Being a Victim is Hazardous to Your Health

A few years back, I had an opportunity to hear Professor Marty Seligman speak at the University of Pennsylvania. He is the leading proponent of "learned optimism," but before he studied happiness, he looked at the flipside, "learned helplessness." He described an experiment by one of his graduate students, Madelon Visintainer, that has stunning implications for any person with cancer.

In the experiment rats were injected with cancer cells that were expected to give half of them cancer under normal conditions. The researchers placed one third of the rats in a control group. Another third was in a helpless situation where they were shocked without any way of preventing it. They learned helplessness. The last group of rats received shocks but could stop them by pressing a bar. They were able to achieve mastery over the situation. In the control group, half the rats developed cancer, as expected. For the rats that had learned mastery (with the bar), only about 30 percent developed cancer. But for the rats that had learned helplessness, more than 70 percent developed cancer. The ones that experienced mastery actually did better than the control!

If you are passive victim, you decrease your chances of living. If you feel helpless, you may be helpless. It is tempting to play the victim role. Since the time when you were young, you learned to sit on the ground and wait for someone to kiss your boo boos. There are plenty of people willing to treat you as a victim. Don't let them. Don't take the free pass. It is not a small indulgence. It could cost you your life. Remember that helplessness kills. Optimism leads to a longer and better life.

Even when all is lost, don't give up. In Rowboat #6, as the Titanic was sinking, the officer in charge thought that there was no point in rowing since they'd be drawn under by the sinking ship. But the "unsinkable" Molly Brown, took the oars and brought them to safety, even picking up a few additional survivors from the icy water. No matter how strong the current, keep rowing. Don't ever give up. Don't be a victim. Don't give into helpless. Talk back to your doctor, just to keep in practice. Talk back to those who would hold you down, however well intentioned. Stand tall. Take charge. And, as 25-year cancer survivor Greg Anderson says, "keep looking up."

Life is a Full-Course Meal. Bon Appetit!

I believe I am the luckiest man alive. I am blessed to be married to the same marvelous person for more than 26 years. In all my years of living I have not met another person I would rather be married to, so what an extraordinary blessing that is. We have three amazing children, each one so different and yet so dear to us. For every day for 48 years -- more than 17,500 days -- I have had food to eat, a roof over my head and air to breathe. I have seen sunrises and sunsets, the flaming landscapes of autumn, and the breathtaking peace of morning snow transforming the world to silver. I have held newborn babies, had soft kittens purring in my lap, and felt salt-water waves washing against my feet. I have had a chance to do what I love to do, to write, and have worked with some of the most brilliant business thinkers and genuinely extraordinary people on the planet. I have worked on two dozen books and have been blessed to meet some absolutely marvelous people, from business gurus to Buddhist monks. I've traveled around Europe, Asia and Africa. I've crossed the United States by car and plane, and paddled a kayak with my dad 225 miles down the Grand Canyon.

And, yes, I also have had cancer and other dark passages that might have been excised from the Disney version of my life. Yet I would not trade my life, all of it, for anyone else's. No way, no how. I have lived a rich and fulfilling life -- and I am just getting started.

Some people think they can live life a la carte. They think of it as a buffet where they can pick and choose the good stuff. They can pile on more filet mignon and less liver, more french fries and fewer brussel sprouts, more brownies and less broccoli. But life is not a buffet. It is a full-course meal. It comes plate after plate, and some are absolutely wonderful. Others, you just smile at your host and try not to look too disgusted when you spoon out the local delicacy of monkey brains. But it is all one magnificent, full-course meal. You may not enjoy every dish, but eat up. It could be good for you. And you must enjoy the whole feast that is life in all its stunning richness.

As the title character in the musical Mame says, "Life is a banquet and most of you poor sons of a bitches are starving to death!" (Thanks to Michael for this.)

This feast is your life, the only one you have. You can live it, or go hungry. So, down the hatch. Bon appetit!


And I cannot wait to see what is for dessert.

Beyond Survival

When I was first diagnosed with cancer, I became obsessed with survival. I walked around in t-shirts emblazoned with "survivor." My goal was survival. How long did I have to live? How could I increase my chances of survival? I looked up statistics for five-year survival rates for my type of cancer. What could I do to beat these odds? This actuarial approach might have been a useful exercise if I had been writing myself an insurance policy, but it was not a good strategy for living.

Then, I realized the obvious: Survival is not an option. If your goal is survival, I can say with absolute certainty that you will fail. No one gets out of this world alive. You must find another goal.

It dawned on me that I had spent more years than I care to mention focused on survival, working to keep food on the table, pay the bills, stay alive. I kept my family alive, which represents a slightly broader purpose. But I spent more time thinking about survival than I should have -- given that, even as a non-athlete, I am more likely to win eight gold medals in the Olympics than to survive this terminal condition we call life. Survival is not enough.

If not survival, then what? I needed something deeper to live for, some broader goal, some deeper purpose, some dream. Dreams are the first casualty of cancer. How can I look beyond the next month or year if I don't know how long I have?

But without a sense of purpose, without hope, there is no life -- just survival. As American poet Langston Hughes said, "Hold fast to dreams, for when dreams go, life is a barren field, frozen with snow." This barren field is where you must plant the seeds of your dreams.

Where do you find this sense of purpose? Look for the interests and activities that attract you and give you joy without a discernible, rational cause. What you love cannot be explained. Look for the opportunities that you are drawn to, the opportunities to serve, the needs of others that you can meet. Look for the places where you are immersed in an activity, where you lose yourself.

For me, this is spending time with family, writing, paddling whitewater, or yoga. I look up and hours have passed, but I didn't notice. These activities may not make any sense to someone else. I think about president Teddy Roosevelt after he left the White House and embarked on a difficult journey down the River of Doubt in the Amazon. He was compelled to do this, and didn't flinch. He commented that it made him "feel like a boy again." What a remarkable gift for a man of 54 to feel like a boy again. He had reversed time. Given that he almost lost his life on this journey, this feeling of excitement, of being fully alive, was more important to him than actually staying alive.

Survival is egotistical. It assumes that my body is important to keep alive. But I had to recognize that I am not that important. It is not about me. Keeping alive is only important because of what it allows me to do with my life. So I need to find something that I feel is important, and spend my life on it.

A strange thing happens when you do something you really love. Time stops. If you have ever lost track of time while immersed in a labor of love, you know what I mean. Survival is concerned with clock time, with seconds and minutes. It is, as T.S. Eliot says, measuring our lives with coffee spoons.

Survival is concerned with how much time you can pack into your life. Purpose is concerned with how much life you can put into the time you have.

Living With Cancer

I am not dying of cancer.

When people find out that I have had cancer, the death watch begins. Most people expect that I will die of cancer.They do not assume that I will live. They ask me how I am doing. Or they ask my wife how I am doing. If there is any change, they assume the worst. They are kind hearted, sweet, compassionate people. And I love them for their concern. But they don't understand that I am not dying of cancer.

I understand this reaction. We just can't get our heads around cancer and death. It wasn't part of the contract. We were saving for retirement, dreaming about the golden years instead of enjoying the silver. But it was there in the contract. We just didn't read the fine print. We just didn't want to see it.

There are two ways you can meet this reality, two way you can walk into the ring for the fight of your life. You can be a victim or a victor. A cowerer or a conqueror. You can crouch down, covering your face, or stand up and throw the first punch. You can pull back or lean forward. You can choose to live or wait to die.

When people think I am dying of cancer, they think I am a victim. What's worse, I thought I was a victim. I have to take care not to play into that role, as comforting as it may be at times. I thought I was dying of cancer. I was on this same death watch. I had my bet in the pool of "how long will he be able to survive this."

Well, not any more. I am not dying of cancer. I am living with cancer. And I expect to live a long, long time. In fact, every day for the rest of my life.

And if I happen to be wrong about this, you can take that up with me after I am dead! Until then, I choose to live.