Here’s a question that was posed at the end of Sunday’s (February 12, 2006) two-part episode of Grey’s Anatomy.
“If you knew this was your last day on earth, how would you spend it?”
Wow, good one, eh?
And, if I were thinking of attempting to provide a personal response to that question here...could I do it? Well, as my fingers keep hitting the keys, I suppose I'm going to try...and, as I’m writing, I’m thinking of this particular holiday...
Only one day?
Actually, I put serious thought into this not long ago as I was in a state of worry and not-knowing about my peripheral-neuropathy symptoms. And, this question has come up other times as well, certainly in times of despair and/or deep introspection about birth, life, health or dying. When I was in the emergency room being mis-diagnosed with bladder cancer, for example, I stared death directly in the face. And, as Katrina was being treated for breast cancer, I thought very deliberately about what I could give to someone I loved if she had a short time remaining.
Then, last summer, a colleague at work died. He was a little younger than me; one day he simply collapsed at his desk. This came about at the time when I was stressed and depressed about the end of a relationship and worrying about my professional fate. And, I was all by myself.
This led me to the thought that I, very well, could die alone, and no one would know or care — well other than a few in my current immediate circle, perhaps. Acting on this fear, I made sure that my assistant had some very important phone numbers in case something happened to me. And, I did one other thing: perhaps impulsively. I wrote a letter to the person I’ve most loved in this life and told her that if I died right now, without saying “I love you” one more time, then that would be a source of eternal grieving for me. I hope she heard and understood.
So, what would I do with my last day, if I knew it was my last day? On this Valentine’s Day, especially, I have to believe that saying “I love you” to her, and everyone, would be at the top of my list.
Soundtrack Suggestion
Gonna close my eyes Girl and watch you go Running through this life darling Like a field of snow As the tracer glides In its graceful arc Send a little prayer out to ya ’cross the falling dark…
Tell the repo man And the stars above You’re the one I love You’re the one I love The one I love
Listen to your life. It’s showing you everything you need to know about who you can become. (Messiah’s Handbook)
Isn’t it amazing how it's possible that life can turn on your next conversation — or unexpected phone call, email or piece of paper? One minute the world is this way, the next it is something entirely different. The phone call I’ve been waiting for, obviously, is a job offer. Although I’m gainfully employed, I’ve been searching for that “permanent” position for two years now. It hasn’t arrived yet.
But, that’s not the phone call that came this weekend. The voicemail from my landlords this morning was news that the house I’m renting from them is going to be sold. Out from under me. I’ll have some as-yet-undetermined time period after the sale to move out. But, it will very likely be in a month or little more. I was handed a piece of paper outlining the intent to sell, the terms of working with the realtor, and the notice that I’ll need to move my body and possessions to some other location. Soon.
Of course, I’ve had other conversations, phone calls, and pieces of paper that have totally shifted the universe. One of those, obviously, would be the notice I received that August night in 1983: “Mr. Arnold, I’m sorry, you are under arrest for driving under the influence of intoxicants…”
Another would be the email I received from Katrina in October 1999 that said: “Had my annual today. Found a lump. More tests Thursday... Needing good thoughts.”
Or, the emergency room doctor who (mis)diagnosed me with bladder cancer — but was very convincing in his (ultimately erroneous) opinion.
And, of course, there was the paper from the Board of Higher Education terminating my employment with the Chancellor’s Office in the Spring of 2004.
Now, today’s news is not exactly a life and death situation, though with my current energy level, this development seems pretty overwhelming. On top of my regular job, and my job as a job-hunter, I now have to find a new residence, pack up, and move while I continue to look for “real” work.
It would appear that I am being challenged. I am experiencing the opportunity to find out what I’m made of.
Why did I choose this? What am I supposed to be learning here?
Let me guess: it must be about one of my lifetime issues.
You may have caught on: I’m a worrier. I think a lot; I emote a lot. Not that I’m really obsessive, but perhaps there’s a tendency in that direction?
And, I’m a planner: organized and always thinking ahead.
These various elements of my personality seem to collide, in that it’s not a stretch for me to go, in my mind, to “catastrophizing,” that is, thinking about the future and saying to myself “this has disaster written all over it.”
I have an uncertain job situation. I have an infection. I have a muscular or nerve issue in my leg. I have a life alone. I spend all my “free time” trying to find a job. I have trouble sleeping. I need prostate surgery. I don’t have time to pursue my art.
Oh, my, I guess I could keep going…you get the picture, though: worry, worry, worry! (or, maybe: whine, whine, whine?)
Where’s the room for happiness in all that?
When I was about to lose my position with the Chancellor’s Office, a good friend asked me once, “well, what’s the worst that could happen?” Of course, I went straight to catastrophe and saw myself homeless, on a street corner, holding a cardboard sign saying “WILL ORGANIZE THINGS FOR FOOD.”
There’s a lot of uncertainty in my future right now. But, of course, isn’t there uncertainty in everyone’s? I just read that two tornadoes hit New Orleans today! Yikes! What in the world is going on?
But the question remains a good one. “What’s the worst?” Here’s where I think the question has its origin:
When some misfortune threatens, consider seriously and deliberately what is the very worst that could possibly happen. Having looked this possible misfortune in the face, give yourself sound reasons for thinking that after all it would be no such terrible disaster. Such reasons always exist, since at the worst nothing that happens to oneself has any cosmic importance. When you have looked for some time steadily at the worst possibility and have said to yourself with real conviction, “well, after all, that would not matter so very much,” you will find that your worry diminishes to a quite extraordinary extent. It may be necessary to repeat the process a few times, but in the end, if you have shirked nothing in facing the worst possible issue, you will find that your worry disappears altogether and is replaced by a kind of exhilaration.
As I continue the path to wellness: I spent the morning at the doctor’s office and pharmacy. The best guess is that my viral infection has morphed into bacterial. I’m currently on antibiotics and a cough-supressant. Now we’ll see what happens!
After I got home, I opened up the Messiah’s Handbook to see if there was any new wisdom for me there today. The first thing that appeared (though I did a little shopping around on other pages later, not knowing what to make of this one at first) was:
How easy it is to be compassionate when it’s yourself you see in trouble!
So, let me think about this a minute. Well, OK, I actually do see myself in some trouble. My position at work is a temporary one, and I’m feeling very insecure about that. I’ve been quite ill lately, and along with that, an emotional downturn certainly has me seeing the glass half-empty. I keep interviewing for jobs, and not getting them. And, I’ve felt some loneliness in the last year that has rarely crept up on me like this.
The question now is: has it been easy for me to be compassionate? Just because it’s me? Really, I’m not sure how compassionate I have been with myself. I possess an often self-critical tendency that does not necessarily seem consistent with compassion. Perhaps the lesson for the day is to focus more on self-love and acceptance.
I’ve been lying around here like a lump on this incredibly grey and wet day here in Portland, feeling blue and lethargic. It’s one of those seasonal-affective-disorder days, to be sure. Amid all this darkness, I’m finding it difficult to find some semblance of light. (Literally or figuratively.) The Carly Simon lyrics go through my head:
Sufferin’ was the only thing made me feel I was alive Thought that’s just how much it cost to survive in this world (“Haven’t Got Time for the Pain” - 1974)
As I was sitting here at the computer earlier this morning, toying with ideas for what to write about today, an email came in from one of my new blog readers. It was a brief message, wishing me well. “My most heartfelt hope and prayer for you for 2006, besides transition to a wonderful job in a location that you love, is freedom and release,” she (“C”) says.
Freedom & release. I’m thinking that C just might understand a little bit of what I’ve talked about here in these pages: for example, that I’m in Zwischenraum, literally “the space between things.” In love and work, I’ve been let go and am stranded in a lifeboat between two islands: having left both, not knowing my destination in either. And, she apparently understands my discussion of psychic prisons: the sense that I am still the prisoner, even though I’ve left the cave. I have not yet thrown off the chains because I’m being blinded by the light outside, fearful of the unknown, and paralyzed by the number of choices I have. When C and I were together, I was quite attached to my interpretation of the shadows on the cave wall. My life, thought to be on course, was dramatically altered by rejection, both personally and professionally. Yes, I have been freed and released; now it’s up to me to find freedom and release.
So, I turn to Richard Bach and the Messiah’s Handbook. As you’ll recall from Illusions: The Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah, one merely needs to open this book up to a random (unnumbered) page, and the answer to your question is there. Today, as I’m ruminating over my life’s issues, I read:
“The only way to win, sometimes, is to surrender.”
Which, of course, is exactly right. As I was thinking about the Carly Simon lyrics and “sufferin’,” I was also pondering the first two of the Four Noble Truths of Buddhism.
1. Life means suffering. To live means to suffer, because the human nature is not perfect and neither is the world we live in. During our lifetime, we inevitably have to endure physical suffering such as pain, sickness, injury, tiredness, old age, and eventually death; and we have to endure psychological suffering like sadness, fear, frustration, disappointment, and depression. We are never able to keep permanently what we strive for, and just as happy moments pass by, we ourselves and our loved ones will pass away one day.
2. The origin of suffering is attachment. The origin of suffering is attachment to transient things and the ignorance thereof. The reasons for suffering are desire, passion, ardor, pursue of wealth and prestige, striving for fame and popularity, or in short: craving and clinging . Because the objects of our attachment are transient, their loss is inevitable, thus suffering will necessarily follow. Objects of attachment also include the idea of a “self” which is a delusion, because there is no abiding self. What we call “self” is just an imagined entity, and we are merely a part of the ceaseless becoming of the universe.
I admit attachment to certain models of the universe. I was attached to living in Eugene, doing a job that I knew and did well, and was comfortable in. And, I was very attached to a model of a relationship that existed, apparently only on the cave wall. What I “knew” was not “truth.” Attachment to both of those models of the world has caused, and still causes, me much suffering. The most healthy thing I could do is to surrender to the universe, define it as “all perfect” and make a new life for myself.
I am trying.
God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference. (“Serenity Prayer,” Reinhold Neibuhr — 1926)
