Questions Answered
Atlanta, GA
May 2, 2022
Life is a continuous series of forks in the road. Some are obvious; most are opaque. But we take them all, whether we know it or not. This missive alone may take quite a few, so I hope patient readers will remain for the ride (the impatient ones are already gone).
Every decision we make brings us to the places we go. It’s unavoidable. We may not even know that we’re confronted with a choice. And if we do, we might refuse to make it. But as Neil Peart put it, even if we choose not to decide, we still have made a choice.
One trail brings closer to where we need to be. One takes us where we want to go. With any luck, these are the same path. But most instinctively follow the route of least resistance. It’s relatively clear. It seems easy, safe, and satisfying. To most of us, it’s good enough…which is why most of us are on it.
Few are willing to clear the thickets and thorns on the road less traveled. They want to ascend slopes of success to survey the heights of happiness. But they’d rather avoid the brambles that crowd that course, and dodge pain of being pricked. So they take the easy way, and wonder in retrospect why their life is so hard.
To set a direction, we put our head in the clouds. Whether floating passively on a prevailing breeze, or fighting upwind to lift ourselves aloft, we are constantly taking action and making decisions.
Many of us remain ensconced in the sky. But to get where we want to go, we must come down to earth, and place our feet on the ground. We can stride with ambition and intent, or stroll apathetic and adrift. But either way, we are in the saddle, with free will at the reins.
That is what it is to be human. We are always purposeful, even when we appear to lack purpose. Trade-offs and opportunity costs constantly confront us.
Life has limits, the most prominent and pressing of which is time. And like a constrictor knot, the most tightly confined of us are those who resist that restraint. We can’t do everything. As Ayn rand said, we can ignore this fact. But we can’t ignore the consequences of ignoring this fact. We must decide what’s important, and prioritize accordingly. And our actions reveal what matters most.
Every decision, regardless how manifestly monumental or superficially slight, becomes a bridge or a barrier to whatever place we want to be. And while many of us don’t know where we’re going, we all get what we have coming. It may not be what we want, but it’s always what we deserve.
Or is it?
A couple days ago, we saw an old friend who’s suffering a lot. We’d not been to a Tech baseball game for several years. When our kids were younger they loved going, and a day at the ballpark was a memorable occasion.
But no game will stay with us as this one did. Tech played against the Miami Hurricanes, but they fought for something much more important.
We recently recounted the unfortunate news that Jim Poole contracted Lou Gehrig’s disease. Saturday at Tech was ALS awareness day, and Jim was the guest of honor.
But at Georgia Tech, Jim Poole isn’t a “guest”. He’s family. And when you’re with him, he makes you feel as if you’re part of his.
Jim pitched four years as a Yellow Jacket before eventually making it to the Majors. His number is retired at Russ Chandler Stadium, and his honorary banner hangs among the local legends.
We arrived a few minutes late, but saw Jim as our ticket was scanned. From his wheelchair, he was chatting with well-wishers before he welcomed us.
He recognized Rita right away, and gratefully accepted her loving hug. He immediately remembered me, and gave a smile. He shook my hand, and thanked me for coming. This wasn’t the perfunctory appreciation of a performative politician. It was genuine gratitude that comes from the heart. And as I accepted it, mine almost broke.
Others wanted to see Jim, so we didn’t keep him long. A few innings later, he’d moved indoors to join his family. We popped in briefly to say hello to Kim, meet his kids, and see his infant (and also his impending) grandchild.
It was beautiful, and poignant. Greetings were shared, but no tears were shed. This was a happy occasion, a respite for Kim and Jim from the relentless grind of daily drudgery. As we left, we exchanged well-wishes, and sincere promises to get together soon.
But on our way home, my thoughts were stirred, which prompted this note. I lamented Jim’s affliction, yet marveled how he handles it. And I thought, as we often do when considering such circumstances, how I’d receive such a devastating diagnosis, and whether such a sentence could ever be warranted.
Did Jim choose this? Is this what he “deserves?” The answers seem obviously to be no.
Jim clearly didn’t decide to suffer this disease. And I can’t fathom a scenario in which anyone, or his family, could “deserve“ to endure it.
But Jim was wise. He’d made the choices he could to alleviate his affliction. Over the years, he’d selected the scene by which he is now surrounded.
He married a marvelous wife, enjoyed a dream career, raised a fantastic family, and will eventually leave a lasting legacy. He earned that, and deserves it. And as difficult as this ordeal is to his family, I feel safe saying that they’d gladly endure whatever grief may come for the gifts he’s given.
But Jim also affected more people than he can imagine. That inadvertently includes this author, which is why I’m writing this interminable essay. Without knowing it, Jim answered a couple questions asked years ago, at an earlier event widely watched at Tech.
In 1992, at a Vice Presidential debate a few blocks from where Jim Poole was honored, a relative unknown stood on stage between Vice President Dan Quayle and Senator Al Gore. In October of that year, Ross Perot chose Admiral James Stockdale as a last-minute running-mate for his third-party campaign. To most Americans, Stockdale was a mystery. But he’d served a distinguished military career, and was admired by many.
During 37 years in the US Navy, he earned 26 combat medals. In Vietnam, he was a hero…and for seven years the highest ranking prisoner…of that abominable war. As a fighter pilot, he was shot down, and captured by the North Vietnamese.
As a retrospective in the San Francisco Chronicle recalled, he was routinely tortured. He was held in solitary confinement for four years, and in leg shackles for two.
With every reason to rail against an infernal government that sent him to Hell, he refused. He went so far as to bash his own face against his cell wall so that his captors couldn’t use it to propagandize their purposes. Apparently, Stockdale was inspired to defiance by inspiration from Epictetus, who taught that true freedom lies in what we can control. Stockdale was determined to control what he could.
But in 1992, he was caught off-guard. His selection by Perot came as a surprise, and he was thrust on stage with no preparation. It showed. What many perceived as unfortunate gaffes overshadowed his considerable accomplishments. After 90 minutes, they became the inevitable overture to his eventual obituary.
He began his opening remarks with a couple questions: “Who am I? Why am I here?” He proceeded to recount his experience in Vietnam. While he was portrayed as being flummoxed and confused, he seemed more justifiably to have been choked-up. His performance earned him mockery from the media. Those opening questions became the butt of many late-night jokes.
But why? Were they silly? Or were they the questions: the ones that most of us have no idea how to answer? If so, perhaps it’s comforting to mock the introspective courage of those who bother to ask.
Stockdale openly admitted he was out of his element in the arena of politics. As he put it, “there are certain things I’m good at. Fighter pilot I’m good at. I was damn good at leading a prison underground. But vice president? That was a lark.”
Our passing obsessions are often revealed as short-term larks. But that’s OK. A relieving lark can be a welcome respite from long-term pursuits. Those who are successful can usually tell the difference.
Saturday, when we returned home from Tech, I reminisced on the day. I told Rita how tough it was to see Jim in his current condition.
“Not as tough”, she replied, “as it is for him.”
My wife, wise as always, was reining in the egotistical tendencies of her self-centered husband. Without explicitly saying it, she reminded him that we are fine, and should remember our blessings. This wasn’t about him, it was about Jim.
But to Jim, it’s not about Jim. It’s about everyone else. Stuck in a wheelchair, hindered in movement, and slow of speech, Jim is obviously hobbled. Yet he seemed serenely content, and contentedly serene.
Jim and I are essentially the same age. What would he give to have the years I have left? Eleven months ago, he thought he did. What would I do if I learned that I didn’t? Who knows? For all I know, maybe I will.
And by the grace of God and a miracle of medicine, maybe Jim has more time than he thinks. But if he doesn’t, he’ll always remind me of my blessings, and of how fortunate (I think) I am to have so many years to enjoy them.
Like far too many of us, I’ve succumbed in recent years to the lazy lure of destructive self-pity, the unfortunate tendency to excuse my choices by feeling sorry for myself. I can’t imagine Jim Poole, who will be happy simply to live long enough to meet his granddaughter, would have much sympathy for my maudlin immaturity.
As a man in good health, with marvelous children, endless capabilities, a fantastic extended family…and a gorgeous, accomplished wife who always loves her husband (and frequently despite himself)…I should be ashamed to minimize a mere morsel of what I’ve received.
The choices I’ve made brought me where I am, and I wouldn’t change them if I could. But unlike me, Jim was always able to answer the questions Admiral Stockdale asked. He seems always to have known who he is, and why he’s here.
Whatever else has happened or is yet to come, I can’t imagine anyone laughing at that.
JD
