by Dave Williams
The greatest joy of living is learning. It leads to loving life without needing to understand it all.
My recent medical adventure is progressing nicely. I’ve finally been approved for disability checks, and as my cardiologist and neurologist continue to poke, prod, and scan the parts of me that interest their specialties, they’re still unable to find anything at all wrong.
The cardio doc just told me, “Your heart is fine.”
I can’t imagine a more glorious and yet understated diagnosis. Meanwhile, the neurologist says, “Well, you didn’t have a stroke, you don’t have a brain tumor…” and I didn’t hear anything she said after that.
I’m not religiously trained, but neither am I opposed to it. I do have a sense that something greater than my worldly self has guided me through life and nudged me toward major transitions.
Take my marriage proposals, for example. The first one sorta slipped out at a drive-in movie when we were both still in our teens.
“Someday, I’m going to ask you to marry me.”
I actually said that: “Someday…”
My high school girlfriend blinked.
“Is that a proposal?”
I don’t remember how I answered her question because by then I had realized how stupid it sounded and I didn’t know what to say next.
We did marry and ten years later we divorced, very amicably. We’re still close friends.
Seven years after that I was having a beer at a popup bar in a hotel ballroom in Santa Rosa, California. Without provocation or warning, the little voice inside my head ordered me, “Do it now.”
I put down my beer and walked directly to CarolAnn Conley-King, who was laughing and chattering with a group of our friends. I took her by the hand and led her straight through the first door I saw. It led outside to the stinking dumpsters. That’s where I popped the question, properly, this time.
“Will you marry me?”
I should explain we were in that hotel ballroom for a country swing dance team competition and we were wearing matching costumes that made us look like extras in the Robert Redford film, The Electric Horseman.
“What?”
She was apparently surprised by the question, as was I.
After making me repeat it CarolAnn simply replied, “Of course I will.”
Thirty-five years later we are still, as Paul Harvey used to say, happily-ever-aftering.
My point is, whether you credit God or some internal self-guidance system, I believe we are propelled by circumstances we create.
In her landmark 1974 book, Passages, Gail Sheehy explained the stages of life that define how we change and grow. Each stage is fraught with worry but we move on because we have no choice, it’s time. This is always a necessary and good thing.
As I often reflect on my countless blessings I accept a certain amount of credit. I brought myself to and through each of life’s transitions, partly by luck but mostly from having the good sense to recognize and attach myself to good people, and to learn from them.
Most importantly, when you fall in love.
When I blacked out in the parking lot of Mooyah Burgers July 31, I entered another passage. Now, eight weeks later, I’ve given up worry. I’m loving my new life of daily opportunities.
My blessings are countless.
Technically, I’m still not retired. But, I have stopped largely defining myself by my job.
I’ve stopped making plans beyond the next hour or two.
And yes, uncertain as I am of the big stuff, I do say a quiet prayer each night.
“Thank you for everything. Please give me another day.”
