What's happened to me so far is not tragic, beyond the lot of all human beings: fated as we are to know that our lives are finite; that the world itself, and indeed the universe, is finite. In two days, I'll be 67 years old. In all of human history, what percentage of mankind lived so long? Until very recent times in a handful of wealthy nations, life for human beings was indeed short, nasty, and brutish. Darwinian selection did its work amongst humans with little interference.
My father was born only 45 years after Abraham Lincoln was assassinated. I have lived in the most prosperous period of the greatest nation, the most humane society, that has ever existed. I am privileged to have been educated at one of the finest prep schools, one of the finest undergraduate schools, and one of the finest graduate business schools in the United States. My parents were married for almost 71 years; I have been married for 42 years. Until my father died recently, no member of my nuclear family had ever been terminally ill with chronic disease, much less died. I spent the last 24 of my 42 years in business as an entrepreneur, doing constructive work, building businesses alongside bright, high-energy, high-minded, creative people. I have met, and in some cases know, some of the most prominent people in business, technology, finance, science, medicine, education, philanthropy, journalism, the law, Thoroughbred racing, and various other endeavors. I have found role models amongst both family and friends. Taking into account my laziness, shyness, cowardice, disorganization, and modest talents, I did reasonably well professionally and was able to support my family. I have been able to afford contributions to worthy causes. I haven't had to deal directly with politicians, and I have delegated most interactions with bureaucrats. My wife and I raised our children and have lived our adult lives in perhaps the most interesting city in the world, the Rome of our time. In spite of being a hacker, I have played a number of the finest golf courses in the United States. (I wish that my father had gotten to play as many of them as I have gotten to play!) I have indulged my passion for racehorses in the best of company. My wife and I have travelled to some wonderful places, and we are mulling more travel plans.
Since I was diagnosed with cancer, my family, friends, and caregivers have been kind and supportive. So far, my disease has neither sunk me into chronic depression, nor forced me to retreat into wishful thinking. I have not been subjected to chemotherapy since May, and my medical oncologist just allowed me to delay resumption of it for a while longer.
Given the longevity of my parents, cancer may cost me perhaps a third of my life, but it would not have been the most vigorous third of my life. Eventually, I might well have gone blind from glaucoma and/or wet macular degeneration, and I would have run most of the other risks of aging that plague mankind.
I don't see my life as having been significant or especially interesting. As for tragedy: Certainly my cancer is unfortunate and mildly ironic. Like most people, I have had bad luck, regrets, and down times; I've been disappointed and rejected. But I have enjoyed good luck, acceptance, and the satisfactions of success too. I flatter myself that I am still learning, growing, and improving in character. I feel loved by family. And I certainly have had a lot of fun along the way. To the extent that I have suffered from the slings and arrows of fate, I have extracted a measure of revenge by living well-- i.e., by indulging myself.
It seems to me today that any potential for significance and tragedy in my story is captured in words of Eugene O'Neill that I quoted in this blog on January 3: "The tragedy of Man is perhaps the only significant thing about him.... Somebody facing life, fighting against the eternal odds, not conquering, but perhaps inevitably being conquered. The individual life is made significant just by the struggle, and the acceptance and assertion of the individual, making him what he is not, as in the past, making him something not himself."
