Re-Learning My Purpose

It’s now been several months since I started treatment for Crohn’s, and I’ve had a lot of time to reflect on everything that happened. In fact, I’ve been writing this very narrative since November, right after I received my first dose of Tremfya, as a way to process and share my experience. This essay itself has been a labor of love and catharsis, growing and evolving as I have. It’s now the spring of a new year, and I can confidently say I have turned a corner both physically and mentally.

Facing one’s mortality and fragility, has a way of sparking an epiphany about time and passion. Even if I never was in immediate life-threatening danger, the psychological impact of illness makes you confront those things. I realized with startling clarity that our time on this earth is finite, and none of it should be taken for granted. Surviving this ordeal ignited in me what I can only describe as an undrying well of passion. By that I mean, I’ve tapped into a source of energy and enthusiasm for life that I thought had perhaps dried up with adulthood and routine. It’s as if resolving to fight for my health opened up a broader determination to truly live.

I made a conscious decision after my diagnosis that I would live each day with more purpose, almost as if it were my last… Not in a morbid way, but in a mindful, fully engaged way. I asked myself: what do I love doing? What impact do I want to have? Where do I derive meaning? The answers came easily: I love my career in education, I love writing and the arts, I love my community at church, I love being a student, and I deeply love my family and friends. These were always true, but I’ll admit, before this health crisis, I often went through the motions, procrastinated on projects, or put off time with people because I assumed there’d always be tomorrow. Now, I don’t make that assumption so lightly. When I recovered, I dove back into my creative arts projects with renewed vigor, starting those bigger projects that I always wanted to wait for “the perfect moment” to start (which is a terrible way to trick yourself to never start). I poured more into my newsletter to share thoughts and stories, and I committed to sending it regularly, not letting fear of imperfection hold me back.

Teaching has always been my passion as well, and I returned to it with a newfound empathy and patience. Having been on the “patient” side of things (pun intended), I think I became more attuned to when my students or mentees are struggling quietly.

My experience has also reinforced what I once explored in an academic paper I wrote on relationship anarchy, a philosophy of love and relationships. The core idea of relationship anarchy is that love is not a limited resource. Caring deeply for one person doesn’t diminish the love available for another. It challenges the notion of ranking or restricting our relationships and instead encourages approaching each connection, whether friendship, family, romantic, or otherwise, with freedom and abundant love. I had intellectually understood this concept when I wrote about it, but now I truly feel it in practice. Surviving a health scare showed me that there is indeed so much love to go around. I found myself overwhelmed with gratitude for everyone who supported me. I realized I wanted to pour out more love in return. No more holding back affection out of busyness or fear. If I care about someone, I tell them. I make the time to be present in my relationships. I apologized to a friend I’d been distant with and rekindled that friendship. I love my weekly board game nights with my pals. In relationship anarchy terms, I stopped subconsciously rationing my emotional energy as if I had a fixed amount. Instead, I found the more love and kindness I gave, the more refilled my own well felt. It’s an expansive feeling, one that aligns with what I believe spiritually too, that love multiplies when shared.

Speaking of spiritual, my faith and church community played a significant role in my recovery of purpose. I’m actively involved in my church; it’s like a second family. In giving of myself in that setting, I felt a strong sense of calling. Now, every Sunday when I share a conversation with an older member over coffee (I make it, they drink it), I feel deeply connected and purposeful. I know I am exactly where I need to be, doing what I ought to be doing: serving and loving others in whatever ways I can.

I also rekindled my involvement in the theater community at a local college where I help with productions (behind the scenes is my preferred spot). Theater and performance art have been a passion of mine, ever since a relationship introduced it to me (and I had seen productions with my mom, but it feels different to work on it), but I had drifted away due to “being busy with life.” Not anymore. The camaraderie, the creative expression, the sheer fun of it… I cherish every moment. There too I’ve opened up about my journey, and I’ve found allies and fellow chronic illness warriors. It’s amazing how once you speak your truth, others feel safe to share theirs, and suddenly you’re all supporting each other.

Through all these facets of my life, and it’s a lot with my career, art, church, teaching, friendships, family, a common thread has emerged: an intense sense of gratitude and a drive to make the most of my time. I wake up each morning now and the first thing I do is say “thank you” that I have a new day, that I feel good, that I have people to love and work I enjoy. It’s not that life became magically perfect. I’ll have to manage Crohn’s perhaps forever, which means occasional flares or doctor visits or dealing with insurance paperwork. I still have the normal stresses, like bills to pay, chores to do, occasional conflicts to resolve. But my perspective has shifted dramatically. Those things don’t weigh me down like before. I approach difficulties now with a kind of inner resilience and even optimism. Perhaps it’s partly the influence of Captain Picard’s calm in crisis (my ever-present muse), partly my faith, partly knowing I’ve survived worse. I’ve learned that inside me is a well of strength and passion that doesn’t run dry; it only needed the right push to tap into it.

As I write these closing thoughts, I feel energy humming in my veins. It’s the energy of purpose and conviction. I have a renewed vow to keep writing, because sharing stories (whether my own or fictional ones) is one of the great loves of my life. I realize that words can heal, connect, and inspire, and if this story does even a little of that for someone who reads it, I’ll consider it a success. I intend to keep teaching and mentoring, because investing in others multiplies goodness in the world. I intend to keep working for my church, because I have been given much support and I want to give back. And I intend to keep nurturing my relationships, spending quality time with my mom (she’s retired now, and I relish our morning walks more than ever), playing those tabletop games with friends (our D&D campaigns are thriving, by the way!), and being a mentor for my students and coworkers.

In essence, getting E. coli at midnight saved my life by waking me up to truly live. It revealed a hidden illness, yes, but more than that, it revealed parts of myself that were hidden: courage, gratitude, ambition, love. It set me on a path of better health and deeper fulfillment. Life is wonderfully unpredictable that way; sometimes the darkest contain the seeds of new light. I wouldn’t wish a bout of E. coli on anyone, but I also wouldn’t trade my experience, because it made me who I am now: a person on a mission to live with passion, serve with heart, and love without limits.

As Jean-Luc Picard might say, things are only impossible until they’re not. And I have found possibility and hope where I least expected it. With a belly full of newfound hunger (literal and metaphorical), and a heart full of determination, I’m moving forward. I’m excited to see what the future holds, and I’m ready to face it, boldly, with the knowledge that even when life’s menu serves up something nasty, it might just be the impetus for a greater journey. And that, my friends, is how a midnight rendezvous with E. coli ended up saving my life, setting me on course to a future bright with purpose and passion.