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MY FIRST REACTION ON hearing my cancer diagnosis: I’m okay with this. My reaction a few hours later: I’m being self-centered.
My time is short, though how short remains an open question. Still, my truncated life expectancy makes something of a mockery of my pre-diagnosis comments about how we should view retirement not as the finish line, but rather as the beginning of a journey that might last two or three decades and perhaps account for almost half of our adult life.
Despite that, I feel no anger, sadness or fear about what lies ahead. While I’m going to do all that I can to extend my life, until all reasonable measures are exhausted, I’m not devastated by the thought that my life will be cut short. Why not? As I look back—yes, I suddenly find myself in the “summing up” phase—I feel great gratitude for the life I’ve been able to lead.
The fact is, I’ve had wonderful opportunities and experiences, and I consider myself very fortunate. Below are nine reasons I feel grateful. One thing that struck me about my list: While money is a factor in Nos. 1, 5 and especially 6, it’s of little or no importance to the other six items.
1. For most of my career, I’ve done work I thoroughly enjoy. Even today, I happily get up far too early, make a cup of coffee, and immediately start writing and editing. The only exception to this happy story was my six years at Citigroup, when—toward the end—I felt I was wasting my time and making scant difference in the world.
2. I’ve known enough bad times to have perspective. Everybody has rough periods, and it might seem like those times have no silver lining. But I’d argue bad times teach us who we are and nudge us toward a more nuanced view of the world. No, I have no desire to spend another nine years at English boarding school, or cope again with the aftermath of my father’s death, or have two wives leave me. But those experiences helped make me who I am, and I like to think they’ve knocked off some of the rough edges and pushed me to appreciate life more.
3. I have a close-knit family. I have two children and, so far, two grandkids. I also have an 85-year-old mother and three siblings, and—all these decades later—we all remain surprisingly close. I hear about so many fractured families, where old wounds fester and folks refuse to talk to one another. Somehow, we’ve avoided that fate.
4. I got the chance to push myself to my physical limits. As a schoolboy, I was scornful of athletic endeavors and made scant effort. That changed in my 30s, when I became intrigued by the idea of running a marathon. I ended up running four marathons and five half-marathons, including a half-marathon around the deck of a boat floating off the coast of Antarctica. I also ran a slew of local 5k, five-mile and 10-mile road races, finishing first on a dozen occasions. My dodgy right Achilles means I can no longer run, but I can still recall the pleasure of emptying myself during the final miles of a race.
5. I’ve had the opportunity to see much of the world. Not long before I turned age 10, my father was posted to Bangladesh for four years, giving us the chance to see much of the region. I’ve traveled often to Europe, and my children’s studies have meant I’ve spent time in Senegal, Egypt and Turkey. Sure, there are places I’d still like to see—and, at this point, probably won’t—but I don’t feel shortchanged.
6. While I worried a lot about money in my 20s and 30s, I haven’t worried much since. As I’ve come to appreciate, that’s rare: For far too many folks, money casts a dark shadow over every day, and escaping those worries can seem like an impossible task.
7. On a handful of occasions, I’ve felt like I had the world’s attention. A few times, I’ve appeared on major television shows, triggering phone calls and emails from folks I hadn’t heard from in years. When I was at The Wall Street Journal, I wrote some articles that prompted 500-plus complimentary emails. Such moments were rare enough to seem special—and sufficiently infrequent that my ego didn’t remain inflated for long.
8. I’m getting to spend my final days with someone I love deeply and who loves me. In the middle of the night, when dark thoughts derail my sleep, it’s wonderful to rest my hand on Elaine’s arm and draw comfort from her stillness.
9. I’ve been afforded the time to contemplate my own death. There will be no sudden demise or slow slide into dementia. How would you change your life if you knew you had just a year or two to live? I’m getting the chance to answer that question, and I consider it a great privilege.
Still, all of this is a tad selfish. I may not be racked with regret and sadness over my early departure from this life—but arguably I’m the lucky one. As I’ve come to realize, it isn’t me who is suffering, but rather those who will be left behind, and especially Elaine, who will need to build a life without me.
I have the chance to make my peace with my fate, while Elaine and other family members must grapple with all the uncertainty that’ll follow. I’m trying to make the most of each day I have left, even as they’re grieving—and my refusal to join in the grieving creates a void that makes it more difficult for them.
Jonathan Clements is the founder and editor of HumbleDollar. Follow him on X @ClementsMoney and on Facebook, and check out his earlier articles.
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Dear Jonathan,
I would like to add a few more to your list.
Kudos and thank you. Wish you the very best.
From “Dark Victory”(Bette Davis) “We all have to die. The difference is you know when and we don’t.” Thank you for everything, Jonathan.
Johnathan
You’ve done great work and I’ve been reading you since your WSJ days. I like Humble Dollar for the polite conversations and insights of the readers. They are a reflection of you. I suspect that 99% of us are educated and financially secure. What I wish is that we had conversations with currently poor folks. I suspect we’d have a lot to learn from each other. Thank you for existing. – Dave
Jonathan-Another article that is making us all think about the purpose of all this and how to make the best of things, while we are here. Thank you. Jim
Jonathan,
This is a classic article and will profoundly influence lot of folks to rethink how to live life. Over the years, you had a major impact on financial life of so many. I believe your best work is still ahead as you show us what really matters.
In retirement, the most valuable commodity is time and not money. Given that, how should we spend our time and money so that when we look back, we have no regrets? That is the challenge we face.
Jonathan – someone posted a comment (either you or a commentator) a few columns back stating “Happiness is a Choice.” That’s my new mantra going forward with the negative people I encounter in my life. Thank yo for sharing your wisdom with the rest of us.
One of my Buddhist wife’s favorite sayings is “Happiness is the gift you give yourself.”
My mantra is similar: “I choose Happiness.” I like that it’s action oriented.
Thanks for the comment, Tom. I mentioned that notion in this piece:
https://humbledollar.com/2024/08/on-the-clock/
Wonderful insights and thanks you so much for sharing your very personal insights.
I was just having the ‘no regrets’ in life conversation with my wife the other day and my thoughts were very similar to yours. Research has shown that regrets in life are more focused on things of omission (ie., things you wish you did but didn’t) vs commission (things you did but regret).
Best wishes and so glad to hear that you can look back on a life lived with no regrets.
I haven’t posted before (I think) directly on your diagnosis but I do think it’s something quite special that you are continuing to post well considered and life affirming articles and forum posts, when it would be entirely understandable to retreat to your closest family and friends.
I guess that this community should feel honoured that you do so and it is a terrific legacy. I agree with some preceeding posts that maybe these “memento mori” articles are in both, in part, your own way of processing your internal grief and in serving us all as to what really matters.
Thank you
The perspective your diagnosis has given you is, in turn, giving your readers some profound & powerful insights into how to deal with life’s finale with dignity & grace.
Thank you for everything Jonathan! Prayers
Thanks Jonathan. I was contemplating #7. Most of us will never get the chance to have that level of impact. I wonder/hope that I have made a host of small impacts that integrate to a meaningful life.
Thanks for Humble Dollar, sharing your expertise, and for your humble wisdom. You are admired by so many.
Truely deep gratitude, why does it so often take a terminal illness or death of a close one to realize it. I include myself in that. May I offer a thought regarding your last paragraph. My mom dealt with her terminal cancer pretty much like you, while my sisters and myself had various levels of grief during her last months. But long after she had passed, we all still have a great comfort and admiration in how she handled it. It was a gift she gave us. I’m not sure our memories would be the same if she joined in our grief while she was alive.
My 22-year-old daughter in Denver just mentioned to me that she and her roommate had questions about retirement plans as they were signing up in their new jobs. They pulled out the book I had given my daughter (How to Think About Money) and found the answers they needed. I didn’t ask what the questions were because I knew they had better advice in their hands than anything I could provide. Jonathan, your impact goes way beyond the pages of HumbleDollar!
You have made a big difference in my life – I used to be nervous making decisions on finances, but you made things easy to understand and gave me confidence. Thanks for all you have done for so many of us.
Jonathan,
You’ve taught so many of us important lessons about how to use money to live the life we want. Now, by your example, you’re providing lessons on how to approach death.
I hope when my time comes I can handle it with a fraction of your grace.
Andrew
Commentary doesn’t get any better than this. Thank you!
Extraordinary perspective as always, Jonathan. I believe you’ve chosen the ultimate emotion for dealing with this impossible situation — gratitude. To be surrounded by love and warmth at this point is the consummate gift, and I’m so glad you can savor it.
I didn’t realize your mother was still alive. When I was told in 2016 that I was likely in my final year (a verdict reversed by the timely miracle of immunotherapy), one of my first thoughts was immense relief that I didn’t have to tell my mom, who like my father died young. Both of my grandmothers had lived to 100 with their mental faculties intact, but their eyes were empty after their children passed.
I believe we are somewhat mentally conditioned to lose our spouse — all successful marriages end with the death of one partner. But we are in no way prepared for the loss of a child. It is unnatural. Whether the child is 2 or 62 makes no difference.
I hope I am not being intrusive to suggest that perhaps it may not be Elaine who is suffering most right now. My thoughts (and tears) are with your mom.
As someone who has lost a child (he was 27), so much truth here.
My diagnosis has indeed been very rough on my mother. She keeps talking of a miracle based on the stories she’s heard, and I keep emphasizing that I have stage 4 cancer, which is something that might be contained for a period, but can’t be cured. Problem is, there are so many different types of cancer and folks are diagnosed at so many different stages, there are indeed countless stories of recovery that are floating around — but that isn’t going to be my story.
Those are such beautiful sentiments. Number eight especially resonated with me.
I’m sorry that boarding school was an unfortunate experience. It was a rather long time. Mine was four years and, a good experience to make friends that are still part of my life.
When I read the WSJ years ago, your column was the first one I read in that paper each week. Your columns were always superb and I learned so much from you. After you left I discovered this wonderful web site, where I have continued to learn an enormous amount, thanks to you and your co-writers. But your columns since your diagnosis are the ones that have taught me the most of all. They are profound and beautifully written. Thank you, thank you, thank you, Jonathan!!!
I agree, Jonathan. We do have it easy, since we’ll be dead and gone while the living have to go in with life.
While I should have at least 3-5 more years, time seems to fly by. Maybe as the time gets closer I will feel differently. FOMO as I lay on my deathbed?
On a side note: many people get weird/uncomfortable when they find out my time is getting short. I find myself trying to comfort THEM because at this point I’ve accepted the diagnosis since I can’t do anything to stop it.
Yes, I too find myself playing the comforter role.
Thank you for sharing your amazing perspective on life, and ultimately the shortness of it relative to eternity. We all have our “expiration dates” established by The Lord, but for those of us who believe in Jesus, our life on this earthly plane is but a wisp of time when compared to the eternal and glorious life in Heaven that is promised by the Word of God. Blessings upon you, Mr. Clements.
Jonathan – Your note brought tears to my eyes. Thank you for taking us, your readers, on your journey. Quite possibly, one of the bravest things that you have done. I pray for hope and reconciliation for you and your family. All the best.
Jonathan, it’s a privilege to know you.
Life is an adventure. But as a matter of faith I can’t help but feel that the real adventure begins after life.
A while ago, I listened to an interview on the radio of a highly respected scientist. He was quite vocal about what he knew of the universe but, when asked about his wife’s demise, he couldn’t speak. He had no knowledge of faith. So sad.
Nine years at an English boarding school? Sounds like a prison sentence. At least I only had to eat lunch at my day grammar school.
Jonathan, Your writing is often like a beautiful painting where every brush stroke is artfully placed. The time you take to write is a gift to many of us. Thank you.
I have been learning from you for years, Jonathan — but never more, about the most profound things, than in the last few months. Thank you for that.
2. I’ve known enough bad times to have perspective.
I think there are both good and bad perspectives to be gleaned from hard times. You made a choice to grab the good ones.
6. While I worried a lot about money in my 20s and 30s, I haven’t worried much since.
I found this interesting because I find myself with the same state of mind. I used to be a financial news junkie, but now that I have all I need, most of that stuff no longer interests me. At first glance this may seem strange for an HD regular like myself, but my attraction to this site isn’t the advice, it’s the personal aspects of the writers.
Same here, although relaxing completely about money came somewhat later: in my 30’s and 40’s the picture wasn’t so rosy. The positive lessons we learn here about personal experiences are shared in a ripple effect with our own families and friends. Thanks, Jonathan!
Jonathan,
Thank you for your beautiful writing and may God bless you and your family.
These articles are a great gift and part of your incredible legacy. The title of this article and your candid, open approach to discussing your diagnosis encouraged me to ask your thoughts about the new early cancer detection tests. I turn 60 this month, and I recently did the “Grail Test” https://grail.com/multi-cancer-early-detection/. That test costs $1000, is NOT without false positives, and definitely imperfect (i.e. not without complete misses on detection), but it is an attempt to move our treatment approach and methods from only later and late-stage to one where we detect and treat as early as possible. Personally, I hope it is part of a wave of testing and treatments that shift the enormous healthcare dollars spent to get better outcomes and increase longevity.
Jonathan’s diagnosis led me, a former smoker, to get a CT scan to check for cancer. The good news, no cancer (although one “ground-glass nodule” to follow), the bad news, my emphysema is worse, and there’s no treatment to fix that. But at 77 I’m thinking of cutting back on routine tests, never mind expensive one-offs. False positives are a real concern.
While I agree with the comments of others, is there a danger that we start to live life to achieve the optimal death? Since childhood I have been very future focussed and good at deferring enjoyment etc with predictable gains and losses. I expect this site attracts a lot of people who similarly “negatively discount” the future. How should I weight what I think I will value at my hazily predicted end versus what I feel like doing today?!
You pose an existential question.
My wife is a devout Buddhist, and I occasionally tease her about how much time she and her vast prayer network spend contemplating death, preparing for death, meditating on death, and chanting for those who have died.
If you have a Buddhist in your life, pour ’em a cup of tea and have a conversation. You might find it illuminating.
Another deeply introspective article. It’s hard to be grateful about life with your diagnosis but I understand what you are saying. I keep a list of classmates who have passed (because someone in our class is always asking for one) and it constantly reminds me that I’ve truly been lucky in that respect, and in basically all other respects too. I often think about my own lifespan and facetiously decide that all I want is a little bit more than I’m going to get.
Thank you for your Saturday morning gift.
I encourage you to work on #5, and create more memories with your children on an adventure. A Viking Cruise could be low stress…I know I have trouble resisting those gorgeous commercials! Perhaps for a future trip… but next for us is two glorious weeks in Italy. We booked our tickets yesterday! Fortunately I had accumulated enough points on my credit card for one roundtrip. Prices have finally decreased a bit, but are still eye-popping. My “anchor” pricing is still from the 90s 🤣
PS #8 is the best. Bless your wonderful Elaine as much as you can.
In response to your last comment: [Perhaps] you are grieving. This is what it looks like [for you.] Unfortunately as you point out, grief often (always?) does not draw us together because we’re all at different places and distances from the loss as well as arriving from different journeys and experiencing the loss from different perspectives.
I would even suggest that grief is a good and an appropriate part of any journey well-taken. And if you want a label, some call it anticipatory grief.
I would agree that grief can be good, as long as part of it is gratitude for having had what we lost, rather than being embittered and feeling cheated in some way. Over time, the grief we experience can make us more empathetic when we see others going through difficult times. But the first months (and years) after a loss is when we really need a loving family and community, if we are fortunate enough to have them.
Simply beautiful. You have always led by example and are again doing so admirably in your premature final chapter. I recall Randy Pausch’s “Last Lecture”. Your blogs about your “last lap” have the makings of a book on how best to live in order to die well and peacefully. If you write it, I might call it The Final Chapter. I find it a special privilege to know you, to have shared some time together, and to be a little part of your journey.
Jonathan, your “attitude of gratitude” is an example for all of us. I hope your reflection on all you have done and the lives you have touched bring you much joy.
Thank you, Jonathan, for your efforts to provide unbiased intelligence about financial topics over the years. I’ve enjoyed your articles since your WSJ days and looked forward to your HumbleDollar newsletters each week. The public has been so lucky you did not simply retire and do nothing! Best wishes to you and family in your latest journey.
Jonathan,
You can’t be dying and still write such beautiful and thought provoking articles. Maybe the doctors are wrong. Keep writing as long as you can. I’ve read and loved everything you have written since your Wall Street Journal column.
Margie
I read this at 5am EST prepping for an early 10k, one of many running races I’ve done annually for the last 7 years or so.
As I near 50 my own money worries have continued to trend downward through good habits and some luck.
I can envision reaching a similar frame of mind in the years to come of a life well lived without regrets or feeling cheated somehow.
Jonathan….another amazing candid, heartfelt and powerful article which causes all of your readers to reflect and digest. Bravo!
Thank you Jonathan. I learn so much from you.