I recently watched a video talk by social work research professor Brené Brown about her study of “the power of vulnerability.” It turns out that people who are most fulfilled approach their lives with “wholeheartedness.” The courage to be imperfect and admit vulnerability leads to greater wellbeing.

Living with multiple myeloma is an excellent place to experience vulnerability, as being diagnosed with this disease puts a damper on any sort of idealized self-image — the idea of “perfect health.”

There is a poster of the skeletal system on my wall, a reminder of the bones within me and the network of bone lesions left behind by the myeloma cells that once nested there.

My annual skeletal survey is coming up. I always cringe at the thought of enduring so much radiation. Although the professionals claim it is nothing to be concerned about, I notice that they leave the room before turning on the machine.

This monitoring is extremely important to notice changes that may not show up in my blood work. I ponder the “what if?” What if one day the report tells me the lesions look different? What would I be willing to do?

I wholeheartedly do not know. Accepting all the variations of multiple myeloma is a process of uncertainty.

The philosopher of ancient China, Lao Tzu, wrote:

Men are born soft and supple;
Dead, they are stiff and hard.
Plants are born tender and pliant;
Dead, they are brittle and dry.

Thus, whoever is stiff and inflexible
Is a disciple of death.
Whoever is soft and yielding
Is a disciple of life.

The hard and stiff will be broken.
The soft and supple will prevail.

Remaining soft and pliable in life is a challenge.

A wabi-sabi point-of-view helps. This Japanese art of finding beauty in imperfection and nature is a celebration of cracks, crevices, spots, and frayed edges.

My ten-year-old vehicle is a small white car that has traveled many miles with me through a number of changes. She has a slight dent, small dings, and occasional odd sounds. My wabi-sabi car and I are a good pair.

Feeling emotionally well means yielding to it all — the flaws and the not knowing.

I do wonder, though. I wonder about people who walk away from their disease, stop seeing doctors, and never mention it again — those who keep their vulnerability to themselves. Some must live on, but those people would not be reading this article and we’ll likely never know about them.