How a Poet Helped Me Face What I Feared
Sometimes a moment arrives at exactly the wrong time and exactly the right time. That’s what happened when I tried to watch Come See Me in the Good Light, the documentary about poet Andrea Gibson’s life and final years. I didn’t get far before I shut it off, not because it was too sad, but because it came too close to something I had been avoiding in my own life.
In 2020, I had surgery to remove thyroid cancer. I’m fine today, and I’m grateful. But being “fine” doesn’t mean you get to stop paying attention. Follow-up scans, biopsies, and check-ins are still part of the deal. But, for the past year, I’ve avoided all of it. I told myself I’d deal with it “soon.” Then months, and then a year, passed.
So when Andrea’s documentary started, everything I’d been avoiding came flooding back. So I hit pause. And the very next day, I made an appointment with a new endocrinologist. Not because I suddenly felt brave, but because I could control only one thing: the next step.
Once that appointment was on the calendar, I could finally return to the film. And this time, I saw the beauty in it.
Andrea Gibson had a way of naming ordinary life so directly and so honestly. They wrote about their “biggest tiniest dreams,” a bucket list of small things that made life feel luminous. Not skydiving or climbing mountains, but moments like mending a friend’s clothes with their grandmother’s thimbles or holding an elevator door for a stranger in the hospital right after receiving hard news. Witnessing these little dreams unfold on screen felt like a reminder that meaning isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s quiet, subtle, rearranging something in you before you even realize it.
And then there were the dogs. Andrea and their partner, Megan Falley, have three rescue dogs who appear in almost every scene wearing tiny shirts and sweaters, part of the daily rhythm of the household. I’m usually someone who rolls my eyes at dogs in clothing. But these dogs, you’d swear they wake up, pull on a t-shirt, and march confidently into their pantsless day. Somehow their presence made everything feel a little lighter, a little more human.
At one point Andrea asked, “Why write a poem that’s over somebody’s head — or worse, over somebody’s heart?” That’s the question I hold for this podcast, too. I want to make estate planning relatable, grounded, and human. If it ever feels confusing, complicated, or “over your head,” that’s not your failure; that’s on me. And if what I say stretches your heart a bit, then I think we’re headed in the right direction.
Andrea once said, “In the end, I want my heart to be covered in stretch marks.” I feel that. Estate planning teaches us that life is finite. Andrea’s writing teaches us that ordinary life is luminous. Those two truths depend on each other.
I don’t know everything about Andrea Gibson. This episode was as much an introduction for me as it may be for you. But their words nudged me awake. They reminded me that agency isn’t always dramatic. Sometimes it’s as small as scheduling the appointment you’ve been avoiding for an entire year.
Here’s what I hope for you this week:
That you take one small step you’ve been putting off.
That you notice one tiny moment of beauty.
That you create your own list of “biggest tiniest dreams.”
And that maybe, just maybe, Andrea’s words stretch your heart the way they stretched mine.
Listen to the full episode here:
