I have been a fan of Kate Bowler’s for several years. Kate is a New York Times bestselling author. Duke professor. Wife to her childhood sweetheart and mother to an adorable seven year-old. Then, at age 35, Kate was diagnosed with Stage 4 colon cancer.
I read her book, Everything Happens for a Reason (And Other Lies I’ve Loved) and started listening to her podcast “Everything Happens,” when we began to shelter in place last March. Kate’s insightful (and often, hilarious) interviews, plus her daily Lenten reflections on Instagram, helped carry me through the pandemic.
Before when I was earnest and clever and ignorant, I thought, life is a series
of choices. I curated my own life until, one day, I couldn't.
So when I had the chance to be on the launch team for her new book, No Cure for Being Human (And Other Truths I Need to Hear), I signed up and prayed I’d get picked. I did. I was excited to receive an advance copy of the book from her publisher, Random House, which I immediately started reading.
And then . . . life happened. A young man was killed at a school shooting just up the street. The CDC moratorium ended and the eviction hotline I volunteer for was flooded with calls. And a dear friend with advanced cancer began needing round-the-clock care.
And, while there were happy moments—the arrival of my Untethered ARCs, a trip to the mountains, our grandson’s first steps—they were often interrupted by the kind of jarring sadness Kate Bowler understands.
The terrible gift of a terrible illness is that it has, in fact, taught me to live in the moment. In my finite life, the mundane has begun to sparkle.
In No Cure for Being Human, Kate gives us an intimate look into her cancer journey—from her diagnosis to the days, months, and years that follow. She challenges many of the go-to responses to our mortality—carpe diem, bucket lists—and asks: When there just isn’t enough time, how does one spend it?
“In all my years learning the biorhythms of the ‘perfect day,’ conquering the morning routine, and charting my workflow, I had been racing toward the future along a single mental track. But now I must lay an entirely separate mental track headed straight for a cliff, and I find myself weighing each decision based on when I believe the road will end.”
As she navigates life post-diagnosis, she takes a pragmatic approach: “The basic idea goes: start from the end and work backward.” And that’s just what she does.
“The terrible gift of a terrible illness,” says Kate, “is that it has, in fact, taught me to live in the moment. And when I look closely at my life, I realize that I’m not just learning to seize the day. In my finite life, the mundane has begun to sparkle. The things I love—the things I should love—become clearer, brighter.”
Kate helps us feel our raw humanity, unfiltered. Her truth is painful, poignant, and, full of joy. Her words are a gift if we let ourselves sink into the depths of her experience.
In the final chapter called “Unfinished Cathedrals,” Kate stumbles on a tiny chapel along Route 66 on her way to the Grand Canyon. In the sanctuary, she finds the walls and ceiling covered with tiny pieces of paper containing messages like, I miss you every day. Did you make it to heaven, my love?
“All the people who have fallen into the cracks in the universe, undone by the smallest tragedies. We try to outsmart our limitations and our bad, bad luck, but here we are, shouting the truth into the abyss. There is no cure for being human.”
“Someone had built a monument to the void,” she writes, “and it was full to the brim.”
Kate tore a small piece of paper from her notebook and added a message of her own: Dum spiro spero. While I breathe, I hope.
No Cure for Being Human (And Other Truths I Need to Hear) is launching September 28th. Order your copy here.