Cancer turned us into a yuppie couple from the 90's.
We’re now a yuppie couple that lives in Houston, shops at Whole Foods right after yoga class, and talks about the virtues of organic soil content. We weren’t always like this. Maybe I’ve always been inflicted with a bit of white privilege, but I swear that I used to have personality. I was in a punk band. I lived in Brooklyn. Moved to Berlin. Ran creative agencies. Drank at east village dive bars. But then cancer changed everything, turning my wife and I into those people.
I remember scoffing at the Whole Foods shoppers on East Houston, at the 2nd Avenue F Train stop.
“The city just isn’t the same. Luxury condos and Whole Foods shoppers. This place has sold its soul to the rich. Let’s move to Berlin.”
(You know, the same thing that every aging New Yorker says.)
I laughed at these sad souls, sucked up into the consumer culture that has ruined our country. Disenchanted and eyes filled with adventure, we moved to Berlin to take a creative sabbatical, explore the world and learn German. (You know, the same thing that every creative director has done.)
And then, my cancer came back. It wasn’t a big deal the first time. Nothing that some radiation treatments couldn’t kill in between client meetings and photo shoots. But now, it was back. And the doctors said it was incurable. That “incurable” word can really whack you out. Not willing to accept this, my wife and I vowed to change our lives. We could work anywhere, and we’re open to anything. We’d do whatever it took to stop the cancer. We’d move to China.
We’d eat baby vomit milkshakes if necessary.
If it could cure my cancer, we were on board. Just tell us how to fix this, and we’ll find a way to do it. And that’s how it all started.
We’re Houstonians now. We had a list of cities where we planned to reside over the next few years. Texas wasn’t anywhere on the list. But they did have the only cancer center in the world offering the particular treatment that I needed. So we moved to Houston. Everyone here will tell you repeatedly how it’s the “fourth largest city in America” and it’s “the fastest growing city in the USA”. Houstonians love it here, and they’re as proud of their city as the hipsters on Bedford Ave are of Brooklyn. People drive giant trucks on highways that connect to other highways, to supersized stores and get their toilet paper in packs of 40 rolls. So we bought a car. (Just like all the other Houstonians.) Having a car in Houston is a lot like having shoes in New York City. Oh, and we also bought shorts and shoes that you can wear without socks. So now, we live in the fastest growing city in America, drive a car to the grocery store and wear comfy, cool shorts instead of black, fitted apparel.
We’re almost vegetarian, too. Actually, it’s not that we so much eliminated pulled pork sandwiches or chicken tacos from the routine. It’s just that all the data says that a daily Texas-sized truckload of vegetables will help your body better fight cancer. So we said yes to vegetables. And now, we eat seven fruits with breakfast. Three vegetables with lunch. At least five or six vegetables with dinner. Trust me, there’s no room in my belly for pulled pork. Just like all the other vegetarians.
We eat organic. Who can argue that natural food isn’t going to be better for your body? If organic food could give my immune system just a few percentage points favor, then vegetables priced like diamonds might be worth it. My immune system needs all the help that it can get to fight the battle of its lifetime. This was easy in Germany, as most of the markets only carry locally produced, affordable, in-season fruit and veggies. But in America, everything is made in China. So now we go to stores like Whole Foods, where we can find an abundance of local, fresh stuff in-between the aisles of yoga pants.
That reminds me. I take yoga class now. I used to be a runner. I even ran the NYC Marathon. I rode my bike through Berlin, Brooklyn and the trails of New England. But it turns out that all of these things conflict with the new, experimental cancer drug I’m on. So I’ve instead been sentenced to weeks and weeks of elliptical machines. And yoga. These are things that are done best of course, in a gym.
So I’ve added the gym membership key-fob to the car keychain, right next to the CVS, Kroger, Petco and Walgreens discount key-fobs.
This keychain no longer fits easily into my pocket, so I carry one of those light workout bags, too.
And that’s how it happens. You’re walking along living your life, minding your own business, and then before you know it, you’re transformed into a yuppie living in the fastest growing city in America drinking iced coffee, wearing yoga-style shorts and Tom’s slip on shoes, loading up on non-pesticide treated kale at Whole Foods.
That’s what it’s like to have cancer. Don’t laugh. It could happen to you.
