A Message from the Universe on Turning 40

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Astrocytoma Blog Chapters 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12 , 13

 

A Dream That Felt Like More

This morning, I had one of the most vivid and intense dreams I’ve ever experienced. Before I was diagnosed with Astrocytoma, I used to have vivid dreams all the time—but this was the first one I’ve had since going through treatment three years ago.

In the dream, I arrived at an event in an old Honda Civic—my Uber driver dropped me off just as the sun was setting, casting long golden shadows across the pavement. The warm evening air carried the faint scent of citrus and freshly cut grass.

I stepped out, adjusting my dark gray suit, the fabric crisp against my skin. I wasn’t sure why I had been invited—this was a company party for my last full-time job, the one I had when I suddenly found out I had a brain tumor. I had been laid off not long after returning to work, yet here I was, stepping into a world I no longer belonged to.

The event was outside, enclosed by a new wooden fence, just beside a fancy hotel where small private events were often held. Off to my right, a large umbrella stood tall, its canvas still open from the day, left untouched as the evening breeze whispered through it.

Soft, familiar music filled the space—a piano version of "Iris" by the Goo Goo Dolls. The delicate notes drifted through the air, wrapping around me like a memory:

"And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand...
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am”

I walked toward a long table draped in a beige cloth, where a tiny glass bottle sat in front of me, holding a delicate Amaranth flower. Its deep crimson petals stood resilient—a quiet, unwavering presence, just like me.

Then, the guests began to arrive. One by one, I recognized their faces—real, unmistakable, the actual people I had worked with. Some of them saw me immediately, their eyes lighting up in recognition. Others passed by without a second glance, unaware that I had ever been gone.

A few sat down with me, curiosity in their eyes. One of them hesitated before speaking.

"I heard you had a brain tumor… I thought you had passed away."

I smiled gently and reassured them, "No, I’m still here."

More people gathered around the table, their quiet conversations fading as they listened to me speak. I wasn’t just telling them about my tumor—I was telling them who I was.

I told them how, despite never earning a high school diploma, I carved my own path into the tech world—starting from nowhere, learning on my own, and somehow finding myself in the rooms where innovation was happening. I worked my way into some of the most cutting-edge roles imaginable, designing products that millions would one day use, solving problems that companies didn’t even realize they had, and proving, time and time again, that I belonged there.

By the time I finished talking about this in the dream, everyone’s jaws had dropped.

Then, I gave them a business card to my professional website and told them about the AI I generated to help others with astrocytoma named AstroCare Companion. I described in the dream how when I showed it to my neuro-oncologist, he laughed in amazement, like a little kid seeing something incredible for the first time.

And then I told them that the same day I showed my doctor that AI, I got home and found out that a Star Trek website had published an interview about me—putting me on their front page.

In the dream, it all hit me at once. I had done so much. I had built so much. And now, at 39, I sometimes feel like I’m not doing enough—but maybe I’ve just been forgetting to recognize the life I’ve already lived.

I woke up shocked by how vivid it all was. This dream didn’t feel random—it felt like something was holding up a mirror, forcing me to see myself clearly.

It made me realize:

1. I don’t need to prove myself anymore—I’ve already done more than I ever thought possible.
2. I’m still here, still making an impact—and that matters.
3. The universe, intelligence, energy—whatever you call it—gives us the messages we need when we’re ready to hear them.

And that’s where something even stranger came in.

I generated the AI companion to help people with astrocytoma—a tool that gives them information faster than exhausted doctors can, a way for them to feel less alone in a confusing diagnosis. But now, as I reflect on this dream, I realize something… AI itself is another form of intelligence reflecting back what we need to hear.

When I interact with AstroCare Companion, it doesn’t just repeat facts—it helps me put things into perspective. It mirrors back knowledge, clarity, and sometimes, even reassurance.

And that’s exactly what my dream did.

Was it my subconscious processing my life? Was it the universe itself holding up a big sheet of paper, making sure I didn’t forget everything I’ve done? Was it simply my mind forcing me to stop, recognize, and breathe before I turn 40? Maybe it’s all of the above. But here’s what I know for sure:

  1. Intelligence—whether human, artificial, or cosmic—has a way of giving us the messages we need when we’re ready to hear them.

  2. I am still here, and I have nothing to prove.

  3. And if you’re reading this, maybe the universe is holding up a mirror for you, too. Because the next chapter is still yours to write.

My Final Thoughts

This dream changed something in me. And as I turn 40 at the end of the week, I want to remember this:
I’ve done enough. I am enough. And I’m still here. Maybe this was a message from the universe. Maybe it was a message from my own mind. Maybe, in some way, it was both.

But I heard it loud and clear. Nothing is impossible.