Hi Friends,
Last year on June 23, Shiloh moved into his forever home.
He had been found wandering the streets of Fresno with his puppies, picked up by animal control, and sent to a shelter. Thankfully, he was rescued.
I don’t know his full story, but I do know it involved trauma, fear, and at least three homes before me. When his foster mom dropped him off, he arrived scared, unsure… and carrying everything he owned in a single backpack.
There was something almost poetic about that—his entire life reduced to one bag: a collar, a leash, some food, dishes, and a few toys.
We took out what he needed and put the backpack in the closet… and forgot about it.
Until a few days ago.
We opened the closet looking for something else, and Shiloh came running—like he had just remembered buried treasure.
He somehow figured out how to unzip the backpack (which, honestly, is both impressive and slightly alarming—nothing in this house is safe anymore), and inside he found a brand-new toy.
He played with it for about three seconds.
Because of course… Trixie immediately stole it.
What followed was an Olympic-level game of tug-of-war over a stuffed animal.
Total commitment. Total focus.
Neither dog was willing to give an inch.
And yet… nothing was happening.
The toy wasn’t going anywhere.
Nobody was winning.
The only thing increasing… was the tension.
And I had an epiphany: This is me.
This is me and cancer.
Because so much of this journey has felt like that—pulling against something I can’t control. Wanting things to be different than they are.
Bracing, resisting, tightening.
And just like my dogs… all that effort doesn’t create movement. It just creates strain.
Which made me wonder…
What if the suffering isn’t coming from the situation itself…
…but from the grip?
Because here’s the truth: When the pulling stops… the tension stops.
Not because the situation changed.
But because the struggle did.
And that’s what I’m starting to understand in a deeper way.
Maybe healing isn’t always about doing more.
Maybe it’s not about tightening the reins even further.
Maybe it’s about softening.
Now, I’ll be honest—this is not easy for me.
I’ve spent years being very disciplined—eating a very strict low-fat, SOS-free, whole food plant-based diet, doing everything I believed was “right.”
If there were a gold medal for dietary compliance, I’d be on the podium right next to Dr. GOLDhamer.”
And while that way of eating has given me so much…somewhere along the way, it also became easy to believe that if I just did everything perfectly…I could control the outcome.
Life doesn’t work that way.
And neither does healing.
I’ve also had to let go of other things—certain expectations, certain relationships, and the illusion that I can control everything if I just try hard enough.
Yesterday I had a PET scan.
I’ll be meeting with my oncologist on April 20th, where I’ll get those results along with the results from my recent brain MRI.
And in a few days, I’ll meet with my surgeon to find out whether the surgery was successful.
Success could mean:
- the cancer is gone
- smaller
- or stable
Other possibilities are that the cancer has grown… or even spread to other areas.
And here’s what I’m realizing: Obsessing over the outcome doesn’t change the outcome.
It just robs today of peace.
In the history of medicine, has worrying EVER improved test results?
So I’m practicing something new.
Letting go.
Not of hope.
Not of healing.
But of the fight against reality.
Because while I can’t control what happens…I can choose how I meet it.
And I have come to a place—gently, imperfectly—where I can say:
I accept that I could die.
And strangely…that acceptance brings peace.
Because when you let go of the fear of dying…you finally get to fully live.
So this is my new mantra:
Less gripping.
More living.
And if I forget…
I have two very committed (and slightly competitive) teachers who are more than happy to remind me.
Love and Tug Toys,
AJ
P.S. Where in your life do you need to let go?
From the Puppy Files 🐾
Why is it that whenever I try to take their picture they stick out their tongue? Do they think I’m the puparazzi?
