A couple of days ago, a brain cancer charity let me know that I am one of the top 10 influencers on Twitter for brain cancer. The data measurement is done through a service that serves the healthcare industry only.
I haven’t known how to feel about it. I mainly share studies and medical articles aimed at treatment for Glioblastoma. As is logical.
I used to be one of the top 20 influencers in crochet, but… that’s another story.
As I read the note, I was teary-eyed. My son was in the room when I read the note, and he queried the look on my face.
I don’t know how to feel, and I’m kinda sad, I said. I can barely do what I do. I don’t have any resources, and I can’t create a charity or foundation yet. Brain cancer patients suffer so much for lack of research funding.
And here, I make the rank of top influencer on Twitter.
What hope is there for a cure if *I* make the top 10? Because I have not yet been able to do much. I don’t have time to network or chat. I cannot unleash my full dedication to move mountains, create a foundation and find a way to help. All I can do is share links to studies. I don’t even have the bandwidth to write much about it.
And my son said, “Excuse me? What do you mean, what hope? With everything you’ve been through, even while working as hard as you do, you still manage to help. Something good is born. The willpower to make a difference with literally nothing but your determination to do so. You demonstrate the difference that a single person can make, even with nothing. To be an influence for good in the world. And if that isn’t hope, I don’t know what is.”
A second revelation dawned as I felt the truth in his words.
Even one imperfect voice can matter.
I love that kid of mine. And sometimes, he has me in awe.
April 8, 2020
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