Finding your center when the sh*t hits the fan - Sage B. Hobbs

When we bought our house as a young couple about to get married, we pulled up to find adorable, 4 year-old twins happily playing on our front step.  Over time, a path was worn between our homes.  

Their mom watched my first child when he was a baby.  We share dinners outside most summer evenings.  Our lives weave together, with a shoe left behind and an egg borrowed.

One of these sweet, now 13 year-olds, just learned she has cancer.  WTF.  


I find myself silently sobbing for fleeting moments in my normal day.  Bowled over and saddened by the blows that life dishes out in the form of cancer.  This is my fifth intimate go with this f-ing illness… and it is not something about which I want to be such a damn expert.

Anger.  Shock.  Frustration.  Fear.  Fight.  Love.  Profound waves of sadness.

Sometimes the only thing to say is “that sucks.”  Tongues get twisted trying to explain away things that just don’t seem right.

And yet, you dig into your reserves of strength, love, and gratitude.  

You have to find your center.  You have to ground.  You have to let the fire within, the mojo that I always write about, carry you through.  Sometimes it’s reaching out and calling in your support crew.  Other times, it’s turning in, and calling in your quietude.

That’s what I’m sharing with you all today.  Now is the time to nurture your passions.  To connect with the people and activities that fill you up.  To tune into what you really want, not what you think you should want.  To honor your own desire.  To fan your fire.  To open your heart.

It’s not just about carpe diem, though that’s important.  It’s also about creating a life that is strong, beautiful, and supportive.  A life that buoys you when you need it.

Yesterday, my sweet neighbor wanted to run errands with me.  She can get whatever she wants right now by “pulling the cancer card,” as she puts it.  But, she wanted to hang with me and my zaney 2 year-old.  She wanted to talk and talk and be heard and loved.   She wanted to be treated “normally.”

I feel deeply honored to support her.  Because I had cancer at 23, she feels I understand her.  I’m doing my best.

When the sh*t hits the fan, I’m so grateful I’ve been filling my bucket, gathering my mojo reserves.  

While it still totally sucks, and my heart literally aches watching my 6 year-old make cards for her and crawl into her lap, I’m clear in my strength.  I’m clear in the gift that life is.  I’m clear in the value of community.  I’m clear in the importance of making life count, instead of getting caught in the daily grind.

I’m clear.  Being badass + brilliant is powerful stuff.  It’s living courageously, with passion, purpose, and intention… so when the water is choppy, you’re ready to swim.

Yours in living a badass + brilliant life,



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