| | Dec 1, 2005 - Lessons - by Eric | LESSONS
Sometimes the lessons we learn come from the most unexpected of places. When deciding with Carl to take a yearlong break and travel around the world, I had figured that the wisdom I would glean would naturally arise as product of the journey itself. Little could I predict however, the lessons that life held for me before ever leaving home.
People often ask me what was the hardest part in preparing for an around the world trip? Was it the scary proposition of putting our respective careers on hold for a complete year? Was it the process of divesting ourselves of our life possessions, renting out two homes, putting our furniture into storage, and selling (none too successfully by the way) two cars? Or was it perhaps something more practical, like actually saving the money and planning such a detailed itinerary?
These were all issues that would at one point or another appear daunting, but the most challenging of all was in fact none of these. In the end, for me the hardest part was seemingly the simplest: saying yes and actually doing it.
Many people I suppose would have no problem with picking up and blowing off for a year. I however was since childhood historically bound by convention, and in hindsight a prisoner of my fears. I had grown up (I hear my father's voice ringing in my ear right now...) trained to be responsible, and safe. I was told to have a stable career, work 9 to 5 (OK maybe sometimes 9 to 3...), buy a house, pay off your mortgage and save for retirement. Afraid of change, I was naturally wary of defying the constraints that everyday life, with its obligations of work and responsibility, imposes upon us. Break the mould? Take a year off? Never! Eric: you just don't do it.
What then changed in my own life experience to empower me to say yes? There are no sweeping answers but in a general sense it was about being alive. Not literally alive (I maybe a neurotic who always thinks he's dying-but in reality I'm very healthy), but alive in the "Wow, isn't life amazing" kind of way. To some, I suppose that might sound odd or superfluous, but for much of my own life, I did not feel very alive.
I had known a happy childhood but puberty and adolescence hit me like a curse, and while productive, these years were marked by a sadness and loneliness that was all enveloping. I was gay after all, and to protect those around me and myself from shame, I had resigned myself to a life of solitude, secrecy and sadness. I watched my friends move on and marry. I however remained alone, adrift in a lonely sea, bereft of any hope that life would bring meaning or happiness..
But then something happened. I came out. Not because I wanted to or felt ready, but because denial had simply exhausted me out. Whatever the reason, coming out was the spark that would ignite hope in me that one day I could love myself and have a wonderful life. It took me many years, but by the time I met Carl, I had become a "happiness sponge", eager to make up for lost time and capture all the joy that life had to offer.
And with Carl I had a ready partner. His infectious smile and laughter, kindness and strength, unfailing optimism and zest for life, are to everyone he meets, contagious and comforting. I, of course, am no exception. So whether it was by luck or design I do not know, but like a hitchhiker with his thumb pointed to the wind, I managed to snag a ride on his smile, and together, we have been on this road ever since. Is it any wonder then that when we asked ourselves that fateful day whether we could take a year off and travel the world, the word yes instinctively slipped off my lips?
I learned before leaving home another valuable lesson, that what matters most to me in life are my connections with people. It seems like such an obvious truth but this was really only brought home to me at my Goodbye Party at work the week before we left.
There were probably close to fifty of my patients who came in to say goodbye, many bearing cards and gifts. From one I received a Dora-no make that Eric- The Explorer daypack replete with a survival kit and a Get Out of Jail Card. From another, a teddy bear in my effigy, with funny little glasses, a stethoscope, and a tiny little name card that said "Dr. Seltzer". As I looked around the room, I saw Margaret, aged 82 and just out of rehab, hobbling around on her broken hip .In the corner there was Ann, aged 93,quietly observing the scene,, almost like a spy. And from the corner of my eye, I glimpsed Sandy, who has MS, walking stiffly with her cane, and Sarah ,just 22 and on dialysis with renal failure, but smiling at me just the same. There were moms with babies, the old and the young, the healthy and the infirm.
All these people were gathered here for one reason: connection. I hadn't saved any of them or been particularly brilliant, but we what we did share was a common bond of caring and an emotional link that drew us together as human beings. As I looked around the room, it dawned on me that this was what really mattered in life- and that this was perhaps how I could make a difference
Which bring me to the end. When you strip everything else down nothing is more important than your family and friends. We all instinctively know that, but I guess when you are about to leave them for a year, it comes more sharply into focus. In the days preceding our departure, with .the impending separation from family and friends I found myself tending to withdraw from people, almost as a defence against missing them. I became nostalgic and almost irrational, even dreaming I could spend a full week with my family! (Normally after three days with them in Montreal, the VIA train might as well be a rescue train...). I suppose it was like a death of sorts-albeit hopefully temporary! - And in this case it was me who was departing.
Then there was our Goodbye Party.... There at Carl's parents' house (Bob and Lorraine had so generously offered us this prime locale) were gathered our closest family and friends, together for the first time in a wedding of sorts. Yes, we were about to depart for a new world, but here in this backyard, was our world. I took a look around and it dawned on met: "Maybe we don't have to go away. Maybe our dreams are right here." Indeed, there could be no denying that this was the truth. Gradually though, my thoughts began to drift, and I found myself being drawn, with Carl on my side, to dreams in faraway places and a world beyond.
Written by,
Eric Seltzer
September 17, 2005 on a night train from Paris to Venice
www.carlhenderson.ca
www.imagestoframe.com
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