How Death Becomes a Friend and Advisor

This morning, I got up at 6:00am. First order of business: drink coffee and read. I finished Tales of Power yesterday, so have picked up Journey to Ixtlan this morning and am looking forward to reading it. Here we learn that the warrior is one who is “without routines, free, fluid, unpredictable.”

Don Juan says, “For me the world is weird because it is stupendous, awesome, mysterious, unfathomable; my interest has been to convince you that you must assume responsibility for being here, in this marvelous world, in this marvelous time. I wanted to convince you that you must learn to make every act count, since you are going to be here for only a short while; in fact, too short for witnessing all the marvels of it.”

One of the major teachings of don Juan is to make Death your friend and advisor. If you really knew that you could die at any moment, you would probably live differently. You would live more in the moment, an experience which is difficult to describe, but you recognize it when you are there.

Yesterday, at Waterstone’s I picked up a copy of Revolutionary Road by Richard Yates. When I saw the film this past winter, it had a profound effect on me. At the time, I already knew I would leave CBS and spend 2 months in Europe this summer, but it was very vague and wispy, more a fantasy than an actual plan. Seeing the film was like putting rocket fuel in my tank. At that moment, I knew I had to go. I heard the imperative, “Change or die!”

I was already dying. My insides had become black and corroded, sticky and sickening like something rotting. I couldn’t eat for days at a time. Over the course of two months, I lost 15 pounds (and I was already thin). I would sit at my desk at CBS, being so agitated that I was literally pulling my hair out.

My only relief from the boredom was writing to a friend in England and dreaming of my escape into a better, happier life where I actually came alive -- fully alive. But that behavior was a form of escape, and just like any other form of escape, it wasn’t really living; it was an addiction.
I worked amongst people who complained constantly abut their jobs and their lives, and yet they were terrified of leaving their little shithouses.

I saw Revolutionary Road five times in the theater and then bought the book and read it. Each encounter fueled my courage and passion to turn the dream into a reality, to leave the slow corrosive, rotting death and come fully alive.

Then came the decision to leave. I had already chosen my date to give notice and it took all my willpower to continue showing up every day. Then the magic happened. (“When you finally commit, Providence moves too.”) On the morning of Friday, February 27th, 2009, I won the layoff lottery. I was so thrilled, so excited, so happy! I wanted to jump for joy. But of course, that’s not considered socially appropriate behavior, so I had to tone it down a bit.

I didn’t pretend to be sad, I just said to my (clueless) consoling coworkers, “Ah, it’s okay. I’ll be fine. I always land on my feet. Better me than someone who truly sees this as a career, which I never did.”

As soon as I was out the door, around the corner, and a block away, I called my friend David to tell him that my wish had come true. I had finally been liberated, given a lovely severance package, and was dancing in the streets!

Now here I am in London, living my life as an adventure, feeling fully alive, while my former coworkers spend the summer trapped in their sunless, windowless cubicles, getting older and fatter, continuing their endless stream of complaining and fear-mongering. They have already given in to Death.