Strings of colored lights brighten the darkness of the season. Last week, a winter solstice full moon ornamented the sky with a radiant glow. I hoped to catch a glimpse of the rare lunar eclipse, but all I could see from my location was a veil of snowy clouds behind tall treetops—no moon glow in sight. And so it is living with multiple myeloma—much is hidden from view, such as abnormal cells and holes in bones.

Soon we mark the start of a new calendar year, the second decade of the millennium. A few years ago, I was in a hospital bed on New Year’s Eve. A couple of kind visitors arrived with a bottle of champagne at the suggestion of my doctor. I enjoyed the festive gesture, though one sip was about all I wanted—the party was over by 9 p.m.

I wasn’t sure what I was really celebrating. My condition was pretty dismal. I returned home the next day with a full agenda of treatment and appointments that appeared to be endless. The possibility of wellness was not yet visible to me.

People use various expressions to describe their cancer experience. Some of these words suggest a defense of life or a need to hold on, such as fight, battle, or war. My initial myeloma experience was more of an ordeal. Around that time, I received a beautiful card of a blooming garden sent by a friend who had recovered from lymphoma just a couple of years earlier. Inside the card was written “Surrender.” Okay, there is no way out and many unknowns—so just stop for awhile.

An ancient Chinese proverb tells us that wisdom begins when we call each thing by its proper name. I prefer to use the word myeloma rather than cancer. Befriending life is shifting the view to whatever strengthens and supports the movement of life toward wholeness. Words such as journey, path, and adventure are names that imply openness and discovery. Positive thinking or wishful thinking is not helpful when there is no room for a range of outcomes. I prefer to see a larger picture where disease or misfortune and wellbeing coexist.

I’ve read that intense feelings give power to the body for healing and apathy is likely the biggest obstacle. Finding wonder and awe gives us power. Look up at the sky. Be curious. The experience of pain and illness may result in loss of energy, financial stability, career, and longevity. I am still unhappy about losing four inches of height!

The experience of pain and illness also leaves us more of who we were. Integrating the new pieces takes time, but there is room for the entire situation. Dr. Jon Kabat-Zinn refers to this as “full-catastrophe living.”

I think of my experience with myeloma as a mountain to navigate. Back at sea-level now, I will drink several sips of champagne and toast the New Year and her promise of another 365 days. I will also toast to the possibility of wellbeing for us all. Cheers!