“They are the hunters, we are the rabbits.  And maybe we don’t want to be found.”

Maybe none of us want anyone tracking us down.  We keep so much to ourselves, and perhaps share bits and pieces with our closest friends (if we are lucky enough to have them).  We, as a whole, are private people.  Insecure beings.  And when we open ourselves up, we are begging for attention.  Don’t take it as an insult.  We all need it.  We all need people in our lives to make us feel value.  Very few of us can contently live a life of solitude.  And I do not think we are meant to.  We are social beings.  Meant to interact.  Meant to love.  Meant to talk.  Meant to hurt from broken hearts.  Meant to cringe over our own embarrassment. Meant to elate upon learning of our loved ones’ successes.  This is living, and if we are not willing to absorb the pain and negative emotions then we do not deserve, nor are we prepared for, all of the glorious times that life can provide.  That’s right.  I said glorious.  It is such a great word.  Everyone should use it much more often than it is exercised.  The bottom line is that life is about feeling.  No matter if it is extremely great, or immensely devastating.  One way or another we are living, and that is a gift.  If everyone could learn to grow from their experiences, we would be a whole hell of a lot smarter.  We would be much more adventurous, and spontaneous.  Life is here.  The world is ours.  Things are happening all around us, and so long that we are dwelling in the sorrow of our own personal tragedies (which we illuminate, and make so much more severe than they really are) we will stay on the same plane.  No lateral nor upward motion.  Stagnant.  What a waste.  

One morning, well after I was diagnosed with cancer, I got an email from Robbee Kosak, Carnegie Mellon’s vice president for advancement.  She told me a story.

She said she had been driving home from work the night before, and she found herself behind a man in a convertible.  It was a warm, gorgeous, early-spring evening, and the man had his top down and all his windows lowered.  His arm was hanging over the driver’s side door, and his fingers were tapping along to the music on his radio.  His head was bobbing along, too, as the wind blew through his hair.

Robbee changed lanes and pulled a little closer.  From the side, she could see that the man had a slight smile on his face, the kind of absentminded smile a person might have when he’s all alone, happy in his own thoughts.  Robbee found herself thinking: “Wow, this is the epitome of a person appreciating this day and this moment.”

The convertible eventually turned the corner, and that’s when Robbee got a look at the man’s full face.  ”Oh my God,” she said to her self.  ”It’s Randy Pausch!”

She was so struck by the sight of me.  She knew that my cancer diagnosis was grim.  And yet, as she wrote in her email, she was moved by how contented I seemed.  In this private moment, I was obviously in high spirits.  Robbee wrote in her email: “You can never know how much that glimpse of you made my day, reminding me of what life is all about.”

I read Robbee’s email several times.  I came to look at it as a feedback of sorts.

It has not always been easy to stay positive through my cancer treatment.  When you have a dire medical issue, it’s tough to know how you’re really faring emotionally.  I has wondered whether a part of me was acting when I was with other people.  Maybe at times I forced myself to appear strong and upbeat.  Many cancer patients feel obliged to put up a brave front.  Was I doing that, too?

But Robbee had come upon me in an unguarded moment.  I’d like to think she saw me as I am.  She certainly saw me as I was that evening.

Her email was just a paragraph, but it meant a great deal to me.  She had given me a window into myself.  I was still fully engaged.  I still knew life was good.  I was doing OK.

Randy Pausch, The Last Lecture

Rest in Peace.  Thank you for teaching us how to live.

I just finished reading a book called Riker of the Seven Seas by Frederic Riker.  It was recommended and lent to me by one of the owners of the company I work for.  It is funny how these things happen.  I likely would have never come to know this book, nor read this book, had the topic of books come up, and he not brought this one in for be to borrow.  From what I have researched it is a very rare book.  Published in 1933, and likely only the one time, I have been hard pressed to find a source for purchasing the book myself aside from 2 online locations with a price of $65 USD and up.  I love books, and like to keep a full bookshelf of those that I enjoy.  This is one of those books.  It is apparently all true accounts of a young man from New England, and his adventures being a ship hand and travelling all over the world.  He encounters some incredible circumstances, and meets some fantastic people.  I highly recommend picking this book up if you ever come across it.  I know that I will be making a particular effort to look for this book in every used bookstore I enter.