Let’s face it, over the past few years, my family and I have had our share of ups-and-downs. But, the funny thing about staring death in the face and actually coming out on top is that “the downs” become redefined.


After all, how bad is a stain on my shirt or a being late for a meeting or someone being mad at you or a headache/stomach ache/hangover or traffic or missing a 24-hour sale when your kid has had cancer? Or, how about when your sister has had cancer? Or, how about when your own body is a ticking time bomb for cancer? Or, how about when your friend’s husband suddenly loses his vision or when your neighbor’s mother dies unexpectedly or when a young person cannot see any relief from bullying and teasing other than to take his own life? The “downs” redefine your norm.


For me, the downs are just part of the process. And, that end goal is experiencing a redefined UP; a new joy both in life and for life; and a new appreciation for when times are good.


And, these past few days have been particularly awesome.


Today, I received a beautiful letter. Twenty-seven words. Typed. Centered.

The Liza Mutiplier Effect:

a well-known economic concept

You help Liza, and just by being who she is,

she helps a hundred other people.





Between mile 9 and mile 10 on Sunday, my friend Carra Gamberdella joined me as a fresh pair of legs during my 1/2 marathon journey. Carra and I have been friends since our Connecticut College days, and she has always been that gal who puts a smile on my face just by Being Carra. She’s funny, kind, genuine, and full of life. Carra is also notorious for saying the darndest things. For example, one time Carra told me that she loves to drive in the left hand lane on the highway. “Why, Carra? Why do you love to drive in the left hand lane on the highway?” Carra answers, “Because, Liza, silly, it’s the friendliest lane!” I cringe yet dig deeper, “Carra, (dear God), why do you think the left hand lane is the friendliest lane?” She smiles her big white smile and her dark black Italian eyes light up, “Because, Liza! People drive right up behind you, flash their lights and wave! It’s so friendly!”


Sigh. Yes, Carra is serious. And, this exchange is pretty typical of a Carra Conversation. This is exactly why I love her.


I can also count on Carra for another reliable conversation — our shared admiration for one of our favorite professors: Stuart Vyse. For over a decade, Stuart Vyse has insisted that I no longer address him as “Professor.” Yet, to me, he is and always will be someone who I hold up on a pedestal. He was the very first professor I met on campus. He completely shaped my college career, ignited my love for psychology, and showed me the importance of being both a parent and a professional.


When I think about my role in education and in the lives of students, I think of Professor Vyse. For, I took nearly every single class that man taught, and I took his academic advising to heart. It was because of him that I applied to graduate school in psychology (decided, instead, to go into Higher Ed Admin) and was even accepted. I was a terrible student, even when he gave quizzes on a fixed interval schedule, but I remember nearly everything that he taught me. He was even an accomplice (meaning, he drove the van on a class field trip to Harvard) to my first nose piercing.


But, it wasn’t necessarily the lessons in class that impacted me; it was the interactions outside of class. They weren’t anything big nor lengthy. But, his words meant something to me. For example, at a Faculty event in the President’s House (we’re talking sometime in 1996), I was singing a solo with the acappella group and Prof. Vyse simply said to me, “That sounded great, Liza,” and walked on. I remember that feeling of A) He knows my name!, and B) Wow, he took the time to say something to me. That interaction was probably was just a blip on the screen of his day, but it meant the world to me. Positive reinforcement.


Years later, I was teaching psychology at a private school on Long Island to 12th graders. And, try as I might, I just couldn’t understand a concept well enough to teach it. Though I had been out of college for more than 5 years, I took a chance and emailed Professor Vyse to ask him how to best teach that lesson. He quickly responded, laid out a great lesson plan, and at the end, included, “So, are you still singing?”


So. Are. You. Still. SINGING?


He remembered that about me.


Years later, I would remember Professor Vyse again. Once I had children, I wanted them to be a part of my work community and interact with students. I remember Prof. Vyse’s kids running across the college green — his younger child with glasses bigger than his own face — and realized that I, too, could show my students that I was human. That I was a mom. That my family life is integrated into my work life. By having my children present on campus, students felt a different connection with me. They no longer saw me as just an administrator, but they could see me in different roles. I remember that moment I realized Prof. Vyse not just as a research and teaching psychologist, but he was also a dad. A human.


Over the next decade, thanks to Carra, I would hear about Prof. Vyse’s new books or research on magic or gambling or superstition. I would hear about the “Album of the Summer” or the different radio or talk shows he had been on. To me, he was always the definition of Professor — brilliant, funny, caring, dedicated, interesting, and, of course, as a requirement of the academy, a little bit quirky. I read his Op Ed pieces, usually not about psychology, and understood that professors could be interested in something other than (gasp!) their field of study.


When I gave the College’s Convocation address in 2008, I saw Prof. Vyse sitting in the audience. “I’d better not screw this up,” I thought. In my brief time there, I didn’t even say “hello” to him — I was too intimidated and didn’t want that awkward exchange of realizing he might not even know who the heck I was anymore.


Yet, a day later, I received an email from Prof. Vyse thanking me for my Convocation address.


Months later, I received encouragement from Prof. Vyse in the Marathon B4 Mastectomy journey.


And, today, in the mail, I received the kindest twenty-seven words I have ever had the privilege of reading, from Prof. Vyse.

The Liza Mutiplier Effect:

a well-known economic concept

You help Liza, and just by being who she is,

she helps a hundred other people.




How far can we go when we redefine the very thought of who we are, what we can do, and who we can impact? How high can we fly when we take the time to say or write words that transform — redefine — how we think of ourselves?


And, how beautiful can our world be when we multiply goodness, and redefine the idea that helping others is helping oneself?


Peace, love and embracing the sweetness of a life redefined,




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3 Responses to REDEFINED

  1. Kathleen says:

    Beautiful, Liza, just beautiful.

  2. Karyn says:

    You are such an amazing woman. Of course SV would remember you. You do inspire so many of us. Thank you!!

  3. Great Blog! You are a credit to the cancer blogging community. I have added you to my blogroll, “Cancer Blogs” with over 1000 other personal cancer blogs at, a cancer networking site featuring a cancer book club, guest blogs, cancer resources, reviews and more.
    If you have not visited before or recently, please stop by. If you agree that the site is a worthwhile resource for those affected by cancer, please consider adding Being Cancer Network to your own blogroll.
    Now that you are listed, you can expect to gain a wider audience for your thoughts and experiences. Being Cancer Network is a place to share and communicate.
    And like bloggers everywhere, I love receiving your comments and ideas.

    Take care, Dennis (

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