Living While Dying

Living While Dying Thom's mission is to inspire others to embrace life fully despite the challenges of illness.

Through honest exploration and positivity, Thom seeks to offer support and motivation, celebrating courage and zest in navigating life's toughest challenges. Living Life Press is a publishing and media entity dedicated to raising awareness about prostate cancer through storytelling, speaking engagements, and multimedia. Founded by Thom Barrett, a best-selling author and stage IV prostate cancer th

river, Living Life Press focuses on sharing personal experiences, providing education, and inspiring hope for those affected by prostate cancer. Through books, podcasts, and public speaking, Living Life Press seeks to foster open conversations about men's health, highlight the importance of early detection and research, and encourage individuals to live life fully, even in the face of illness. All proceeds from the business’s endeavors go directly to support cancer research and awareness campaigns.

After you step into growth a few times, you begin to notice something unexpected. The discomfort does not disappear, but...
04/30/2026

After you step into growth a few times, you begin to notice something unexpected. The discomfort does not disappear, but it stops feeling like a warning. It starts to feel familiar. You recognize the sensation of being slightly outside your comfort zone, and instead of pulling back, you lean into it.

This shift happens quietly. At first, each step requires a deliberate decision. You weigh the options, question yourself, and then move forward. Over time, that process becomes less complicated. You trust the pattern. You know that uncertainty usually leads to discovery.

Looking back, the value of these steps is not in any single experience. It is in how they change your relationship with life. You become more willing to explore, more open to possibilities, more comfortable with not knowing exactly how things will unfold.

The places that once felt distant become accessible. The decisions that once felt intimidating become manageable. You start to see growth as something you participate in regularly, not something reserved for rare moments.

What waits on the other side is not a finish line. It is a wider view. More capacity. A deeper trust in your ability to move forward, even when the path is unclear.

And once you experience that, stepping stops feeling like a risk and starts feeling like a natural way to live.


Looking back, the moments that stand out are rarely the comfortable ones. They are the times you stepped into something ...
04/28/2026

Looking back, the moments that stand out are rarely the comfortable ones. They are the times you stepped into something uncertain. The trips that required adjustment. The decisions that stretched you. The experiences that asked more than you expected.

Those moments expand your sense of what is possible. You discover capabilities that remain hidden when everything is predictable. You learn that uncertainty often leads to insight.

What waits on the other side of growth is not perfection. It is an expansion. A broader understanding of yourself. A deeper trust in your ability to adapt.

Each step contributes to that direction. Some are quiet. Some are challenging. All of them move you forward.

Over time, movement begins to feel more natural than staying still. Growth becomes something you recognize. You follow the pull toward what feels alive, even when it includes uncertainty.

That is where discovery continues.


After stepping into growth a few times, the process begins to feel familiar. The hesitation still appears, but it no lon...
04/23/2026

After stepping into growth a few times, the process begins to feel familiar. The hesitation still appears, but it no longer feels final. You recognize the pattern. Doubt, decision, adjustment. Each cycle reinforces the last.

You begin to trust that clarity often comes after movement. Waiting for certainty becomes less appealing. You understand that understanding grows through experience.

This familiarity changes your relationship with uncertainty. It no longer feels like something to avoid. It becomes part of the process. You expect questions, and you move anyway.

Growth becomes less about single bold actions and more about a steady rhythm. You notice resistance. You move forward. You adapt. Then you repeat the process.

Over time, stepping into the unknown begins to feel natural. Not easy, but recognizable. You know how to enter that space. You know you can navigate it.

That rhythm builds confidence in a deeper way than motivation ever does.


Growth rarely begins with dramatic change. More often, it starts with smaller decisions that seem almost ordinary. You t...
04/21/2026

Growth rarely begins with dramatic change. More often, it starts with smaller decisions that seem almost ordinary. You try something slightly outside your routine. You have a conversation you have been postponing. You choose movement in a small way.

These steps build on each other. Before traveling to more demanding places, there were shorter trips. Before pushing physical limits, there were smaller challenges. Each experience prepared the next without announcing itself as preparation.

Small steps shift your internal reference point. What once felt uncomfortable becomes familiar. Your confidence grows quietly. You begin to trust your ability to adjust.

It is easy to overlook this because small steps do not feel significant. They do not create dramatic stories. Yet they shape your capacity more than occasional big leaps.

Consistency matters more than scale. Moving regularly, even in modest ways, builds momentum. Momentum changes how you see yourself. You start to recognize that growth is something you participate in, not something reserved for special moments.

Each small decision moves you forward. Over time, those decisions create meaningful change.


Before traveling to Greenland, I felt the weight of hesitation. The cold, the remoteness, the physical demands. All of i...
04/16/2026

Before traveling to Greenland, I felt the weight of hesitation. The cold, the remoteness, the physical demands. All of it made sense to consider. I could list reasons to stay where I was. None of them were exaggerated. They were practical.

The fear did not disappear when I decided to go. It came with me. What changed was my relationship to it. Instead of treating fear as a stop sign, I treated it as information. It sharpened my awareness. It made me more deliberate in how I moved.

Once I was there, the experience felt different from what I had imagined. The environment required attention, but it was manageable. The anticipation had been louder than the reality. I adapted step by step.

That pattern has repeated itself in many situations. Fear grows in the space before action. Once you move, the experience becomes concrete. You deal with what is real rather than what you imagined.

Carrying fear while moving forward builds a quiet confidence. You begin to understand that hesitation does not need to disappear before you act. It can exist alongside the decision.

Each time you move in that way, the fear loses some of its authority.


There is a cost that comes with staying where you are. It is easy to overlook because it builds slowly. You choose comfo...
04/14/2026

There is a cost that comes with staying where you are. It is easy to overlook because it builds slowly. You choose comfort in small ways. You postpone decisions. You tell yourself you will revisit the idea later. Each choice feels reasonable on its own.

Over time, those choices accumulate. The life around you begins to narrow. Not dramatically, but subtly. Fewer risks, fewer surprises, fewer opportunities to discover something new about yourself.

I have seen this pattern in my own decisions. The times I chose not to go, not to try, not to step. At the moment, those choices felt sensible. Later, they became questions. What would have happened if I had moved forward?

When you step into growth, even when it is difficult, something expands. You gain experience. You learn. You see what you are capable of handling. Even imperfect outcomes add to your understanding.

Staying still offers comfort in the short term. Movement offers clarity over time. The difference becomes more noticeable the longer you pay attention to it.

Each step interrupts the pattern of staying small. Each decision creates space for something new.


Standing in unfamiliar places changes the way you think. When I arrived in Scotland, I carried a quiet uncertainty with ...
04/09/2026

Standing in unfamiliar places changes the way you think. When I arrived in Scotland, I carried a quiet uncertainty with me. I wondered how my body would handle the terrain, the weather, the long days. Those questions stayed present as I began walking.

Something shifted once I was moving. The focus shifted from doubt to the experience itself. Wind, uneven ground, distance. These things required attention. There was less space for worrying about what might happen later. The step in front of me became enough.

That is where discovery happens. You stop trying to predict your capacity and begin learning it. You notice that discomfort can exist without overwhelming you. You realize that uncertainty does not automatically mean you are in the wrong place. It often means you are expanding your boundaries.

The trip did not change my limitations. It changed how I related to them. They became part of the landscape instead of a reason to stay home. I adjusted, adapted, and continued.

Growth often works this way. You move forward without knowing exactly how it will unfold. Along the way, you learn what you can handle. You see that the unknown holds possibilities as much as challenges.

The discovery stays with you long after the experience ends.


After you take a step, something subtle begins to shift. The external situation may look the same, but internally, there...
04/07/2026

After you take a step, something subtle begins to shift. The external situation may look the same, but internally, there is more space. The hesitation that felt so convincing loses some of its weight. You begin to see that the barrier was never as solid as it appeared.

I have noticed this after committing to trips that initially felt uncertain. The hardest part was never the journey itself. It was deciding to go. Once the decision was made, everything else followed. Plans formed. Energy appeared. What seemed complicated started to organize itself.

Movement has a way of doing that. It changes your perspective. When you stay still, you try to solve everything in advance. You imagine every possible challenge and measure your ability against all of them at once. It becomes overwhelming, and staying where you are feels reasonable.

When you move, your focus narrows. You deal with what is in front of you. You respond instead of speculating. You learn as you go. That process builds confidence in a quieter way than motivation ever does.

Each step also leaves a trace. You remember acting even though you were unsure. The next time you face a similar moment, that memory is there. It does not remove the hesitation, but it softens it. You know you have stepped before.

Over time, that becomes familiar. Not the circumstances, but the willingness to move without complete certainty. Growth starts to feel less like a disruption and more like something you recognize. It begins with a single decision, and then another, and then another.


There’s always a moment before you step into something new where everything in you wants to stay where you are. It doesn...
04/02/2026

There’s always a moment before you step into something new where everything in you wants to stay where you are. It doesn’t feel dramatic. It’s quieter than that. A hesitation. A negotiation with yourself. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe when I feel more ready.

I’ve felt it standing at the edge of cold water in Norway and Iceland. The air was sharp, the water darker than expected, my body already anticipating the shock. Nothing about it felt inviting. Everything about it suggested turning back.

The interesting part was never the cold itself. It was the conversation in my head before I moved. The list of reasons to stay dry. The logic of comfort. The idea that there was no real need to step in at all.

But each time I did, the experience shifted almost immediately. The cold was still there, but it wasn’t overwhelming. My breathing slowed. My attention sharpened. The resistance that felt so convincing on the shore lost its authority once I was in the water.

Growth has felt like that more times than I can count. The hardest part isn’t the doing. It’s the space right before it. The moment when comfort still has a strong argument, and uncertainty hasn’t yet revealed what it holds.

What I’ve learned is that you don’t need to win that internal debate. You don’t need to feel certain. You just need to move before comfort talks you out of it. Because once you step, something changes. Not the difficulty. Not the uncertainty. Just your relationship to it. And that’s usually enough to keep going.


This past summer, between writing books and going through another round of treatments, I built a gazebo.Not a kit. Tradi...
03/31/2026

This past summer, between writing books and going through another round of treatments, I built a gazebo.

Not a kit. Traditional joinery, wood, mortise and tenon, pegs. 6"x6" posts and beams. I'd been imagining it for years.

It didn't take long to realize I couldn't do it alone. The timbers were too heavy, the work too much for two people. So I put out a call. My brother John and his son Troy showed up first, spending a week clearing the site. Friends came. Neighbors came. People I hadn't asked directly just appeared and got to work.
I sat beneath that gazebo this fall watching the sun go down, and I thought: this is what the space between comfort and growth actually produces. Not just the hard moment — the summit, the rapids, the capsize, the hut at the end of the ski route. But the thing that gets built when you're willing to ask for help, to let people in, to admit the beams are too heavy to lift alone.

March has been about reflection. About sitting still long enough to understand what we're actually navigating. About the question of whether we're living by default or by choice.

But reflection without action is just comfortable thinking.
April is about movement. About stepping off the threshold and into whatever is next, with intention, with the people who show up when you ask, and with the honest knowledge of what you're carrying.

The road stretched on from the Tropic of Capricorn. It always does. And so will we. See you in April.

Address

Services Available In:
Marstons Mills, MA
02648

Opening Hours

Monday 9am - 5pm
Tuesday 9am - 5pm
Wednesday 9am - 5pm
Thursday 9am - 5pm
Friday 9am - 5pm

Website

,

Alerts

Be the first to know and let us send you an email when Living While Dying posts news and promotions. Your email address will not be used for any other purpose, and you can unsubscribe at any time.

Shortcuts

Share

Category