THE SHIFT — LIFE DOESN’T WAIT
Read Time: 3 minutes
A reflection on illness, time, and the craft that carried me forward.
Life hit me hard a few years ago.
Cancer walked into the room and didn’t leave. It became the elephant in the corner, the shadow in the doorway, the thing that tries to take more space than it deserves. I don’t pretend it didn’t happen. I don’t dress it up. It’s a scar I carry — a chapter I never asked for, but one I’m still here to tell.
It changed me.
It changed what I value.
It changed how I see time.
It changed why I build the way I do.
Before all this, I used to save the “good wood” for later. I used to wait for the right moment, the right project, the right conditions. But later isn’t guaranteed. Perfect conditions don’t exist. And any day I’m not stuck in a hospital bed is a great day — a day worth using, worth building, worth living.
So I stopped waiting.
I stopped saving things for someday.
I started treating every piece of lumber, every project, every hour in the shop like it mattered — because it does.
And now, as I write this, I’m preparing for round two. Cancer is stubborn and it won’t give up — so I won’t either. My life depends on this fight. The stress is real, and it eats at me, but I’ll take it the only way I know how: one operation at a time, one chemotherapy treatment at a time, one day at a time.
There’s a strange kind of clarity that comes with this. You stop pretending you’re invincible. You stop wasting time on things that don’t matter. You stop putting off the things that do. You learn to build with urgency, not panic — with purpose, not fear.
And if you’ve read Mini Kitchen, you already know this fight shows up in my work. That story isn’t really about a tiny kitchen. It’s about cancer, and the mental work of holding yourself together while you wait for the next round. The pacing, the humour, the need to keep your hands busy — that’s what waiting looks like when you’re trying not to fall apart.
Cancer may have gravity, but it doesn’t get my story.
It doesn’t get my craft.
It doesn’t get my family.
It doesn’t get my home, my shop, my laughter, or my legacy.
I’m still here.
I’m still building.
I’m still choosing the work, the people, and the moments that matter.
I’m still fighting — and I’m still living — one piece at a time.
This is a story I’m still living — a battle I’m still fighting — and the conclusion is a long way off. So this page will change as I do. One day, I hope to rewrite it as a full narrative after a win. That’s the dream. But for now, it’s updates as they come.
And if the cancer wins, and I find myself lying in its shadow instead, I’ll write that story too. Not out of defeat, but out of honesty. Out of the same stubbornness that keeps me building.
Until the ending reveals itself, I keep fighting.
If you want to support me, just keep reading my stories. The cancer and the fight for life are behind the words of all of them.
Step inside Behind the Grain, if you’d like to sit awhile.
Taken near Otterburn Mb.
