If you're like me, you avoid even thinking the phrase carpe diem. It's been etched by Dead Poets' Society into your permanent avoid-at-all-costs compendium of cliches. But while I'll probably always feel a twinge of repulsion at the phrase, in recent days its meaning has become newly clear to me.
The reason: One of the guys in my book club -- let's call him Joe -- was just diagnosed with a very bad brain tumor. He's a quick-to-laugh, intelligent, scathingly sarcastic man who's completely comfortable in his skin, an adventurer known among his friends as someone who truly does seize the day. My age, he's married to a beautiful and kind woman with whom he has a couple of awesome young kids. A couple of weeks ago, he started having bad headaches. So he went to see his doctor. Upon seeing the results of Joe's CAT scan, the doctor called him and his wife into a small, private room, where he sat them down and told them the bad news. As Joe told a few of us when we brought his family dinner soon after the diagnosis, "Suddenly I was up at the ceiling, looking down at the scene." There's still hope that surgery will reveal that his condition is misdiagnosed, and everyone who knows Joe is hoping against hope on his behalf. Barring misdiagnosis, though, the prognosis is not good.
What Joe and his family are going through now, I can only imagine. So what's the point? Why am I bringing this up on a blog about panic and anxiety? Partly, it's to vent, to express sadness and rage. Partly, it's to express solidarity with Joe and his family, and with the mutual friends who are far closer to them than I. Mostly, though, it's because of the experience I had this past week, en route our most recent book club gathering.
Some quick background: The book club comprises a bunch of really successful, really type-A guys. Top-of-their-field doctors. On-their-umpteenth-prosperous-tech-venture entrepreneurs. Nonprofit heads with names like Steve Jobs in their Rolodexes. In general, they're also just plain really nice people. I consider myself lucky to know them.
However, having half-assed my way through much of my career to date, thanks to agoraphobia and (until recently) a severe lack of a clue as to how to combat it, I sometimes feel like I haven't accomplished as much as I might have with my life -- and certainly not as much as most of these guys have. I also can't help envying and admiring the spur-of-the-moment globetrotting many of them do, as part of this or that high-stakes venture, while often it can be a challenge for me just to drive across the Bay Bridge. It can be intimidating, especially considering that I am by a matter of years the most recent addition to the group.
Add to this the fact that -- again, thanks to agoraphobia -- I have missed more than a few of our gatherings. I have allowed panic to prevent me from taking fuller advantage of this gift, this group that seems by default exceedingly loyal to its loyal members. Rather than diving in, I have too often succumbed to my fears, to my impulse to avoidance, and allowed myself to remain at the periphery. Had I pushed harder in the past, I would know Joe and the rest of the book club guys better than the little I do. It's a real regret for me.
Again this past Tuesday, when it came time to get in my car and drive to the restaurant where the group was meeting, I felt the electric jolt of impending panic. As I drove, it grew. I know this feeling so well by now, yet pushing through it is a battle royale every time. But this time, I was determined not to let anxiety beat me. I was not going to allow myself to turn around and return to the safety of home. I was going to dive in headfirst, and fuck it straight to hell if it meant full-on panic.
Of course, I made it to book club. And I couldn't be more glad that I did. The cocktails and laughter flowed freely, as they always do. The discussion of the book was intelligent and impassioned. Most importantly, though, all those present brought with them a sense of being inspired by Joe and his family, at the combination of positivity and emotional honesty with which they're facing this time of great challenge. Again and again, in one-on-one conversations with different guys during the course of the night, I heard communicated a renewed appreciation of the importance of seizing the day, of making the most of every moment.
As one guy said, "Here's the question you have to ask. Are you happy with your life today? Right now?"
Carpe diem, baby. I'm so terribly sorry that this is what it took to get me here, Joe, but thank you all the same.
Credit: Photo from here.
Tidak ada komentar:
Posting Komentar