Is Life About Avoiding Obstacles, Or Embracing Them?
I’ve learned to face obstacles head-on and trust myself to grow stronger.
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It starts with a phone call. Three words. Small, simple, and devastating.
“I have cancer.”
The floor drops out from under me. Time slows, and I know life will never be the same.
“What kind?” I ask my mom.
“Breast. It’s early, though. They think it’s treatable.”
Her words feel rehearsed. Too steady, as if she practiced them in front of a mirror.
“I’ll fly back home,” I say, gripping the counter. The granite is cold under my palm, grounding me.
“No need,” she replies. “I’ve got everything under control.”
But she doesn’t. Not really.
When I see my mom a few weeks later, something is missing. The warmth that once radiated from her is gone, replaced by a fragility I can’t ignore. She wears the loose cardigan I remember from childhood, the one she’d wrap around herself on chilly evenings. It once symbolized her warmth and strength. Now, it hangs like armor, barely concealing the fragility beneath.
We don’t talk about cancer. Not at first. Instead, we plan vacations we might never take and joke about movies we want to see. After all naming the elephant in the room feels dangerous, as if acknowledging it could give it more power.
That night, I wander into my childhood bedroom. The shelves are lined with stuffed animals, forgotten trinkets, and countless books. My eyes fall on one called The Obstacle Is the Way by Ryan Holiday. I pick it up and flip through the pages. One line in particular gives me goosebumps.
“The obstacle in the path becomes the path.”
I read it again. And again.
That phrase becomes my mantra. Each hospital visit. Each silent car ride. Each moment of sitting by my mom’s side as she drifts in and out of restless sleep. I repeat it to myself. Not because it makes things easier, but because it makes them bearable.
Stoicism doesn’t soften the sharp edges of adversity. Nothing can. But it helps me to hold them without cutting myself. As strength isn’t about being invincible. Instead, it’s about showing up and doing what’s right, even when I’m terrified of the future.
The years after Mom’s cancer diagnosis were quieter, but not easier. I thought everything would calm down, and life would go back to normal. However, life’s obstacles didn’t disappear — they simply took on new forms and required different kinds of strength.
I quit my job and started freelancing, for example. Thought I’d have unlimited freedom working for myself. The reality? I feel a rush of anxiety every time an email hits my inbox. I have to reply immediately because I can’t afford to fall behind. But what if I pick the wrong opportunity? What if a client has a bad experience and wants to ruin my reputation?
This is exhausting.
It’s like I’ve traded financial stability to find a career with unlimited earning potential. But somewhere along the way, I lost myself.
My phone suddenly buzzes, snapping me out of the negative thought loop.
“Wanna grab a coffee?”
I hesitate. There’s so much left to do, and so many tasks I’m neglecting. But something inside me shifts. Maybe it’s the exhaustion. Or perhaps, it’s the realization I’ve been trapped in my own head for too long. Either way, I type, “Sure,” before I can talk myself out of it.
I arrive at the café a few hours later. My friend is already there, sitting in the corner, holding a cappuccino between his hands. He looks up as I walk in, his gaze soft yet knowing, as if he can see through the fatigue I’ve been hiding.
“You’re burning out,” he says, voice soft but firm. “What are you chasing?”
The question lands like a punch. Am I chasing approval? Stability? A sense of worth? I don’t answer right away. Instead, I stir my coffee, watching it swirl like storm clouds, and say, ‘I don’t know.’
My friend doesn’t press further, but his silence speaks volumes. So, I awkwardly look away, feeling like a child caught in a lie.
Later that evening, I’m staring at my bookshelf trying to find something new to read. My eyes land on Essentialism by Greg McKeown. I read it cover to cover in a single day, marking up the pages until they glow with streaks of yellow and pink. One line hits me hardest:
“If you don’t prioritize your life, someone else will.”
My life doesn’t change overnight. But that quote plants a seed. It encourages me to experiment, say no to projects that don’t excite me, and block off time for walks, reading, and calling loved ones. It feels indulgent at first. Even selfish. But slowly, things shift. I breathe easier. My work improves, not just in quality but in meaning. And for the first time in years, I feel something unfamiliar.
Contentment.
Books have changed my life. They act as maps, guiding me through difficult moments and revealing paths I didn’t know existed. They’ve also taught me the importance of taking responsibility for my decisions. Because when I don’t choose my own path in life, others will do it for me.
And I can’t live that way. I won’t.
But I don’t have to. I had lunch with my mom the other day. She said courage isn’t about avoiding obstacles but about facing them head-on and trusting yourself to grow stronger. Even despite her newfound wisdom, she’s still the same. Still wears the loose cardigan, drinks five cups of tea a day — even though I think it tastes like sweaty water — and offers quiet wisdom when I need it most.
I now realize I can’t control the chapters life throws my way. Nobody can. But I can always choose how I respond. And so, I’ve decided to write my own story. To choose the path that feels right for me, no matter what obstacles lie ahead. And with every word, every page, I shape my future.
One day at a time.
I’m a full-time storyteller, part-time procrastinator, who writes to inspire, entertain, and avoid doing laundry. If you enjoy my reflections on life’s challenges, subscribe to my Substack.
