Just 10 years ago, I sat across the desk from a doctor. “Yes,” he said, “there is something wrong with the left, upper lung. You are suffering a severe cancer. You'll have to give up work at once. Later on, we'll see.”

    Feeling like a man who is in mid­career has suddenly been placed under sentence of death, I left the doctor's office, walked over to the park, and sat down on a chair. I needed to think. In the next 3 days, I cleared up my affairs, then I went home, got into bed, and set my watch to tick off not the minutes, but the months. Two years later, I left my bed and began the long climb back. It was another year before I made it.

    I speak of this experience because these years that passed so slowly taught me what to value and what to believe. I realize now that each day, to me, is a precious thing. I've learned to appreciate those little things I never thought I had the time to notice before: the play of light on running water, the music of the wind.

    Frequently, I sit back and say to myself, “Let me make note of this moment I'm living right now, because in it I'm well, happy and hard at work doing what I like best to do. It won't always be like this, so while it is, I'll make the most of it—and afterwards, I remember—and be grateful. I contribute all these to that long time spent on the fight with cancer.”