April 15 2025
Writtenby Jason Tharp, an NRG Oncology Patient Advocate Committee Member
I’ve always loved an underdog story.
While other kids were into Star Wars, I was all in on Rocky. Something about his grit — getting knocked down, then getting back up — lit a fire in me. Rocky wasn’t just a movie. It was the blueprint for how I wanted to live.
As a kid, I lived in my imagination. I was a storyteller before I even knew what that meant. I sketched, dreamed, and created constantly. And somehow, I made that dream a reality —writing over 20 books, traveling the country, talking to thousands of kids (and now adults), helping people figure out how to get back up when life knocks them flat.
But let me be clear: those lessons came at a cost.
I’ve heard the word impossible more times than I can count. But I’ve never accepted it. Not because I wanted to prove people wrong — but because I wanted to prove myself right. I knew my life had twists and turns. I just didn’t know how it would all play out. Still, I moved forward. I didn’t let diagnoses or predictions dictate my story. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned through this journey, it’s this:
Someone else’s prognosis is not your future.
On July 12, 2021, I had a seizure. That seizure led to the discovery of a grade 4 glioblastoma —a brain tumor. Within minutes of meeting my first doctor (who, I’m happy to say, is no longer my doctor), I was told I’d be dead in seven months.
Seven months.
They didn’t know my name, my story, or my fight. But they thought they knew my future.
That moment didn’t just make me mad — it awakened something in me. A rebel voice inside reminded me: This isn’t how your story ends. Not even close.
There’s a lot of life between “once upon a time” and “the end.” And as a storyteller, I understand the power of that space.
I believed — still believe — that I’m here to help others break through their own impossible. But back then, I had no idea where to start. Every direction seemed full of doom and gloom. What I needed — what we all need — was hope. But hope is slippery, and for everyone, it means something different.
For me, hope became an ignition switch. Not a guarantee, not a cure — but a spark. A signal that says: there’s a path here. Maybe it won’t go how you imagined. Maybe it shifts left or right. But it’s still yours. You’re still in the game.
So I made a decision: I would bring the best of me to meet the best science. I stopped saying “I have cancer” and started living like I was already healed. I focused on what it looked like to be cancer-free. I stopped waiting to feel better. I acted like it was already happening.
I changed my diet. I moved my body. I filled my mind with good things. I meditated. I visualized my healing every single day. And when I slipped? I forgave myself. I didn’t spiral. I’d spent a lifetime resenting myself — and others. That cycle had to end. It was time to love myself enough to do the hard stuff.
That wasn’t easy. I’d accepted that impossible was just a word. But loving myself? That felt impossible. That was the real fight.
And here I am — well beyond that seven-month prognosis. Still writing my story. Still showing up as the person I choose to be.
Now I make it clear to every doctor on my team: I’m the captain. You’re on my team, but I lead. I’ll bring the best of me — you bring the best of science. Together, we’ll rewrite this “impossible.”
Because honestly? I don’t care what anyone else thinks. They’re not living my life.
I want people to feel seen—especially the ones who feel invisible. I want to help patients find their voice. I want to help you find yours.
Everything you’re looking for is hiding behind everything you’re afraid to face.
You don’t need to go through a brain tumor to figure this out. You just need to be brave enough to take your power back. To realize that your doctors are human. That you’re allowed to ask questions. That you are the author here.
So if you’re reading this at the beginning of your diagnosis, or deep in the trenches of uncertainty — I see you. I know how heavy it feels. But you don’t have to carry all of it.
The best version of you is already inside you.
Be brave enough to let them out.
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About the Author
Jason Tharp | Speaker • Brain Cancer Survivor • Creator of the Beyond HOPE Project
Jason Tharp is a brain cancer survivor, bestselling children’s book author and illustrator, and founder of the Beyond HOPE Project — a movement designed to help people break through the impossible by turning H.O.P.E. into a strategy. With a message rooted in authenticity, resilience, and self-leadership, Jason brings the perfect blend of heart, humor, and humanity to every stage he steps on.
Through the lens of his personal journey — being told he had seven months to live — Jason delivers powerful storytelling that goes far beyond inspiration. He introduces audiences to his transformational H.O.P.E. Algorithm, a mindset tool built to help individuals and organizations navigate challenges, unlock creativity, and lead with purpose.
Jason’s talks leave people not just motivated, but moved — and equipped. His unique ability to turn pain into power helps people across industries embrace a new truth:
Impossible is optional when HOPE is your strategy.
He speaks to corporate teams, healthcare organizations, nonprofits, and educators who want to spark meaningful growth, reignite their purpose, and build cultures of connection, courage, and creativity.
For more information visit: www.jasontharp.com or www.beyondhopeproject.com