a physical problem to solve, and never considered the emotional and mental changes that were also taking effect. When my last day of radiation had arrived, I did what I had done my whole life. I dove back into work like nothing had happened, and I tried to bury the last year down deep. I had reached “No evidence of disease” and it was over.
Over the next fifteen months, I tried desperately to recapture who I was before my diagnosis. A workaholic. I didn’t care how long something took as long as it came out amazing. Need to make a certain deadline? No problem. I’ll just work nights and weekends to get it done. Need me to fly to California? Kansas? D.C. You got it. I’ll be there. I was a “head down, what’s next” contributor, and I especially thrived when I was solely responsible for everything that went into a project. I made really good money doing it. Over that time, I received spot bonuses, top reviews, increased responsibilities and team members, and if my mental and physical health seemed to erode a bit. No biggie. Onto the next project.
As a part of my long-term treatment, I was taking Tamoxifen daily along with medications for depression and anxiety. (Story for another day – but it was the depression and anxiety that led to the cancer diagnosis.) The side effects of the Tamoxifen plus the stress, and sheer exhaustion were catching up with me. I was heavier than I’d ever been (well over 200 lbs – uhg I can’t believe I am putting that in writing), having regular panic attacks, and struggling with suicidal thoughts. I was procrastinating more and more. Which led to compressed research and writing blitzes…which fucked me mentally as well, because I was sure, had I used my time better, the content would be far better – and therefore I was constantly disappointed in myself.
That corrosive loop continued and my inner self-assessment got harsher and uglier with each cycle. And then I was told my job was being eliminated. Mentally and physically, it was probably the best thing for me, but I just broke. I fully and spectacularly broke.
September 1, 2023, was my last day of work. Fortunately, an equity payout bought me time to figure things out. So instead of spiraling into a full midlife crisis (which I felt I was already well into), I decided to embrace a midlife gap year. Big plans were made: travel, art, gardening, home renos, and finally write the suspense novel that’s been brewing in my head for years (an it’s awesome).
What did I actually do? Laid on the couch watching questionable TV.
Admitting that, feels…embarrassing – like I wasted this golden opportunity. But oddly, my layoff “To-Do” list never included things like healing or resting. After 35 years as a workaholic, I didn’t even realize how burnt out I was until I finally… stopped moving.
When I did stop and sat in the stillness, huge realizations hit me, the biggest being: I’d fallen out of love with writing. I’m sure it must sound “smallish”. But it was a gut punch. It was like losing a partner. Upon realizing it, I cried – a lot. I still do, as I think about it. What am I now if not a writer? Even a shitty writer? Writing had been my main profession for 15 years, and a love of mine since childhood. I come from a family or readers, where good writing is passed around and celebrated. But now? No spark. No love. No interest. At. All. Not in writing, not in reading.
Here’s my reality: I’m 54, terrible at saving money, and staring down 12-14 more years of needing to earn an income. So, working? Non-negotiable. Must. Happen. What that work will be? After a year and a half – still a mystery. No lie. I actually have considered being a butcher… yup, also a baker… and you got it I’ve watched videos of candle making. Add to that list: gardener, lottery winner, house cleaner, personal assistant…you get the drift.
Which brings me back to Happy WhatEvs. It started as a general “What if” thought experiment. Could developing content that excites me and celebrates the differences in all of us refuel a spark that had gone dormant? Writing has never been easy for me. I am greatly intimidated by the blank page – and candidly I struggle with imposter syndrome around writing so getting a final piece across the finish line takes a lot of effort. I am anything but quick. But where I lack in speed I make up for with curiosity, and it’s the curiosity that I am hoping will drive my return to writing. I want to have conversations about topics that I haven’t explored before through writing, topics, we’ve become too afraid to afraid to talk about out loud. I want to explore and understand better how my brain functions – and I want to find love for something again.
I’m at a place in my life where I think the only way forward is through – through reinvention, through willingly challenging my own value set to see if it still holds true, trying different hobbies, learning new skills, failing forward and figuring out how to make my neurosis and imperfections actually work for me instead of against me. I need a restart. I’m hoping that’s what Happy WhatEvs will be.
Happy WhatEvs gives me an opportunity to discover who I am now, what are my values, and what am I capable of – in a way that has historically worked for me– by building something tangible.
I can’t give anyone great advice. I’m pretty much a hot mess myself. But I can document my next chapter, this reinvention – the learning and failing etc. and I can celebrate all the weird stuff that makes me, well me. Maybe it’s similar to the weird stuff that makes you, you. Maybe it’s not. But HappyWhatevs.com will be a place to explore the possibilities of reinvention while accepting the bits and pieces of ourselves that make us unique. And hopefully laughing along the way.
I have no idea what I can accomplish, but I do know small wins absolutely matter. Setbacks? Failures? They’re just learning experiences in disguise. I plan to celebrate both—the wins and the fails—because spoiler alert: I’m worth it. (Yes, I just went full L’Oréal on you.) I
Happy WhatEvs, friends.
— Shelly
P.S. This is the first thing I’ve written in a year and a half. It’s not perfect. I’m not even sure it’s good. But it is real. Writing is a perishable skill, and I’ve definitely let mine rot like forgotten fruit. But progress > perfection, right? So, I’m posting it, and I might revisit and keep tweaking as I go. For my process, I wrote the first draft, used AI for cleanup, rewrote the second draft, then the third draft. It’s a Frankenstein, but that’s what I’ve got right now. And I refuse to do more than three full drafts before posting. At that point, it’s either going up or going in the trash bin.