Can you relate to that moment when you ask yourself, “What the hell did I get myself into?”

Maybe it’s the moment before you jump out of the plane, go into labor with your first child, or step on stage to tell 500 people (plus the WHOLE INTERNET) your story.

Back when it was just a dream, it seemed like a great idea. As in – wouldn’t it be AH-MAZING if I could _______________. You imagined the glory once you’d done this fantastic thing, so you booked a jump with your local sky diving company, decided not to open your next box of birth control pills, or applied for the first of many (you hope) speaking gigs Then, you were just so damn pleased with yourself that you found casual ways to drop your big news into conversations. It started to slip off your tongue so easily that it almost felt like you’d done the thing already…

Your chest puffed up. You walked a little taller as you thought to yourself, That’s right people, I’m about to hurtle through space, becomes someone’s Mom, or jump start my internationally acclaimed speaking career. Life was beautiful.

THEN, the nausea kicked in. And, I’m not talking about morning sickness. I’m talking about the OH. MY. GOD. what the HELL was I thinking nausea. The get down on your knees and pray that you won’t a) Die, b) Mess your child up beyond repair, c) Put a few hundred people to sleep nausea.

Can you relate?

With a latte at my fingertips, my back against a wall of windows, and a mix of jazz and R&B playing over the speakers of my new favourite LA coffee shop, I’m the picture of calm, cool, and collected.

But inside, I’m sweating like an overweight middle-aged man trying to do his first hundred yard dash in 25 years.

Yes, that kind of sweating.

The cause of all of this angst? A 5 minute period that will take place sometime between 10-10:15am on Sunday, September 29^th.

I’ve spent over 80 hours working on a 5-MINUTE Ignite Talk for the upcoming MedicineX Conference at Stanford. And, I’m still not finished. In case I need to spell it out, this is my official declaration that cancer did NOT cure me of my perfectionistic tendencies.

The slides were due Friday. It’s Wednesday today. I’ve never submitted something late in my life (see above). But this matters so much to me because it’s about raising awareness about the emotional challenges survivors face.

So, I have written, re-written, deleted, written, and re-written this 5 minutes until the screen blurs and I remember it’s been 7 hours since I last ate. Until I remember the gazillion things on my to-do list for the Fresh Chapter Alliance Foundation so we can get busy rolling out our next two programs (will share more soon – I promise!) My breathing gets shallower (if that was even possible) until I have to literally pry my fingers off the keyboard and repeat these words out loud. To myself. In the coffee shop. “Terri – this is not life or death – Chill the F*&$ Out.”

Right. this is not life or death. I have people in my life who are ACTUALLY dealing with life or death. This is not the same. The worst case scenario is that I fumble over my words or no one remembers the talk the next day. It’s never going to be perfect and regardless what happens, I’ll still be alive.