Almost every time I’ve been home to Toronto in the past six years, and visiting with my dear friends Greg and Meredith, I hear a really great story about Meredith’s friend Jeff Harris, who’s the photo editor at Maclean’s and, from what she’s told me, a very impressive, artsy man-about-TO.

For the past ten years, Jeff has been taking a photo of himself every day–or having the Canadian cool kids (like Bruce La Bruce and Sloan’s Jay Ferguson) he hangs out with and the famous people he meets through his job (Michael Stipe and Dave Eggers, among many) take the photo for him. He recently had an exhibit of all 3,653 pictures at Toronto’s Contact Festival. Last night Meredith told me the requisite amazing story about Jeff (this one involving meeting his musical hero and the dubious workmanship of Prada pants), and then an equally amazing, much sadder story: last fall Jeff, who’s 36, was diagnosed with cancer.

In recent months Jeff’s daily photo has chronicled the lead-up and recovery from the radical operation he endured to remove a tumor from his sciatic nerve. He also lost the nerve itself, part of his tailbone, and the use of his left leg, below the knee. Viewed along the continuum of what is obviously an extraordinary, eccentric life, the recent photos are both devastating and a powerful inspiration. I urge you to take a look at Jeff’s life, one day at a time, and then read his ongoing diary, along with well-wishes, on his guest book (my favorite detail might be the fact that the surgeon who spent 11 hours rummaging through Jeff’s insides–and accidentally fracturing his pelvis–had Metallica blasting all the way). The rest is obvious: breathe, run, jump–say cheese–and be glad.

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