Soft Granola Spheres

Earlier this year, I was in Chattanooga, Tennessee and stumbled upon these amazing nut-butter energy balls at Trail Town Coffee. I’ve been thinking about them ever since and nothing I’ve tried could stack up.

They were soft, mildly sweet, with a healthy granola taste and a sort of “recees cup texture” (sans sugar).

I’m pretty strictly Whole Food Plant Based these days, and it’s hard to find treats or “desserts” that fit the bill. So I have been experimenting, and voila! My Soft Granola Spheres.

These are no-bake, no added sugar, whole-food plant-based, and they hold together without turning into a sad pile of crumbs. All the sweetness comes from dates and raisins. Nature’s candy. They’re nutty, chewy, an and satisfying!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Lara’s Soft Granola Spheres

Makes about 10–12 balls, roughly an inch and a half across.

The dry stuff:

- ⅞ cup rolled oats (a scant cup)

- 2½ tbsp pepitas (can be toasted and cooled first, if preferred)

- ¼ cup unsweetened shredded coconut

- 2 tbsp flax meal

- 1 tbsp chia seeds

- ¼ cup raisins

- a small pinch of salt

- ¼ tsp cinnamon

The glue:

- 6 tbsp natural almond butter (the messy kind that separates and you have to stir. If yours is stiff, warm it a little).

- 4–5 Medjool dates, pitted

- ¼ tsp vanilla

- 1–2 tbsp warm water, as needed

Here we go:

1. Toast the pepitas if you've got the extra few minutes. Dry pan, medium heat, until they start to pop and smell nutty. It's optional, but yummy. Let them cool.

2. Deal with the dates. If they're dry, soak them in hot water for 10 minutes first. Then blend them into a smooth paste with the vanilla and a tablespoon of the soaking water. You want paste, not chunks.

3. Stir the date paste into the almond butter until it's one happy mixture.

4. Combine everything. Dump all the dry ingredients (pepitas included) into a bowl, then fold in the wet stuff. If it crumbles, add warm water a tablespoon at a time until it comes together.

5. Roll. Grab about a tablespoon and a half of the mixture and pack it firmly between your palms, firmly, like you mean it. Loose balls fall apart. It might get a little warm from your hands annd that’s fine. Aim for about 1½ inches across.

6. Let them rest 15 minutes. This part matters more than it looks. The chia and flax need a minute to gel, and the oats need to drink in some moisture. Skip this and they’ll be too soft and squishy/crumbly.

7. Chill for at least an hour. Then enjoy!

They keep in the fridge for a couple of weeks, or freeze them.

A few things I learned the annoying way

If the mix feels crumbly while you're rolling, add almond butter — not water. Water makes them soggy; a little extra almond butter binds them without wrecking the texture.

Pepitas are lighter & larger, so don’t add more or you'll throw off the ratio and everything gets loose and sad.

Soft Granola Spheres, inspired by the energy balls at Trail Town Coffee in Chattanooga, TN.

Enjoying My Expansive Mornings

I just heard this idea: life is expansive, and we can have the feeling we seek before the end goal we think will deliver that feeling. I love this idea (from @ManifestLikeMom on instagram).

It’s similar to that idea about acting your way into new thinking, versus trying to think your way into a new state of acting (I looked up the attribution on this and it’s really unclear- so many people have shared versions).

In the first idea, she talked about the feeling of hotel breakfasts as her epitome of a life goal. Not because of the bacon, she says- but because of all it represents- the openness of the day ahead, etc.

It made me think about my early mornings. For the past two years- since my diagnosis- I’ve been getting up around 5am for what I call my “CEO mornings.” I take time for a walk, stretching, hot water & lemon, journaling, coffee, planning my day, and the NYT puzzles. Basically and hour and a half to myself.

It’s always felt decadent and peaceful and sets the tone for the day. Any time I miss it, I feel rushed. And 10% crankier.

So today I thought, what is it about the mornings that I like so much? Why do I look forward to it every day?

It’s because it’s what I seek in life. Peace, calm, self care, little joys, movement, brain stimulation, and comfort. That all feels decadent. It IS decadent, by the way. I am lucky.

So as ambitious as I am (and I am!), I don’t actually need to reach any particular goal in life in order to experience this feeling. I already access nearly every morning.

How cool is that? Life can be expansive right where you are.

Survivorship Rollercoaster

I have had a few pretty great days in a row.

In the past In the past week, I have created a survivorship decision-making tool for myself, have had two great doctor appointments at my follow up milestones, and have done a couple of strong workouts. The weather has been gorgeous with an oddly balmy breeze (as opposed to the usual brisk SF wind). And most importantly, I’m changing a medication that’s been causing me a lot of physical and emotional anguish. This week is on track, I thought!

And then I woke at my usual 5:15 this morning. And then woke again at 6:30. Acccckkkk! I hate oversleeping.

I’m groggy and rushing. Is there a better combo? I think not. Maybe I could spill some coffee on my white top just to round things out nicely. One can dream.

And my ever-present glute & back pain (side effects of current meds) feels worse today- more noticeable. Probably because of the aforementioned great workouts… or maybe today’s stress level.

And I now need to navigate a new medical question with my cancer care team. This will require the fine balance of advocacy and diplomacy- so I can get what I want and need without becoming an annoying patient.

But this is the roller coaster of Survivorship. You have to somehow maintain the capacity for high hopes, and celebrate the wins, but not set the bar too high or expect the streak to stick.

Come to think about it, it’s kind of like sleep training a baby. You get so excited when they sleep through the night and then you start to expect it and BAM it’s a 3am wake up.

Does that make survivorship a cute little baby that I love despite how much hard work it is? Weird metaphor, Lara.

Well, there we are. Tomorrow is a new day.

It’s so hard for me to like photos of myself these days. It’s more about finding photos I can tolerate. This one makes the cut, and only because as I look back on my progress of the last two years there’s not much to see- I’ve hated documenting it. Recovering from cancer and chemo and surgery and Bell’s palsy has been tough. But I’m setting the bar low and celebrating the successes when I can!

Outsmarting My Own Brain

I just said something to myself for the second time. A sort of mantra.

I said it yesterday too. Both times were as I was getting ready to workout. Both times, a part of my brain wanted an excuse to not exercise. (But listen, I’m exhausted 24-7 at the mitochondrial level so if I listened to my brain I’d never get out of bed).

It was the most basic thing but it totally works.

“This isn’t a decision I’m making. It’s just a thing I’m doing,” I told myself.

And both times the mantra allowed my brain to go back into autopilot of getting ready to workout- pulling on the sweatpants, getting out the goggles, etc.

And that was that.

We’re so used to making decisions throughout the day. And for the last two years, my life has had an extra layer of decision-making. Sometimes I wrestle with things over and over again for months.

But it’s important to distinguish when a decision isn’t needed, or when you’ve already made one. And that’s what my workout is – a decision I’ve already made and don’t need to make again.

I love that I have outsmarted my own brain. Lara-1, Brain-0.

This mantra calls for a pic of my favorite swim of the year- at the Palm Springs Swim Club.

Survivorship Decision Helper

So I made a thing…

Here’s the context. Somewhere in the middle of this “survivorship journey” (already a sidenote- can we find a new term for this? I am over the word “journey”) I found myself in a frustrated state. I wanted to be feeling better, but wasn’t- and that was physically, emotionally, and spiritually.

My breast cancer care team is awesome. And/but they each have their specialty and focus area. And I do my research and follow all the experts. Still, there was no single place where I could see how one decision impacted others in a different medical discipline. And there are a number of models out there for “hormone positive, HER2-“ cancer (ER+/PR+/HER2-) but not much for triple positive breast cancer (ER+/PR+/HER2+). Taking endocrine therapy/aromatase inhibitors (to block estrogen) lowers my odds of recurrence, but we know it impacts my heart and bone. But how much? And what are the risks in relation to each other? And how do I weigh these questions?

So I built a tool. I have called it the Survivorship Decision Helper, and it has helped me as a triple positive breast cancer survivor. I can get a sense of my risks all in one place, and play with different choices based upon my personal risk tolerance in different areas. It pulls from actual published research (and yes, I cite it).

Now the fine print. I am not a doctor. I'm a breast cancer survivor who isn’t content with status quo or the commonly heard, “that is normal for a survivor.” There is so much out of your control when you have cancer, and it’s good and healthy to embrace when that is the case! But it’s also empowering and helpful to know the levers you CAN pull to make the most of your life. If I have learned anything from the last two years, it’s that I want to truly live and find joy every day in this life. And survivorship can make that hard. But I remembered that I know myself best, I know what I need, and I started to see a picture of it in my head over the last few weeks.

So this is something I am working on. I know if I have these kinds of dilemmas (or conundrums, per my previous post)- other triple positive breast cancer survivors do too. I plan to use it to ask important questions when I meet with my doctor, and to verify or challenge certain instincts I may have. It has also helped me realize that I will need to continue to make the best decision for now- to take the next best step.

If you try this out- a few important things to note. I'm a survivor, not a doctor, and this tool is meant to help you prepare for and have better conversations with your care team, not to replace them, and it should never be used to change your treatment on your own. The numbers it shows are directional estimates drawn from many studies, meant to help you see which way a choice moves things and roughly how much (these are not precise predictions about you or me, specifically).

To use it, open the link, read and acknowledge the intro screen, and then start adjusting the options on the left (if you are on a desktop) and watching the results update. Try toggling one thing at a time and notice the tradeoffs or pros/cons. You can then bring whatever questions it raises to your oncologist or other specialists. And if you're navigating this weird and wild survivorship world too, I'd genuinely love your help making this tool better: tell me what feels missing, unclear, or wrong, and we can keep building this- for us- together.

See, this is the kind of joy we want in our survivorship. Laughter and Saturday mornings with dear friends. (Photo credit to Kendra)

I Made A Thing

For months, I’ve been wrestling with a cancer-related conundrum.

(And of course, as soon as I wrote that sentence, i wondered- what’s the etymology of conundrum? I figure “con” comes from Latin or Greek for “against” or possibly “with.” And that it referred to a problem with differing aspects at the same time.)

Well, this piece has taken a surprising left turn because apparently while “conundrum” currently means a “generally puzzling or difficult, or even unanswerable question or situation” it actually doesn’t have serious etymological originals. It’s a 16th century insult with mock-Latin roots used to call someone a nerd! Ha! Love that. More on this topic at one of my favorite sites, Useless Etymology (link below).

But back to my puzzling or unanswerable situation. It’s basically a question about decision-making, and what is best for me in my survivorship journey.

I’ve been doing my research. Talking with doctors, health care providers, fellow survivors, my family (which includes more health care and a legal guru), and processing my dilemma with good friends. And I was starting to feel like I was getting somewhere- like I was working it out.

And then last Sunday, face down in an acupuncture appointment, a tangible solution came to me. I had been waiting for the ONE RIGHT ANSWER, from a medical expert. But I realized I had everything I needed, already. And that what I know is actually the most anyone can know, for me. And that’s it’s not about the one right answer but the NEXT BEST STEP.

Isn’t it wild that in one moment you can go from feeling stuck to feeling better and nothing has changed other than your mind?!

(And another sidenote, how many times do I have to learn the same idea- (that there’s no perfect decision and I have to take the next best step)- in the course of my cancer survivorship? That’s a rhetorical question, you don’t need to answer it. But let’s just say so far the answer is three. I need to learn it three times).

So, today I’m feeling so much better- emotionally and spiritually. My body still hurts in all the same ways, but I’ve remembered that I have all the levers in front of me. And that’s the difference between feeling stuck and feeling hopeful.

I may share my “thing” soon- a solution to my conundrum. In the meantime enjoy a recent photo of the GGB and a link to some Useless Etymology.

https://uselessetymology.com/2026/02/09/puzzling-out-the-etymology-of-conundrum/

A recent photo of the Golden Gate Bridge. This beach has been a constant in my survivorship journey.

Cold Dip Connoisseur

I am thinking ahead to Tuesday, and already missing my cold plunge at Crissy Beach in the Bay. My coach will be on vacation for a number of weeks. What will I do? This experience has become part of my personality, weekly.

I am part of two different cold plunge groups. One in the SF Bay, and one at Ocean Beach.

The Ocean Beach one is a group of amazing women who meet up all the time (some daily, some weekly, and some every now and then). I’ve joined this group twice and have totally enjoyed it.

My usual Bay cold dip is led by my trainer and coach (shoutout to Keir at Foghorn Fitness) and I’m as faithful as can be to this Tuesday morning session. I sets the tone for the day and the week.

They are two totally different experiences. The Ocean plunge is thrilling and a bit scary (huge waves and my joints are cranky when tested like this). But it goes by fast and feels invigorating.

The Bay plunge is calm, with subtle waves. It feels colder as you’re more fully submerged. I immediately need to think about slowing my breathing, calming my system. We stay in longer- usually 15 minutes. We have the most interesting conversations. I come away feeling proud and peaceful and more joyful… and like a badass.

It’s the badass part I’m not willing to skip. So I guess the question is, who’s in to join me for a Tuesday morning cold dip at Crissy Beach?

A recent Tuesday morning, post plunge. Photo credit- Keir Beadling/ Foghorn Fitness

Pre-cold dip; the 17 year old is wary.

Bay Cold Plunge, Spring 2026.

Combining three hobbies- cold plunge, photography, and sketching.

Ocean Beach Cold Dip, Spring 2026.

Combining three hobbies- cold plunge, photography, and sketching.

The Wave in Front of Me

There’s a point in survivorship when you realize you ARE your own “panel of experts.”

That you cannot outsource that charge- each health care provider has their own lens and expertise- and only YOU see and feel the whole picture. And YOU are the one who most cares about your success.

I understood that mid-way through chemo, which was a year and a half ago. And it helped me know how to stay ahead of the curve, what to advocate for, and when to trust my instincts.

A lot has evolved since then. I had and recovered from a mastectomy. I had and recovered from Bell’s Palsy. I started endocrine therapy (taking aromatase inhibitors to block estrogen function). I learned chemo and other medications have impacted my bone density to osteopenia and have exacerbated my genetic risk for heart disease.

So the last few months have been hard. I’m in constant physical pain (joints and back) and what had seemed like an upwards recovery trend has stalled or even taken a downward dive. I am a frustrated athlete, and I’m so worried about my body.

But back to this idea of a panel of experts. I’ve been feeling like it needs a refresh. Like I need a refresh, I need to remember what I stand for. I’ve been a bit rudderless, not tuned into my instincts- maybe assuming this would get back to an upwards trend as long as I just tried harder, just got more motivated. So I’ve pulled more levers; increasing swimming, adding cold plunge, focusing on plant based food, tweaking my supplements.

And yet still. It hasn’t changed the physical pain or the mental gymnastics of survivorship.

Then finally, this week, I was able to articulate the core of it. My biggest concern of early survivorship is not a fear of recurrence. It’s a fear that the medications I’m taking to prevent recurrence are decimating my body in other more acute ways. This puts me in a constant state of disconnect; what I’m doing (taking these anti-estrogen meds to prevent recurrence) is at odds with what I’m worried about (the long term damage to my body through estrogen deprivation).

As someone recently shared with me, “survivorship is a constant period of adjustment.” It won’t be a downward slope forever; it comes in waves that build and crest. And all you can do is deal with the wave in front of you.

So that’s my plan now. The wave in front of me is now this: take stake of all the competing factors at the current moment, my instincts, the science available- and make the best decision for now. I may change my mind later. I may make a different choice in a year. But for now I’m taking the next best step. Because I AM my own panel of experts.

Ocean Beach on a moody day- I love when the weather matches my temperament :-)

The In Between Phase

I’ve been thinking about this for the past month or more- trying to figure out how to share this without over or under dramatizing it. And I drafted this weeks ago and sat on it.

Because I’m in a good, good place- mostly. I am more than a year into remission, and I’m back to work, and I’m spending time with friends and family. And most importantly- the experience has made so clear to me what matters most.

And at the same time, I’m not back to normal. Not physically, not mentally, not emotionally. I have 5-10 years of medication ahead of me- stuff that means I’m in pain and exhausted most days. The joint pain is so crazy. NUTS! And by 7pm, I just need to be horizontal, I’m so tired.

It’s hard to explain- but I look back and think that maybe chemo was easier than this. You expect chemo to suck and it does suck, and everyone around you knows it sucks.

But then chemo is over and surgery is done. And life resumes. And now there is collateral damage from cancer treatments and the hormone therapies- on my joints and heart and bone health. So annoying.

For months I’ve been thinking of it as a motivation problem. I’ve told myself, “I just need to motivate.” Oliver reminds me of the maxim I always say to him… “Action proceeds motivation” - but I use up all my energy to 1) do my work and 2) do a workout and 3) any remaining thing that absolutely must be done before tomorrow. Everything else gets moved to being a Future Lara problem. There’s just no energy left.

I think part of the problem- of feeling not like myself- is that I expected to be feeling “better” by now. But I’m coming to understand that cancer survivorship is a little like grief- it’s not a straight line. And I’m mourning the loss of Me. On one hand I am proud of what I’ve endured and who I’ve become.

But at the same time I miss the woman who didn’t have to think of any of this. I was joking with friends that the silver lining of breast cancer survivorship and medical menopause is that I know ALLLLLL the things we need to be doing in our 60’s to stay healthy. But I’m learning it out of necessity- now, in my [very!?] early 50’s.

I’m not saying anything new here. Everyone told me Survivorship would be hard. It’s July, which marks one year of taking aromatase inhibitors (endocrine therapy that blocks estrogen absorption in the body). That means I have somewhere between 4-9 years left, per protocol. It’s both a milestone and a super depressing thought.

It’s a continuous decision in my mind- and open loop of evaluating which impact is worse. Which tradeoff do i prioritize avoiding- Cancer metastasis? Heart Disease? Hip fracture? And the need to stay one step ahead of my doctors- since they’ll each be looking only through the lens of their specialty. I need to think holistically and be asking questions that keep me doing the next best thing for my health.

So that’s the story. The in-between days & phase of survivorship. The good, the bad, and… the best you can do.

A nice summer (?!?!) day at Crissy Beach with these two lovelies.

I’m Ok With My Face Now

It’s been a year since I developed Bell’s Palsy. But I turned the corner this week.

It’s 95% “resolved” meaning it’s mainly only me who notices it (unless I point it out to others- or so I’m told).

With my occupational therapist I shared, “if this is as good as it gets, I’m totally ok with it.” That was two months ago.

But the biggest tell for me happened a few days ago. I saw a photo of myself and could see the indications of the BP- my smile was a little lopsided, one eye a little squintier… and I was ok with it. Like, really ok with it.

I haven’t been ok with photos- or rather, uncurated photos- of me in a long time. For a while now, I’ve had to sort through and find the one picture that showed the least asymmetry. If you’ve seen a picture of me on IG- there were likely 19 others I didn’t choose of the same scene.

If you’re not familiar with Bell’s Palsy, it’s a sudden onset facial paralysis on one side, caused by caused by inflammation of the 7th cranial nerve. The trigger can be a virus or stress on the body, and mine was likely the latter due to chemo and surgery. It can last weeks or months. I got the doozy version… had it for 9-10 months.

For the first three months I had to tape my eye shut at bedtime so it didn’t dry out. For nine months I saw an occupational therapist and did daily facial stretches and exercises. I did weekly facial acupuncture and redlight. And most significantly, I curtailed many social interactions because it made me deeply unhappy to laugh with a crooked smile.

During recovery, I learned to modify my smile so it was smaller- a closed mouth version instead of my usual wide open cackle. I hid my mouth behind a hand at times. I posed for photos with a serious face. (Get yourself some dear friends that pose the same way or select pics they know you’ll be ok with).

I’ve been through some tough things these last two years. And you’d probably think chemo and a mastectomy were the worst. But they weren’t. Bell’s palsy was. It shook my personal confidence and took away a lot of joy, at a time I needed it most.

But as in most challenges we overcome, when you’re on the other side, the lessons are clear. I now choose happiness and silliness daily. I care less about what other people think. Confidence and joy now come from inside me- no external prompt needed. There are times the BP still bother me, but more like an annoyance that I quickly brush off.

Recently my brother in law commented on how chill I was during a situation in which I would have previously been… not chill. I think I’ve internalized a version of “is this that important? Do I need to feel stress here? Or can I let this go and feel peace, or even joy?”

If calm and confidence and joy are the gifts on the other side of Bell’s Palsy, I’ll take it.

At some point I may share the photos and videos of when I was in the thick of it. For now I’m so glad to be where I am.

Cold Plunge Fever

I just did my third cold plunge this morning. 10 minutes in the San Francisco Bay, which was 56°. The chilly SF wind didn’t make it any warmer.

But I love it. I love it so much! It makes me feel like a badass.

This is something I never would have done before cancer. Sure, I’ve waded in up to my knees after a long run in the Presidio. But that is an entirely different thing than submerging up to your neck for 10 or more minutes.

I’ve been trying to figure out why I like it so much. It’s not like I enjoy being cold.

I think one reason is it makes me feel like an athlete again. I’ve been working so hard since chemo to maintain my fitness, regain my strength, and overcome physical setbacks, so it feels very validating to be able to do (props to my awesome trainer & coach, Keir).

It also feels like a challenge of mindset- seeking out and then doing something outside of my comfort zone. As I move through survivorship I’m learning how important this is for me. It makes me feel, well- alive. (Or maybe that’s just the cold water?)

And I’m sure I also like it because of the physical benefits. I feel calmer, and my muscles feel good-heavy-tired, like after a hard swim… a sense of peace.

Anyway you slice it, I’m a huge fan. Who doesn’t want more and more of this all as we age?

Get out there and do the things that make you feel like a badass!- make you feel alive!- and make you feel at peace.

I’m one of these people now.

(Crissy Beach, Presidio of SF)

No Regrets… and my Inner Sloth

I’ve been thinking a lot about the idea of “no regrets.”

I wrote about it already. I want to start doing the things that I’ve always wanted to do- or wondered about- or have on my life list. I don’t want to ever look back and wish I had tried something, knew I could have achieved something. But this idea of moving towards “no regrets” is still on my mind and I have taken zero action to move the needle.

Why have I taken no action? Oh, well, life… work…

That’s why this is so irksome. There will always be life and work. How do I jump off the treadmill of usualness? Using that treadmill metaphor, can I slow things to a snail’s pace so it’s safe to hop off?

Maybe that’s the thing. Taking it slower. Embodying my inner snail. Or sloth. (I love sloths, though snails are cool too) I’ve been feeling that just-make-it-through-the-day drive, when you’re exhausted but getting things done, awaiting that moment when you can fall into bed. I know some of that is continued recovery from chemo, but it’s really hard to distinguish it from a general lack of energy or motivation.

Today is the perfect day to pilot my Inner Sloth. I’m slammed with back to back meetings and have deliverables I’ll need to squeeze in between things. If I can slow down today, I can do it any day.

Well, this blog sure took a left turn. Started with no regrets, ending with Inner Sloth. Let’s see if slowing down gives me space to think about or activate my anti-regrets plan. This is what I love about journaling/ blogging- sometimes I’m surprised by it. Hopefully the dots connect. Stay tuned.

Meet Sloth.

The No Regrets Hack (v1)

I’ve been thinking a lot about my personal goals this month. It’s been one year of being in remission and I just had a birthday, so both are good points in time for reflection. (Ok, well I’ve also been on vacation. On a beach. Another good time for reflection).

In general my goals for the past two years have been some version of 1) get to/stay in remission; 2) seek joy; 3) pursue niche learnings that interest me; and 4) take “risks.”

It’s this last one that I’m realizing is the big one for me. When I say “take risks” I don’t mean bungee jumping, I’m mean trying the things I’ve been saying I want to do, or move towards things that feel scary because they are unknown (and there’s a chance I might not succeed).

Whether I live for another 10 years or another 50 years, what I know at my deepest core is that I don’t want any regrets. And I really believe that famous saying is true- you are more likely to regret things you didn’t do, not the things you tried but failed. (Versions of this are attributed to many people including Lucille Ball and Mark Twain)

When I think of the things I’d currently regret not trying, they aren’t actually very scary at all. There may be some vulnerability or uncertainty involved; I may or may not be good at it/succeed. (Gasp!) But I’ve kind of already hacked that worry- I just think about the process as my goal. One of my goals is to be fluent in French by 2030 (merde, now I’ve really put it out there…) and for me the hack is to give myself “doing milestones” (ie one tutor session + two French shows/podcasts each week) instead of “being milestones” (be at French level B1, etc). This tricks my brain into making progress without becoming paralyzed by uncertainty.

Also, more often than not, my inaction towards a goal is also a result of being on the treadmill of life. We are so busy doing what we do, and we can fall prey to that belief that we’ll always have the metaphorical “tomorrows”. I have written before about this idea (Current Lara always thinks Future Lara will have more time and energy) and it turns out that this is an ACTUAL THING. Really? YES. It’s called the Planning Fallacy, and it’s a form of procrastination and time optimism (“tidsoptimism” for the word nerds out there) in which the brain mistakenly assumes the future self will be more efficient and less stressed than the current self.

[Side note: that was very fun to learn and now I feel a bit like a philosopher]

So in a nutshell- I generally know what I want to do. I have all the tools I need. I am excited by my goals. And I don’t want to waste this one precious life. So, it’s time for an experiment. I’m going to use my French language process “hack” to try taking another “risk.” And the success will be in the doing… one step at a time. (Let’s see how this goes, she says.)

“Non, je ne regrette rien,” as Édith Piaf would say. No regrets.

A week away from the treadmill of regular life generally produces good outcomes :-)

One Year Anniversary

Today is my one year anniversary. A year ago, I sat on my steps, my sister next to me, shakily talking myself through opening and reading the results of my surgical pathology. “No evidence of disease.”

“This means what I think it means, right?” I had her read it as well. Confirmed!

It feels like eons ago and also so recent. And I think this dichotomy perfectly summarizes survivorship.

It’s over! And it’s ongoing.

Cancer-free! And 5-10 years of treatment yet ahead.

You’re free to resume your life. And yet- so much has changed.

I’m healthier now than I’ve ever been. And also I am dealing with the impacts of chemo and estrogen suppression.

I have so much more gratitude for the little things. Early morning walks, coffee in silence, the smell of flowers, snuggling into bed before 9 PM. Time with my kids, conversations with my husband, laughter with friends. And I am shedding things that aren’t worth my time.

I have more patience for problems, quirks, feelings, and inconveniences. But I have less patience for bullshit.

There are two mantras that are serving me right now, in this “both/and” space:

Today is every day is the rest of my life.

And-

The struggle just makes for a better story.

Both things can be true. Living for the things that bring me joy and feel special every day. And knowing that part of living is the struggle, is the hard stuff- and dang that makes the story more interesting.

Yesterday I tried my first cold plunge in the San Francisco Bay. I stayed in for 12 minutes, 10 minutes longer than my goal. Felt like a bad ass, and grateful for this body. I could not have done this one year ago, or even before my diagnosis.

Day 7: Life off Letrozole

It’s been seven days with no Letrozole (sung to the tune of Nothing Compares 2 U).

That’s the aromatase inhibitor (AI) I was taking to reduce the risk of breast cancer recurrence (by suppressing estrogen production, since my cancer was hormone positive).

I’m on a 3-4 week “vacation” from Letrozole before trying a new AI. The hope is the next one won’t cause such significant joint pain for me.

What I’m most hopeful about is how I might feel next week at this time. Letrozole has a 2-day half life, which means by approximately the two week mark, I could feel relief from symptoms. Just a smidge of estrogen. That’s all I want. I never thought I’d utter those words after my diagnosis of triple positive breast cancer.

My most significant symptom from Letrozole is joint pain. My knees are stiff and achy 24-7 and I’ve developed sciatica from my lower back down my leg and into my foot. I’m never not noticing it.

Last year, I thought, “joint pain? I can handle that. I’ve had three knee surgeries. I’ve experienced joint pain. I’ve made it through chemo. I’m tough.”

Nope. Nope. Nope. Or yes, I’m tough. But Letrozole is tougher.

It’s painful, and it’s a drag. I don’t move like the athlete my brain knows I am. I have an amazing trainer and coach who is helping me stay strong like an athlete and keep a good mindset.

And yet, it feels like the third time in a year that I’ve experienced a sort of identity loss. Chemo was one, Bell’s palsy was another, and now AIs. And the road ahead is long- I’m supposed to be on this treatment for 5,7, or 10 years. It’s only been 7 months.

The other main side effect I experience is hot flushes. I’m using the UK term “flush” v the US term “flash” for two reasons; 1) I love etymology and it appears that flush was first, and 2) it just MAKES MORE SENSE. Theres nothing flashy about sweat.

I have been experiencing 5-10 of these hot flushes every day. Yes, they are super annoying and inconvenient. But I learned pretty quickly to always wear a tank top with sweaters on top, immediately discarding layers whenever I sensed it coming on. I went from being always chilly at work to being the woman in a tank top on the zoom. Classy. But to be honest, I would take 10 hot flushes in a hot second compared to any joint pain.

A few days ago, I noticed that I was getting hot or warm a few times each day, but no flush was happening. So that seems to be a quick response to going off the AI. Nice.

And then there are the side effects one doesn’t necessarily “feel” like osteopenia and worsening lipid panels, again from the lack of estrogen.

But I really am hopeful about this break from the AI and resetting my body before the trying the next one. And I’m hopeful about the future- that during these next few years we find better ways to mitigate the impacts of cancer treatment.

To be clear: I’m so glad to be in remission. AND ALSO I want to feel good in my remission. That’s the whole point, right?!

My early morning walk to shake off the stiffness from Letrozole.

Buckwheat Granola FTW

I just accidentally developed my own recipe. I have zero qualifications. But it’s delicious and so I’m sharing.

Since I hate seeing long backstories in front of recipes, I’ll keep this brief. I recently started a Whole Foods plant based diet (WFPB) And was looking for ways to use buckwheat groats. I had intended to buy buckwheat flour for making galettes but accidentally bought three packages of groats instead.

And you know what they say, necessity is the mother of invention. The back of the buckwheat bag had a very long recipe for granola. I took one look at it and decided to make my own. Here it is and it’s delicious.

Preheat oven to 300.

• 2 cups cooked buckwheat groats

• 1 cup uncooked old fashioned oatmeal

• 1/2 cup applesauce (no sugar added)

• 1/2 cup pumpkin seeds

• 1/2 cup dried apricots (cut into pieces)

• Cinnamon to taste

These amounts are an estimate- I didn’t measure. So use your judgement (the applesauce should moisten the mixture but not make it wet).

Mix all together, spread onto parchment paper and bake for 45 min at 300. Stir after 15 min, and again at 30. At 45, remove or lower oven to 200 and keep baking if you want it crispier.

Next time, I may experiment with vanilla extract or more dried fruit or adding almonds. But this base is a great start.

Buckwheat granola- zero added sugar and zero oil. I’m basically a rockstar.

Aromatase Inhibitors, Booooo

AIs are the worst. And I don’t mean Artificial Intelligence.

I mean Aromatase Inhibitors.

They are the category of drugs given to “hormone positive” (“HR+”) “post-menopausal” women after “active treatment” to lower their risk of recurrence and “increase survival rates.”

There were a lot of quotation marks in that last sentence, and that’s “purposeful”.

Let’s break it down:

• “Hormone Positive” which is often indicated as HR+, is a breast cancer which has receptors for estrogen or progesterone or both. Tamoxifen is a drug that blocks estrogen receptors on cancer cells in premenopausal women. Aromatase inhibitors are drugs that reduce estrogen production in the body for post menopausal women.

• “Post-menopausal” in the cancer context is often referring to an early, chemically or surgically induced, menopause. Going naturally into menopause over the course of years is much different than being slammed into it in a matter of months, weeks, or days.

• “Active Treatment” refers to the chemotherapy, surgery, radiation, and immunotherapy phases of cancer treatment. After you’ve completed the protocol for your cancer, or when you show no residual disease, you are considered done with active treatment. The problem with this label is that now people (the patient included!) assume you are done. For those with HR+ breast cancer, the current standard of care includes 5-10 years of tamoxifen and/or aromatase inhibitors.

• Studies show that taking AIs for 5,7, or 10 years can “reduce recurrence”. However there are so many side effects for the rest of your body. I’m at the point now where I’m questioning if the side effects are worth it. A year ago I would have thought any side effect would be worth avoiding risk of recurrence. WOW, did I not understand what they meant by joint pain!

As of today, I’ve been on Letrozole for nearly 7 months. Because the medication reduces estrogen everywhere in my body, I’m have significant joint pain. Like, bending down or reaching for anything or getting into the car or out of the car or tying my shoes or…. You get it. Daily life causes pain and makes me emit a grunt like a 90-year old grandpa.

As I mentioned, a normal woman going through menopause may over time experience a number of side effects that really suck- like brain fog and joint pain and hot flushes and night sweats and weight gain. Breast cancer survivors (like me) are hit quickly with side effects and then also discover that the AIs magnify these already pronounced menopausal impacts.

Here’s why: estrogen normally plays a cardioprotective role by regulating lipids and promoting vasodilation, and it is crucial for maintaining bone density. In just 7 months, I’ve seen significant decline in both bone density and in my lipid health. It’s really depressing for an otherwise very healthy person (this thought always reminds me of The Devil Wears Prada quote- “I’m just one stomach flu away from my goal weight”… “I’m just one chemo/AI/treatment away from healthy”)

Anyway, I’ve been doing a lot of research on estrogen, on the pros and cons of AIs, and out of the box solutions being explored (like micro-dosing GLP1s). There’s a lot of exploratory stuff out there in the world of breast cancer treatment and vaccines, and I know that in the next few years the standard of care will shift. But for now, there’s nothing specific I can point to that I can take advantage of.

And so I’ve been powering through my days, modifying workouts but still doing them (“movement helps!” Say the experts. You know what I say to that?- Shhhh….). I’ve been downing ibuprofen. I added Claritin to my morning cadre of supplements as some say this can offset Letrozole (my AI) joint pain. And last but not least, I’ve switched to a Whole Food Plant Based diet. I feel better food-wise, but my body just hurts to sit, it hurts to stand, it hurts to walk. If only I could lie down all day…?

Yesterday I hit my breaking point. Work has been stressful and that doesn’t help- but I decided I’m done with this AI. My doctor and NP agreed to a short break and then I’ll try a new AI- perhaps the side effects will be less. We’ll see.

In the meantime, I’m starting my temporary Letrozole Vacation now. Metaphorical palm trees and sunny days ahead, fingers crossed.

Just a pretty pic of my whole food plat based diet shopping at the farmers market. Better than a photo of joint pain.

That’s the Good Stuff

This week’s prompt is to “be the bearer of good news.” This may be the long way around but I promise to get there.

I had already been thinking along these lines- how to actively find good news. There is so much disconnect and judgement and sadness in our country right now, and same goes for my beautiful city. My morning walk to the train just took me past two SFUSD schools with teachers and families striking.

On top of this, I’m dealing with the physical pain of cancer survivorship. I won’t go into detail this time, but my “can-do” attitude has taken a serious blow. It’s more like “wish-do, ouch.”

So I’m often preoccupied with how my body is [not] functioning and when I do manage to lift my head out of the metaphorical sand, the world still appears pretty dismal.

But this weekend was a bit of a forced reset. Our youngest was attending a college tour and soccer camp, which left Matt and I hanging out in California’s Central Coast (San Luis Obispo and Paso Robles).

As I crawled into the soft hotel bed the first night, I giggled as I remembered what my college roomie says to herself at this cozy, delightful moment: “ahhhh, now that’s the good stuff.”

The next day, we had nothing to do and nowhere to be. We just enjoyed the weather and the conversation. The good stuff: we decided we will be excellent at retirement. In fifteen years.

We got home and school was still cancelled for Monday. The good stuff: Oliver gets to practice his leadership skills and plan/lead his team’s soccer training.

And we watched the Michelle Obama documentary about her Becoming book tour. So much good stuff there- we teared up, laughed out loud, and felt grateful.

I woke up with my hips and knees in pain. The good stuff: a) I don’t have cancer and b) I talk with my doctor today.

Wrapping this up as I exit the train station on my way to work… and I’m planning to seek and bear little bits of good stuff all day. I hope you do too.

Hanging out at the Backyard in Paso Robles, practicing being retired. Matt got lucky- we arrived in time for a tapping of Pliny the Younger.

Dear Hope: Finding Joy

This week’s Sunday Letter prompt was to write a list of “I Hopes” and then use one to expand upon. Felt like the right approach, give the heaviness in the world right now. Here goes:

• I hope my children lead fulfilling and happy lives

• I hope I keep leaning into taking more “risks”

• I hope I can say I have no regrets in life

• I hope for a life with a delicious amount of sleep, fulfilling work, soft but firm boundaries, and delightful times with the people that are most special to me

• I hope our collective resistance to this current regime results in a changing tide with new leaders who demonstrate compassion and strategy

• I hope we all bring a little more joy into our lives

I’ve been thinking about this last one a lot lately. How to experience more joy. How to be the bringer of more joy.

…I have a colleague at work who pops by to tell me funny things or leaves me a trinket of an inside joke. It makes my day and brightens my outlook.

…Yesterday I met up with a good friend from my breast cancer survivor group. We took a walk and then went to the farmer’s market. Every time I go, I’m reminded of why I love it. Everything is fresh and beautiful, you’re among community, the sun in shining. The mushrooms were gorgeous. And they had wasabi sprouts! Talk about joy…

…And then I’ve been watching Timm Chuisano on instagram. His approach to being happy is noticing the little joyful things in life. So simple, but so doable.

Especially during times like this. When our country is upside down and people in our community are living in fear. It puts any individual struggle into perspective and makes connection with others so critical. Finding and sharing joy in our daily practice is life-giving.

So for me, I’m starting my days thinking about what brings me joy. What I hope for. How I can actively seek it. How I can notice the moments. How I can actively be part of creating this for others.

A pretty good way to start the week.

My farmers market haul. Picking it out felt decadent and healthy and full of joy.

Dear Universe: Course Correction

Dear Universe,

I’m feeling a little “off.” Off from my goals, and off in my daily practice.

• Physically, my body hurts. Sciatica is no joke. But I’m dealing with it through Advil and icy hot and mobility work.

• Mentally, I’m maxed out. Work is a whirlwind. On top of a fast-paced January, my office is next to the bathroom and I’ve made it an inviting environment so I’m interrupted by friendly hellos from nearly everyone. The social side of me wants to engage (it’s so fun! Hi! What’s up?!) but the amount of toggling from focus work to interaction and back to focus is starting to take its toll. I know I need to set a boundary or structural change but haven’t yet.

• Emotionally, I’m fatigued. Cancer survivorship is a process and it’s a constant in my life; constantly modifying medications and supplements, learning about emergent strategies and protocols to ensure remission, understanding my new whole food plant based diet, and taking the time for self-care (which is hard to prioritize even though it should come first. And during my medical leave I was able to take this time. How and what should be carried over to “normal life?”)

In a nutshell, I’ve already gotten off-track with my goals for 2026. I wrote them down at the end of December and have done nothing yet to put them into action. If I’m not careful, I feel I could easily slip back onto my previous pre-cancer life of high stress, and that’s something I learned during chemo that I can and want to control.

So today is the day. I’m revisiting my goals and taking the first step to get back in the saddle and “control my controllables.” I’m back to keeping my goals front of mind; 1) strengthen my remission, 2) curate more “brand Lara” (ie be my most “me”), 3) pursue joy, 4) practice life balance, and 5) improve my financial health.

And here’s how my daily practice will support this:

• Physically, I am keeping my 5:30 am wake time but starting it with a short walk. This will help my back mobility, but also get my brain moving as well. I’m also recommitting to a 9pm bedtime. (I know, I’m ancient)

• Mentally, using a few helpful mantras, I am reminding myself of my priorities, and separating urgent from important. And giving myself some stronger guardrails to ensure time to focus. I am the boss of me!

• Emotionally, I am acknowledging that this phase of survivorship is best understood by other survivors. I’ve recently talked with two friends who also went through breast cancer and it was just so nice to commiserate and learn from each other. My instinct upon remission was to stop talking about cancer but I’m now understanding that this journey requires connection.

Here’s to a quick course correction in late January- and I’m proud of myself for noticing. Hopefully next week’s letter says I’m “on.”

Love,

Lara

One of my “extracurriculars” is serving on the board of Friends of the Urban Forest, a nonprofit that connects people with nature and each other by planting and caring for San Francisco’s street trees and sidewalk gardens. I’m delighted to be part of this organization, and my work here is aligned with two of my personal goals for 2026.