On disruption, identity, and what actually endures

On December 30th, I had surgery for prostate cancer.

A lot of things stopped that day.

I had real momentum going into the end of the year. I was building what is now called CEOIQ Renaissance. I was participating in Reinvention Academy. I was preparing to launch a marketing initiative with the Center of Business Excellence. There was energy, direction, and a growing sense that the pieces were falling into place.

Then… none of that mattered. Everything came to a hard, screaming halt.

What Cancer Interrupted

It interrupted momentum. It interrupted plans that had been carefully thought through and intentionally sequenced. It interrupted a rhythm I’d worked hard to establish.

And perhaps most frustratingly, it interrupted a sense of progress — the feeling that things were finally moving in the right direction, that the work of the past year was about to produce something tangible.

If you’ve ever experienced a sudden health event, a business disruption, or an unexpected life change, you know this feeling. It’s not just that things stop. It’s that your internal orientation gets disrupted. You go from building to waiting. From executing to recovering. From creating to… pausing.

That’s not an easy shift for people like us. Builders. Leaders. People who are wired to produce.

What It Didn’t Interrupt

Here’s what surprised me — and continues to stay with me.

It didn’t interrupt who I am.

I was still coaching my advisees. I was still deeply engaged as a Diligence Manager for a client in the middle of selling his company — work that requires focus, judgment, and consistency every single day. I was still thinking about frameworks, ideas, and how to help people navigate complexity.

And underneath it all, I still had the internal drive to contribute. That didn’t go away. The work didn’t disappear. It changed form.

The Discomfort Beneath the Surface

What I didn’t fully anticipate was how much of my identity was tied to forward motion.

When that motion stopped, even temporarily, there was a quiet but persistent question underneath everything: Am I still moving forward… or have I been sidelined?

That question isn’t just practical. It’s existential.

I’ve spent 25 years working with business owners, and I’ve watched this same dynamic play out in their lives — not from cancer, but from the exit itself. The founder who sells the company and suddenly has nowhere to be on Monday morning. The CEO who defines herself by decisions made under pressure, and then finds herself in a life with very few decisions that matter. The builder who realizes that what he lost wasn’t a business — it was the structure that gave his days meaning.

I always understood that intellectually. Now I understand it in my bones.

The Unexpected Learning

Somewhere in the middle of recovery, I began to see something I hadn’t fully grasped before.

I wasn’t just going through a medical event. I was modeling what reinvention actually looks like under real conditions. Not the ideal version. Not the one we present in frameworks or workshops. The real one — where plans get disrupted, timelines break down, and you don’t get to choose the moment.

And yet… you still have to respond.

Reinvention, I realized, is not just about creating something new. It’s about adapting when you didn’t plan to have to adapt. That’s a lesson I intend to carry into every conversation I have with a business owner who is staring at a transition they didn’t fully choose.

Excellence, Redefined

The Greek concept of Arete — the pursuit of excellence and the full realization of one’s potential — has been a guiding idea in my work for years. I’ve often thought of it in terms of growth, development, and forward progress.

This experience added another dimension.

Sometimes Arete looks like endurance. Sometimes it looks like patience. Sometimes it looks like restraint — not pushing when pushing would be counterproductive. And sometimes it looks like showing up at less than full capacity and still choosing to engage in a meaningful way.

That, too, is excellence. Maybe the hardest kind.

A Subtle but Important Shift

What had been interrupted was not my purpose. It was my pace.

And pace, while important, is not the same as direction. Direction held. Identity held. Commitment held. Only the speed changed.

That distinction matters more than I can express. If you take one thing from this piece, let it be that.

Where I Am Now

Ninety days later, I’m back working out with my trainer, Tracy White. Yesterday I used a 25-pound dumbbell for squats — right where I was before surgery. That’s a tangible marker of recovery.

But the more important shift is internal. I’ve come to understand something I didn’t fully appreciate before: I have resilience. Not theoretical resilience. Tested resilience.

And I’m not done.

A Question Worth Sitting With

If something in your life feels interrupted right now — whether by circumstance, health, business conditions, or something else — take a moment and ask:

What hasn’t actually stopped?

Because often, what endures is more important than what was interrupted.

* * *

A note from Ben…

Much of my current work is focused on helping business owners think through the transition of selling their companies — a process that looks like a financial event from the outside but is really an identity event from the inside. The parallels between what I experienced over the past 90 days and what I see exiting entrepreneurs go through are striking: the disruption to routine, the challenge to identity, the question of what comes next. If you’re a business owner thinking about your own transition — or just beginning to wonder when and how — I’d welcome the conversation. Reach me at [email protected].

Author: Ben Griffin

Facilitator - CEO Peer Advisory Group; Executive Coach; Photographer