— Here’s why I have no regrets.

by Amy Ettinger

Last month, I found out I have Stage 4 uterine leiomyosarcoma, a rare and aggressive cancer. Doctors say I may have just a few months to live. Treatment could buy me a little extra time, but not much. My disease is advanced and incurable. My prognosis has left me shocked, sad, angry and confused. I wake up some mornings raging at the universe, feeling betrayed by my own body, counting the years and the milestones I expected to enjoy with my family.

I am leaving behind a husband and 14-year-old daughter I adore, and a writing and teaching career I’ve worked so hard to build. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about my life, and in addition to the horror, a surprising feeling has taken hold: I am dying at age 49 without any regrets about the way I’ve lived my life.

I learned that lasting love is about finding someone who will show up for you

In my teen years, I fell hard for a boy who broke my heart, not just once, but half a dozen times. It was an obsessive first crush, the kind that made me stop eating and sleeping. He broke up with me and we got back together many times in high school.

The feeling was addictive, although it made me miserable. Even after I graduated, I could not get him out of my head. His story ended tragically — he took his own life at age 21. His death was heartbreaking, but my fraught relationship with him, and the traumatic aftermath, taught me what I ultimately wanted in love — safety, support, fun and adventure.

I needed a partner who would help me feel good about myself, someone steady, reliable, and free from all that romantic drama.

A few years later, I met my future husband, who was insecure and grappling with his own worries. Dan was smart, bookish, funny and kind. His love for me was constant and never in question. He was a writer, but instead of being competitive with me, he supported my career. Dan and I have been together 25 years, never having broken up or even separated, even for a day.

I pursued my dream career with passion

“No one can make a career out of writing.” It was a statement I heard from almost everyone I knew, from teachers to parents to concerned friends. I was told I would face a life of rejection and begging for late paychecks.

But I knew I could not survive waking up each day to the morning commute and heading to a 9-to-5 office job under fluorescent lights. I like to be in charge of my own life and schedule.

When I wanted to write a reported history about ice cream in America, some people laughed.

“I can see it as a magazine story, not as a book,” one agent wrote me.

And yet I went on to land a contract with Penguin Random House to travel the country, eating ice cream, gathering research, interviewing Jerry from Ben & Jerry’s, and riding around on the back of an ice cream truck through the streets of Bensonhurst, N.Y. The book contract was lucrative, and the publication of “Sweet Spot: An Ice Cream Binge Through America” opened up opportunities I never expected, like being on NPR and teaching creative nonfiction writing.

>In the last few years, I have been able to mentor and coach dozens of promising writers. In return, these students, with their sincerity and soaring ambitions, helped revitalize my own writing, reminding me why I went into this business in the first place.

I have never had a bucket list; instead I said ‘yes’ to life

I’ve always tried to say yes to the voice that tells me I should go out and do something now, even when that decision seems wildly impractical. A few years ago, with very little planning, my family and I got in a car and drove 600 miles to a goat farm in central Oregon, where we camped out for four days to watch a solar eclipse. I once jetted off to Germany on two days’ notice, spending a week exploring Dresden and hiking through the Black Forest.

“Money always comes back, but if you miss out on an experience, the opportunity may never come back.” This has been my mantra since I met Dan. Even when our bank account was low on funds, we decided to move to New York City to pursue our writing dreams. It was ridiculously hard at first, but it worked out because we gave ourselves no other choice.

I’m a good saver but things like retirement accounts were never important to me. When given a choice between taking a family trip to Kauai or squirreling money into a 401(k), I always chose to head for the islands.

I found people in my life who can accept me as I am

I don’t try to hide who I am or apologize for it. I am a bit of a hermit. I am sure I have hurt people’s feelings with my behavior from time to time by ducking out of parties early or choosing not to go to Happy Hour. I have spent very little time worrying about it. I think it’s more important to find people who get me and accept me than want to change me. I have done my best to avoid people who come at me with unreasonable expectations. And because I don’t have to spend any time covering up my real self, my friendships are genuine. Since my diagnosis, I’ve had a chance to tell my friends how much I love them. They’ve told me that, too, and I deeply feel it.

I live where I want even though the numbers never add up

I love spending time in the redwoods and by the ocean. Just a few months ago, I was walking four miles a day along the sweeping ocean coastline at West Cliff Drive where I could see surfers and otters frolicking, and humpback whales lunge-feeding just off the shoreline. This became my everyday routine.

My favorite spots are within a 10-minute drive of my house, and most are still accessible even as my energy continues to drop off as the cancer spreads through my body.

The flip side of this dream life is the cost. My family and I live in one of the most unaffordable places in America.

Dan and I have talked dozens of times about uprooting, but my friends and our writing community are in Santa Cruz, and my daughter loves her friends and her school, so my husband and I have chosen to stay. My family will never own a house — at least not in my lifetime — but at least I am dying around people who love me and are bringing me meals when I need them. These are people who are willing to show up for me no matter what. And I know they will show up for my husband and daughter, even after I am gone.

The end of my life is coming much too soon, and my diagnosis can at times feel too difficult to bear. But I’ve learned that life is all about a series of moments, and I plan to spend as much remaining time as I can savoring each one, surrounded by the beauty of nature and my family and friends. Thankfully, this is the way I’ve always tried to live my life.

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