The gift of perspective: Returning to Kiawah Island with gratitude
It has been three years since my wife and I last set foot on Kiawah Island, but it feels like a lifetime has passed. When we drove through the winding roads framed by moss-draped oaks, the beauty of this place struck me in a way it never had before. I’ve always appreciated Kiawah—the serenity of the beach, the gentle whispers of the marsh—but this time, something is different. This time, I am different.
Late last year, my life took an unexpected turn with a cancer diagnosis. That word—cancer—has a way of stopping everything. It forces you to see life not in years but in moments, not in abstract dreams but in the tangible now. Facing something so monumental has a way of stripping away the noise, leaving only what truly matters. And for that, I find myself thankful.
Gratitude was not my first reaction to cancer, of course. At first, it was fear—an overwhelming sense of uncertainty that seemed to shadow every part of my life. But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, I began to see the smallest details of life in sharper focus. I saw beauty in things I had once overlooked: the way sunlight dances on the water, the simple joy of a morning walk with my wife, the profound comfort of faith and community.
Returning to Kiawah now feels like a reunion not just with a beloved place, but with a part of myself I had long neglected. I notice the vibrant greens of the marsh grass, the rhythmic crash of the waves, and the way the breeze carries with it a sense of renewal. This island has always been beautiful, but my eyes were too busy looking ahead to fully see it before. Now, every moment here feels like a gift.
I never thought I would say this, but I am thankful for what cancer has given me: a new lens through which to see the world. It has slowed me down, made me more present, and reminded me that life is not measured by how many days we have but by how deeply we live them. It has taught me to treasure the now—the soft embrace of a loved one, the laughter shared over a meal, the profound stillness of standing at the ocean’s edge.
This trip to Kiawah is not just a vacation; it is a celebration of the everyday miracles I once took for granted. It is a chance to breathe deeply, to give thanks, and to reconnect with the beauty of creation. Walking along the beach, hand in hand with my wife, I feel a profound sense of peace and joy—emotions that cancer, strangely enough, has helped me rediscover.
If you find yourself in a place of uncertainty or fear, I hope my journey can be a reminder that even in the hardest seasons, there is room for growth and gratitude. Life is fragile, yes, but it is also astonishingly resilient. Beauty exists not in the absence of struggle but in our ability to find meaning within it.
As the sun sets over Kiawah Island, painting the sky in hues of gold and amber, I am reminded that every ending holds the promise of a new beginning. Today, I am alive. Today, I am thankful. Today, I am here—and that is enough.
