Halloween is in the air. Pumpkins, black cats, ghosts -- a witch in black stirs her cauldron of steaming brew. I am reminded that there is no magic potion for multiple myeloma. “It is easy to get a thousand prescriptions, but hard to get one single remedy,” says the Chinese proverb. Still, each of us with multiple myeloma hopes to stumble upon the perfect alchemy for survival.

There is no sparkling elixir to pour from a bottle -- living is our laboratory. Finding the precise combination of elements for well-being involves effort. Fatalists may say that “what will be, will be.” Others argue that we create our own destiny.

More and more, I welcome luck into the mix -- effort and luck.

Even Steve Jobs faced this task. Despite his good fortune and talent, he was humbled by cancer’s mystery. A new biography about his experience with the disease reveals all the treatments that he explored during his 8-year journey. I hope to read about this someday.

I cringe when I hear the slogan “Live each day as if it were your last.” The idea of a “bucket list” is also troublesome. Are we simply consumers of life racking up points? Our culture tends to highlight miraculous recoveries and dramatic accomplishments. We learn to define ourselves by what is lacking or undone rather than what we can be here and now in ordinary life.

I heard an inspiring story about the Buddhist poet, Allen Ginsberg. After his doctor informed him that he had just days to live, he called all his friends to ask if there was anything he could do for them. Leonard Cohen’s song, “Anthem,” describes this idea beautifully. “Ring the bells that still can ring. Forget your perfect offering. There is a crack in everything -- that’s how the light gets in.”

The alchemist stirs common ingredients into the light of gold. Completion seems to grow out of never giving up on yourself. Without an easy remedy, my own potion for living with myeloma includes the question “What bells can I ring?”

Somebody I know has lived with cancer for a number of years and now has hospice care. She continues to blog from her bed with candor and humor. I am in awe of this gift -- honored to be a witness to her effort to engage with life until the end.

Today is a crisp autumn day and I am thankful to be able to ride my bike through the beauty of red and gold trees. Lucky too!