A few weeks ago I had a minor health scare: an anomaly during a routine checkup that could have been serious but turned out, after 11 days of waiting to see a specialist, to be nothing much. During the period between those two doctor’s appointments, I tried not to dwell on the darker possibilities. But of course my mind wandered unbidden, and I found myself both exploring my fears and taking stock of my life. And then, when almost all of my thoughts struck me as clichés, I pondered how clichés don’t seem trite at all when I’m living them.
Here is some of what I mulled over during those 11 days.
I thought about the courage and fortitude shown by people I know who have lived, or are living, with pain and medical uncertainty. Having had just a taste of it, I recognize how much stronger they are than I felt.
I thought about how generally happy I am with my life now, and how much I would like to continue enjoying it. Almost nothing has turned out the way I envisioned it decades ago, and thank heaven for that. I wish I could have more of my friends and family here with me, thousands of miles from where I grew up, but I’m deeply grateful for those I have here, and for the opportunity to do meaningful work as part of a dynamic, caring campus community.
I thought about the story of my life, and how it might read if it ended soon. The key plot points would be my two giant leaps away from my path-of-least-resistance career trajectories, decisions that have made everything that has followed possible. And the underlying theme would be how hard it was for me to figure out who I really was, and what I really cared about. I spent a lot of years struggling to free myself from the web of other people’s (often well-meaning) expectations and the (supposed) givens of everyday life, and to discover my own values and sense of purpose. My work at self-discovery and self-development is far from complete, but it’s only in the past few years that I’ve really felt good about how far I’ve come.
Finally, I thought about moments that really mattered to me: the often-unexpected instances of real, deep connection with the people around me. My wife Sharon and my close friends have taught me a lot about how to be myself, and not some version of me manufactured unconsciously in response to my circumstances. But so too have students and colleagues at UMBC, especially in those in-between moments when our formal roles have faded to the background and our common cares and humanity have mattered more.
