Today, I came across an Instagram story that hit me harder than usual.

Today, I came across an Instagram story that hit me harder than usual. His name was Corey. Like me, he had glioblastoma—the same type of brain cancer, the same wildtype, the same everything. Reading his story felt like looking into a mirror, but it reflected a possible future I have tried not to dwell on too much. Corey’s journey ended in the one place we all fear: death.

I often read these stories. Sometimes, they are about survivors—people who have defied the odds and found some semblance of victory against this relentless disease. But just as often, they are about the worst-case scenarios: lives cut short, families grieving, legacies reduced to heartfelt posts on social media. Corey’s story struck me in a way I Remove prepared for. He was close to my age. He seemed to have a love for life, a supportive family, and a determination that mirrors my own. And yet, he is gone.

As I read his story, a flood of questions overwhelmed me. Will someone soon be reading about me on Instagram or Facebook? Will I, too, just become another story—a name, a photo, a heartfelt caption that makes someone cry for a moment before they move on with their day? Will I be remembered? Will I leave behind any kind of legacy? Do any of us?

I am not sure why Corey’s story affected me so deeply. Maybe it is because I have been trying to carve out my own sense of purpose since my diagnosis. Maybe it is because I have been living with this ticking clock in my head, wondering how much time I have left and whether I am using it wisely. Or maybe it is simply because his story was a reminder that no matter how much we fight, sometimes it just is not enough.

But even in the face of that terrifying reality, I want to believe that we are more than just stories. I want to believe that the connections we make, the love we give, and the lives we touch ripple out in ways we cannot always see. Maybe Corey’s story hit me so hard because it is a reminder of why I am doing all of this. Why I am sharing my journey, why I am pouring my heart into my work, why I am trying so desperately to create something that will last beyond me.

Corey’s story made me cry. It made me scared. But it also made me think about the kind of story I want to leave behind. Not one of despair, but one of resilience. Not one that ends in silence, but one that echoes in the lives of those I have touched, however briefly.

So here I am, sharing this with you, because maybe—just maybe—my story, my struggles, and my victories will ripple out too. Maybe we can all be more than just stories. Maybe we can be legacies.

I urge anyone who reads this: wake the fuck up, live life, love life, and hug those around you. Take the cruise, walk the dog the extra five minutes, stay in bed a little longer, talk to your parents, hug your kids, shit, hug your neighbor. Spend the extra money, because today is not promised.