When the Obstacle is in Your Head: Meditations Before Brain Surgery

Mind your Business

by Shannon Bond

I have a brain tumor, and I’m heading into surgery this week. How does that happen? Just a few weeks ago, the biggest blip on my radar was my upcoming semi-retirement. I had plenty of anxiety about that after more than 30 years of enthusiastic career navigation (I love what I do), but brain surgery easily bumped thoughts of my semi-retirement to the backseat. There has been a lot of reflection, breathing, music playing, and walking meditation. All of which helps me remember what I learned long ago: wishing for another fate doesn’t help.

After the initial shock of a difficult situation, letting it settle in and accepting it as the only path brings great freedom. That means I’ve got freedom coming out of my, well, brain. And also the lyrics to Alanis Morissette’s “Ironic,” which stayed on repeat in my mind right after the surgery news dropped. “He waited his whole damn life to take that flight, and as the plane crashed down, he thought, well, isn’t this nice…” But for me, it was, “You worked your whole life to take that retirement, now, let’s get the OR prepped.” Of course, after my initial reaction wore off and I realized I was probably going to live through this, I wasn’t nearly as fatalistic, but I still appreciate the dark humor. Humor leads us to the light.

In reality, surgery was bound to happen sometime; I was just hoping it would be farther down the road. We’ve known about the tumor since 2022, after accidentally discovering it on an X-ray for something completely unrelated. Actually, the hospital emailed me the result on a Sunday morning as I sat at the dining room table eating cereal, but that’s a different story for another time.

After that fateful first message, we finally connected with the doctors over the next few days and underwent a flurry of tests. It was a watch-and-wait game filled with scans and annual surgeon visits. It is what it is, and as Marcus Aurelius, the philosopher-emperor of Rome, said, “The impediment to action advances action. What stands in the way becomes the way.” And so it has been for these past several years. Accept and live, and in my case, use it as a reason to do what I want while I’m alive. Take the family trips, practice being in the moment, learn what I want, create what I want, and above all, love the adventure in every moment. After all, I have a brain tumor… seize the day! That became a comfortable pattern. Humans are great adapters until the next shock wakes us up.

As it turns out, this is my year for a new shock (2026 has been a long year). By the time you read this, I will hopefully have woken up with the same personality and the same limited set of skills I spent a lifetime developing. I joked with my surgeon that I’d only put on my project manager hat once to ask for the play-by-play on surgery day, but in reality, I’m just going to go to sleep and hopefully wake up. Also, the play-by-play is not something you want to dwell on, lots of cutting, a permanent plate, some tiny titanium screws… no, I’m good with the going to sleep and waking up part.

Strangely, I had a feeling it was coming. I’d put off my annual scans because I was much too busy with work, a career transition, family, and… just busy. But truthfully, I had a little voice in the back of my head (probably right where the tumor is) telling me this year would be different. I shared my bad feelings with my wife and friends in passing, but still, part of me didn’t really think I’d be heading into surgery. It’s hard to visualize that until you’re sitting in front of the surgeon discussing the game plan and what the day will be like (see thoughts on the play-by-play above).

But that’s precisely where I found myself after this year’s scans. It was growing, so the best thing is to remove it. Since that first conversation, it’s been fascinating to watch my thoughts and emotions rise and fall away. Processing the initial information, discussions, follow-up visits, and family considerations has been an adventure in itself (recovery will be the next). It is as if I am back in 2022, working through the shock of accidentally finding out that the tumor was nestled in the back of my brain, but this time, we’re going to take action. We’re no longer waiting to see if the motor skills on the right side of my body are affected or if I have a seizure or other symptoms. It’s go time.

As I navigated the new information, plans, and risks, I had a choice. I could wish for something different, lament, kick and scream, and say “why me?” or I could accept the turn of fate, the obstacle in my way, and do the work of surgery and recovery that is in front of me. And what’s more important, I could use this as a tool to stay more present in the moment. That’s where all the joy is, in the present, because as soon as we say, “this sucks,” or “why me?” we open the door to suffering. As Marcus said, “What stands in the way becomes the way.”

Of course, it’s not all one or the other; we waffle between despair and acceptance, but I know suffering is easy, and once we know something, we can overcome it. Suffering fixates on negativity and the illusion of fairness, shutting out the beauty and joy of the present moment. I spent years in that space of suffering and don’t want to go back. What could happen is an illusion, and what has happened no longer exists. Knowing this deeply, not just intellectually, helps ground us in the present, which offers much more than the stories of fear our minds create.

Coming back to the present moment after our mind starts narrating the past or the present brings a kind of peace. It helps us understand that it isn’t the event, such as brain surgery, that causes suffering, but it is our reaction to the event that brings suffering. That is liberation: accepting that the only thing we can control is what is inside us. Everything else, even our health, is what the Stoics call an indifferent. Sure, we have the preferred indifferent, like not having brain surgery (that would be my favorite), but there is nothing we can do, so accepting the obstacle and finding the joy here and now is our best option to decrease suffering and increase happiness. And it frees me to spend time fully present with my wife and kids, which is the happiest place on earth (sorry, Disney).

Ryan Holiday’s The Obstacle Is the Way reintroduced many people to Stoicism, a worldview built on the idea that adversity is not an interruption of the path; it is the path. “Focus on what you can control. Let go of what you can’t,” Holiday writes. The Stoics believed that challenges are raw material, the stuff we shape into ourselves. Instead of asking, “Why is this happening to me?” they asked, “How can I use this to become better?”

That mindset holds true today, whether it’s in the career or small business realm I usually write about, or the personal, let’s-have-brain-surgery realm. None of the obstacles in our way means we’re failing, nor that we have to choose suffering. It means we’re being handed an opportunity to adjust, sharpen, or rebuild. In most cases, it means using the challenge to further a goal; in my current situation, it means using the obstacle to enhance my sense of the present and take joy in every moment I have. Well, and further the goal of staying alive. That’s a good goal to have. By not denying our difficulties and understanding that our reaction alone determines whether we suffer or thrive, we open the door to eudaimonia, or serenity.

In business, this perspective changes everything. A lost client is an opportunity to diversify. A stalled project becomes an opening to innovate. And that’s also true outside the office or factory; a setback becomes a test of discipline and a commitment to stay in the moment until the very end. Stoicism reminds us that we may not control the events around us, but we always control our response, our effort, our attitude, and the meaning we assign to the moment.

Holiday puts it simply: what stands in the way can become the way. For me, staying present while watching my mind and emotions as I navigate the adventure of brain surgery is the new way.
After that, I’ll work on staying present in my new life. And with that, I’ll see you all on the other side of this week.

You can find Ryan Holiday’s book, The Obstacle is the Way, in major retailers or listen to it on Spotify.

You can find a great audio translation of Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations by DM Studios. I recently listened to it on Spotify, but it’s probably available elsewhere and was recorded in 2024.