It's about 8 am, July 5th. Climbing to 30,000 feet. I've been up
since 4 am to
catch this plane. I'm tired from a sleepless four day July 4th weekend revelry
at a
wedding in D.C. and heading home for four more sleepless days to help Susan and
our
friends prepare for my son's wedding this coming weekend on two weeks notice.
I had put
down my crossword puzzle book, was about to become a human pretzel in this
modern day
torture cell called an airplane seat when it all struck me and came together.
My eyes
popped open, I grabbed the pen and began scribbling in the margins of the puzzle book.
First, there was a few seconds of conversation with a guest at the
wedding
reception whom I didn't know.
"Nice. You look like you're having fun. I wish I could do that," a
guest at the
wedding reception had said to me as she commented on the large rose that I had
placed on
my left ear.
"You can." I took her by the hand to a table, pulled another rose from
the
centerpiece, and gently placed it in her ear. "There," I said, "enjoy
yourself."
She quickly took it out. With a face that suddenly lost its glow, her
smile
quickly vanished, her eyes darting back and forth to see if someone had
noticed, she said
in a frightened and saddened tone, "Oh, I couldn't. I look too foolish."
I thought to myself, "What a way to kill the refreshing joy of doing
what you want
to do with convention."
Second, there was a conversation with some of us old left-over (pun
intended)
activist denizens from the '60s and '70s. As the night moved on into the
morning and the
party moved from the synagogue to the hotel bar, some of us started to
reminisce about the
"good ole days." Anyone remember the WHOLE EARTH CATALOGUE of the late '60s
and early
'70s? My memories of it were jogged in these going back conversations. One of
my Susan's
cousins reminded us how the CATALOGUE had ended its run with the guiding farewell,
"Stay
hungry. Stay Foolish."
And third, there was a blistering message I had received the day before
I left for
D.C. from a mid-western professor who responded to my last Random Thought, "Let
Me Count
the Ways," with a pointed accusation, "Dr. Schmier. You're foolish and unreasonable."
I had taken her barb for an unintended compliment. So, keeping in mind
all those
glasses of wine lifted to "L'Chaims" (to life) during this weekend, that
wedding guest,
the CATALOGUE, and this professor, knowing the sleep is an impossibility in
this cramped
flying sardine can, I want to jot down some thoughts on "unreasonableness.
First, I want to talk about death. At first glance, it's not a great
topic of
conversation in this particular place, especially after a joyous wedding, is
it. But,
hear me out. When I was diagnosed with prostate cancer last November, though
my doctor
and the consultants Susan and I went to for second and third opinions said the
cancer had
been caught in its earliest of stages and was curable, it was the first time I
really was
confronted with the reality of my death. You know, earliest stages be damn,
the word,
"cancer," in spite of all the medical advances in recent years, has the dirge
of a death
knell to it. A common cold it is not! You don't dance a hora to its ring.
Anyway, until
that moment, death had been an abstraction. It was a purely intellectual
concept or
theological construct. Sure, for the past 14 years, since my epiphany, I have
looked in
the mirror every morning and asked myself the Talmudic question: "If I wouldn't
be here
tomorrow, if today were the last day of my life, would I soon be doing what I
will be
doing today?" Even though my answer has been a daily and joyful "yes," that
question,
nevertheless, was more abstraction than reality. I mean how many of us really
think we
aren't going to see tomorrow's sunrise. How many of us really think we're
always going to
have more time. How many of us really believe this is going to be the last
day. Now,
having been confronted with that possibility, I consciously do. Or, at least,
never has
my awareness of that possibility been more intense, truer, and more vivid than
it has for
the last seven months.
I remember saying to myself when I heard the results of the biopsy,
though the
doctor was sensitive and compassionate when he uttered those words, "You've got
cancer," I
felt a panic swelling up. I wasn't ready. I wasn't prepared. I didn't want
to die; I
was too young; I had just turned 63; I had too much still to do and much more
to become.
And, even though I'm living in the southern Bible Belt, I don't know anyone,
even the most
devout, who's rushing out to jump into a coffin. But, death is something none
of us can
avoid. No one has. We just avoid talking about it and facing up to its
inevitability. I
no longer can avoid that avoiding.
Some of you may think what I've just said is just plain morbid and has
nothing to
do with academics, much less teaching. It's not morbid and it has everything
to do with
academics. When we avoid talking about death, the rabbis tell us that we avoid
talking
about life. So, even though I said that I wanted to talk first about death, I
really want
to talk about life. You see, that is because once you've had cancer, your
whole outlook
on life changes. You acquire a keen or, as in my case, a keener appreciation
for life.
Every day is a toast of l'chaim. For me, the pronouncement of having cancer
not only
placed me the closest I have ever been to facing death, it has placed me the
closest I
have been to facing life. The real prospect of a "now" death has given me more of a
"now"
feeling for life than I've ever had. I listen, see, feel, touch, smell with a
greater
intensity. I am finding that having been reminded that I am going to die is
the best way
I know to avoid the trap of not living.
I, like every human being, came into this world naked and according to
Jewish
tradition, I, like every human being, will leave this world naked. But, you
know, I now
realize more intensely than ever, that I, like every human being, am always
naked no
matter what clothes I wear, no matter what foods I eat, no matter how I'm
housed, no
matter how I get around, no matter what my income, no matter how long my
resume, no matter
what I've published, no matter what authority I've accrued, no matter what
reputation I've
achieved, no matter what degrees I've earned, no matter what titles and
positions I hold.
Why am I already naked? Because, as I've already said in earlier Random
Thoughts, the
pride, shyness, arrogance, fear of what others say or think,
self-righteousness, ego, fear
of failure, the hesitation to live that go with the quest for approval of
others and
possession of these possessions are nothing--nothing--in the face of death.
They are
valueless in facing and facing up to death. Take away these material things
and what's
left is what's truly important. The gift of facing death is being confronted
with your
"approval obsession" and "possession fixation" and realizing how they restrict
and
constrict personal growth, relationships with yourself and others, freedom,
imagination,
creativity, and fulfillment. Death makes you intensely aware of your real
options and
your real potential--as well as your destiny. So, once I had cancer, there's
no longer
any reason left for me not to follow my heart and do what I want to do and do
what I
honestly feel needs doing.
So many of us have crowded out what Emerson called the independence of
solitude in
the midst of the crowd. So many of us throw away our precious personal and
professional
years living someone else's life and trying to be someone we're not. So many
of us fall
so easily into the trap set by "the system" spun by the decisions and thinking
of other
people. So many of us need to prove to others rather than prove to
themselves. So many
of us accept the need for acceptance. So many of us approve of the quest for
the approval
of others. So many of us live down to the expecations of others rather than
living up to
our own. So many let the cacaphony of others' sounds drown out the harmony of
our own
inner voice. So many of us waste our limited time by accepting limits imposed
by others.
So few of us have the courage to live the life we want to live and need to live
instead of
listening to others telling us how to live. So many of us guide ourselves by
the
guidelines drawn up by others. So many of us spend our time and energy
satisfying needs
that others say we need. So many of us seek the professional riches rather
than living
richly, to do well rather than living well, to seek good fortune rather than
realizing we
are our own good fortune. So many of us douse the courageous spark of
spontaneity and
adventure with the insecure waters of needed guarantees. So many of us seek
the gain and
lose ourselves thinking that material and professional riches automatically
make us
healthy, wealthy, and wise. So many of us can't go through the difficulty and
discomfort
and inconvenience of "professional possessions withdrawal."
So, so few of us break the bonds of safe convention and become freed,
free-thinking contrarians. So few of us follow our hearts and gut feelings
that seem to
already know what we truly want to do, what needs doing, and what we want to
become. So
many of us don't stay fresh, aren't foolish, and are so damn reasonable. The
result is
that inside so many of us are unhappy, bored, unfulfilled, unsatisfied, numb,
and
lifeless. And, try as we may to hide it, so many of us model all that in our
words and
actions for the students who are not so "dumb" as not to notice it--and sadly
too often
learn it!
Well, in spite of the cocoon-like conditions, and feeling there's more
to say, I'm
suddenly crashing--a lousy word to use in a plane 30,000 feet above the
ground--and will
try to grab a few winks. I've got a two hour drive to Valdosta after I land.
I think
I'll stop here and continue on later with how I'll tell that professor about
the joy and
freedom of being fresh, foolish, and unreasonable. I'll just leave you with
the words of
Mark Twain that I had rediscovered a few months ago and tattooed on my soul,
and that I'll
put on my office door when I return to campus in August:
Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by
the things you didn't do than by the ones you did do.
So throw off the bowlines.
Sail away from the safe harbor.
Catch the trade winds in your sails.
Explore. Dream. Discover.
Stay fresh. Stay foolish. Be unreasonable. L'Chaim.
Make it a good day.
--Louis--
Louis Schmier www.therandomthoughts.com
Department of History www.halcyon.com/arborhts/louis.html
Valdosta State University
Valdosta, Georgia 31698 /\ /\ /\ /\
(229-333-5947) /^\\/ \/ \ /\/\__/\ \/\
/ \/ \_ \/ / \/
/\/ \
/\
//\/\/ /\ \__/__/_/\_\
\_/__\
/\"If you want to climb
mountains,\ /\
_ / \ don't practice on mole
hills" -
---
You are currently subscribed to tips as: [EMAIL PROTECTED]
To unsubscribe send a blank email to [EMAIL PROTECTED]
