Becoming a Beginner Again
By Christy Chambers | Stage IV Cervical Cancer Survivor & Hope Practitioner
What happens when you bring together a group of cancer survivors, give them an ocean, a little adventure, and the freedom to simply be themselves?
Something pretty extraordinary.
I arrived at We Are Ocean expecting a week of new experiences. What I didn’t expect was how much of myself I would rediscover along the way.
When I first learned about Newport Aquatic Center’s We Are Ocean program, I was intrigued by the idea of cancer survivors coming together to challenge themselves, experience new adventures, and connect with one another through nature and the ocean.
What I didn’t fully appreciate was just how much I needed that experience.
You see, I was diagnosed with Stage IV cervical cancer in May 2022. In May 2023, I was declared NED—No Evidence of Disease. And somewhere along the way, I started to feel safe.
I had gotten pretty good at managing scanxiety. I was running at life full tilt, immersing myself in advocacy, writing, and supporting other survivors. I had embraced my identity as a Hope Practitioner, someone who believes that hope isn’t something you find. It’s something you practice. I thought I had figured things out. Or so I thought!
This past summer, a possible recurrence sent me back into the world of scans, biopsies, waiting, and uncertainty. Thankfully, the results were good. I’m still NED. But the experience rocked my world. It reminded me that I hadn’t mastered hope. I had simply gotten comfortable with the amount I was practicing.
I needed to keep evolving. And perhaps more importantly, I needed to remember that surviving something doesn’t mean we’re finished becoming.
Which brings me to California.
Permission to Be a Beginner
At 55 years old, I went to adventure camp.
Adventure. Camp.
How cool is that?
I arrived at We Are Ocean’s El Capitan adventure camp ready to try new things. I was going to kayak. Practice yoga. Make new friends.
I was even going to try surfing!
Now, those of you who know me might be laughing at the mental picture of me on a surfboard. Trust me. I was laughing, too.
As it turned out, we didn’t get to surf. And you know what? I’m perfectly okay with that.
There will be a next time.
Instead, I kayaked in the ocean, swam, walked, practiced yoga, and challenged myself physically in ways I hadn’t in quite some time. We made lei po’o, created jewelry, and explored our creativity with pastels.
We tried things. We laughed. We encouraged one another. And somewhere along the way, I realized that the point wasn’t to become good at any of these things.
It was to be willing to try.
Cancer has a way of changing your relationship with your body. Sometimes you begin to see it through the lens of what it has endured, what it can no longer do, or what might go wrong next.
But here I was, in a place I’d never been, doing things I’d never done.
That’s living.
And I was reminded that my body is so much more than the place where cancer happened. It is also the body that carries me into new experiences, allows me to create, connects me to nature, and lets me participate in this beautiful, messy life.
Disconnecting to Reconnect
One of the greatest gifts of the week was completely unexpected.
Terrible cell service. Seriously.
Sleeping in a canyon has its advantages, and one of them is that the rest of the world has a rather difficult time finding you. Much to the chagrin of my coworkers. But what a gift it was to disconnect.
No constant notifications. No emails demanding immediate attention. No endless list of things that needed to be accomplished. Just the people around me, the sounds of nature, and the opportunity to be fully present.
I spend a great deal of my time in cancer advocacy, creating content, sharing stories, and trying to make a difference for others. I love that work. It feeds an important part of who I am.
But even Hope Practitioners need to refill their own hope and joy tanks. And I hadn’t realized quite how low mine had gotten.
We Are Ocean gave me permission to stop producing, stop planning, stop worrying about what came next, and simply experience what was happening right in front of me.
My soul was fed on so many levels. Physically. Creatively. Emotionally.
And perhaps most importantly, through community. 
The People Make the Place
I’ve often said that one of the unexpected gifts cancer gave me was community.
Not that I would ever recommend cancer as a way to make friends!
But there is something extraordinary about being surrounded by people who understand experiences you sometimes struggle to put into words.
At We Are Ocean, we arrived with different diagnoses, different treatment histories, different abilities, and different relationships with survivorship. Some of us were further along in our cancer experience. Others were still navigating what life with or after cancer might look like.
But we shared a language.
We understood uncertainty. We understood the complicated relationship between gratitude and fear. And we understood that sometimes the greatest act of courage is simply showing up.
Throughout the week, campers shared their stories, their fears, and their hopes. We listened. We laughed. We encouraged each other. We created space for honesty without judgment.
And something beautiful happened. We became a community.
I like to call these communities neighborhoods, because a neighborhood is more than a collection of people who happen to be in the same place. It’s a place where people look out for one another. Where you belong. Where someone notices when you need encouragement and celebrates when you discover something new about yourself.
And the We Are Ocean staff?
Oh, those beautiful humans.
They were thoughtful, generous, attentive, and genuinely invested in making this experience meaningful for every camper. They didn’t simply facilitate activities. They created an environment where we felt safe enough to try, comfortable enough to rest, and supported enough to take a few risks.
They cared for us in ways both big and small.
That kind of care is no small thing, especially for people who have spent so much time navigating medical appointments, treatments, and uncertainty.
For a few days, we got to be more than patients or survivors. We got to be adventurers.
And that is a neighborhood I absolutely want to be part of.
The Art of Becoming
During camp, I had an opportunity to share a little about kintsugi, the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with lacquer and gold. Rather than hiding the cracks, kintsugi makes the repair visible, honoring the object’s history as part of its beauty.
I’ve come to see it as a powerful metaphor for survivorship.
Cancer changes us. Sometimes physically. Sometimes emotionally. Often in ways we don’t fully understand until much later. And while we may wish we could return to the people we were before our diagnosis, we eventually discover that we are becoming someone new.
As I shared the idea of kintsugi with my fellow campers, I couldn’t help but think about the different ways each of us was rebuilding.
Some were rediscovering confidence in their bodies. Others were learning to trust themselves again. Some were exploring new possibilities, while others were simply giving themselves permission to rest, laugh, and enjoy the moment.
There was no single way to experience camp, just as there is no single way to experience survivorship. And that was part of the beauty.
We didn’t have to arrive whole, confident, fearless, or certain of what came next. We simply had to arrive willing to participate in whatever way felt right for us.
Every new activity, every shared conversation, every moment of courage became an opportunity to add something beautiful to the lives we were rebuilding.
We weren’t there to become who we used to be. We were there to discover who we could still become.
And perhaps the most beautiful part was that we didn’t have to do it alone.
Unexpected Teachers
As if the week hadn’t already been full of wonderful surprises, I was fortunate enough to experience not one, but TWO sound baths.
And the second one came with some rather unusual guests.
A skunk. And a fox.
Yes. During a sound bath.
Apparently, even the local wildlife wanted in on the wellness activities!
Later, I became curious about their symbolism. In some spiritual traditions, the skunk represents self-respect and protecting your peace, while the fox represents adaptability and navigating change with grace.
I rather liked the combination. A reminder that we can stand firmly in who we are while remaining open to whatever life brings next.
I’m not sure the skunk and fox intended to become part of my personal growth experience, but I suppose even adventure camp comes with unexpected teachers.
And sometimes those teachers have four legs.
Camp Is What You Make of It. Life Is Too.
As I reflect on my time with We Are Ocean, I keep coming back to one simple truth.
Camp is what you make of it. And life is too.
You can arrive with expectations and a checklist of things you hope to accomplish. You can focus on what you didn’t get to do.
Or you can show up curious, open, and willing to experience whatever unfolds.
You can try something new. You can decide something isn’t for you. You can rest when you need to. You can listen, learn, laugh, and allow yourself to be surprised.
And you can discover that the most meaningful parts of an experience aren’t always the ones you anticipated.
I didn’t surf. But I did so much more than I imagined.
I rediscovered the joy of being a beginner. I learned that my body is still capable of surprising me. I found a community of people whose courage, vulnerability, and generosity expanded my understanding of what survivorship can look like.
And I was reminded that hope isn’t just about believing things will turn out okay. It’s about participating in life even when we don’t know exactly what comes next.
That’s what We Are Ocean gave me.
Not a cure for uncertainty. Not a promise that everything will be easy.
But an opportunity to experience possibility again.
We Are Ocean
There’s a beautiful idea that a wave may appear separate from the ocean, but it never truly exists apart from it. Each wave has its own shape, its own movement, its own moment. Yet every wave belongs to something larger.
I think that’s true of us, too.
Every camper arrived carrying a different story. Different challenges. Different hopes. But for a few extraordinary days, our stories came together.
We supported one another. We learned from one another. We reminded each other that even when our experiences feel isolating, we are part of something much bigger.
And just as the ocean is constantly moving and changing, so are we.
We are not finished. We are still learning. Still growing. Still discovering what we’re capable of.
Still becoming.
I came to We Are Ocean ready for an adventure. I left with new friendships, a renewed appreciation for what my body can do, and a heart so full that I’m still unpacking the experience.
But perhaps the greatest gift was being reminded that cancer survivorship isn’t only about what we’ve endured. It’s also about what we still get to experience.
To the incredible We Are Ocean team, thank you for creating a place where we could be curious, courageous, vulnerable, silly, creative, and completely ourselves. You gave us room to discover new possibilities and reminded us that there’s still so much life waiting to be lived.
What you provide goes far beyond kayaking, yoga, and a few days in a beautiful place. You create opportunities for cancer survivors to rediscover joy, confidence, connection, and the freedom to imagine what might come next.
And that is a gift whose impact extends well beyond camp.
I arrived as a camper. I left as part of a neighborhood.
Because we are not simply surviving our stories. We are still writing them.
And that is something I’ll carry with me long after the ocean air fades.
A hui hou — until we meet again.
Christy Chambers
Writer | Speaker | Advocate | Hope Practitioner
Stage IV Cervical Cancer Survivor
What a Beautiful Mess
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