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Modern homo sapiens first walked the Earth about 50,000 years ago. Since then, more than 108 billion members of our species have been born. Which means 101 billion have already croaked, kicked the bucket, or bitten the dust.* You will too. Does that scare you? It shouldn’t.

Why do we fear death? Mainly for selfish reasons. “I need more time to finish my masterpiece!” “I’ve never visited Nome or Kiev!” “I was promised a cushy retirement if I played by the rules for 40 years!” “I am an important __________(your professional status here) and the world needs me to continue!”

Except the universe doesn’t care about your family, your goals, your summer trip to the Cape. If it’s time for a flood (or earthquake, or pandemic, or meteor) to hit, then that takes center stage — and you’re reduced to an insignificant carbon-based life form who may not survive.

How curious! How mysterious! How perfect!

The truth is, most of us quarantine ourselves each day from the realities of nature. We’ve been socialized to embrace the sweeter things in life (corn syrup, air conditioning, leather recliners), and shy away from the dark, unruly forces we can’t control.  But that negates a huge part of existence.

That’s why now is a swell time to spend some quality hours embracing the source of your deepest anxiety. Invite it to tea, and offer it a finger sandwich. The more you embrace it as a part of you, and give it respect, the less it will snarl and bite and render you helpless.

Once you and your fear are on speaking terms, you’ll realize that your anxiety may be unfounded. Are you really in mortal danger at this very moment? And if so, what’s wrong with that?

Let’s take a lesson from Mexico’s “Dia de Muertos.” Rather than fearing the reaper, why not joyfully celebrate this natural part of the human cycle, and toast the memories of departed ancestors. May fear take a backseat to fiesta!

*According to the primary texts on Buddhist psychology, fear is not even inherent in what is known as basic mind. What is inherent? Clear seeing, spaciousness, pure awareness. Of course, it takes practice to think this way. Or not think, as the case may be.

 

 

O glorious day! For July 3rd is the anniversary of Franz Kafka’s birth.

And yet, we prefer to roll out the sheet cake for his friend Max Brod.  If not for dear Max, we’d have no idea who Franz Kafka even was.

As it turns out, Mr. Brod was the reticent author’s lifelong pal and literary executor. In failing health, and having received little acknowledgement for his storytelling efforts, Kafka entrusted Max to destroy all his unpublished work upon his death. But when Franz finally met his maker,  Brod ignored his deceased friend’s wishes. Instead of torching Kafka’s manuscripts, he had them published instead.

Without Brod making that fateful decision, Kafka would have remained an anonymous insurance man who wrote fiction on the side. And we would not have  “The Trial,”  “The Castle” or “Amerika” to read, ponder and cherish.  So on this blessed July 3rd, we give thanks for Max Brod — and the reminder that it’s occasionally beneficial to listen to voices other than our own.

 

In 1927, Charles Lindbergh received acclaim for piloting The Spirit of St. Louis across the ocean — the first non-stop transatlantic flight between New York and Paris.

Yet two weeks before,  French aviators Charles Nungesser and François Coli also attempted the journey in an effort to win the Orteig Prize. Strapped into their byplane L’Oiseau Blanc, they took off from Paris for New York, only to disappear before arrival.  The remains of their plywood and canvas-covered plane have never been officially recovered.

A sad story of failure? The tragedy of a near-miss? On the contrary. To this day, the disappearance of L’Oiseau Blanc is considered one of aviation’s great mysteries.  Creating a great mystery is an amazing accomplishment in anyone’s book, and 80 years later their attempt continues to be the source of investigation and conjecture.

And how many pilots from yesteryear are celebrated with a rooftop restaurant in Paris named after their doomed byplane, featuring a delicious “pâté en croûte” complemented by artichoke and foie gras from Aveyron?  Further proof that bad outcomes do not equate with failure, but lead to fine dining opportunities in the world’s most romantic city.

As the SuperOptimist knows, it’s in the attempt that life is best measured.  All hail Nungresser and Coli, true heroes who tried their best!

The artist Paul Gauguin achieved his greatest success long after death, so who knows, maybe you will too.

At the beginning of 1903, Gauguin was living on an island in Polynesia and engaged in a campaign designed to expose the incompetence of the island’s gendarmes, in particular Jean-Paul Claverie, for taking the side of the natives directly in a case involving the alleged drunkenness of a group of them. Claverie, however, escaped censure. At the beginning of February, Gauguin wrote to the governor, François Picquenot, alleging corruption by one of Claverie’s subordinates. Picquenot investigated the allegations but could not substantiate them. Claverie responded by filing a charge of libel against Gauguin, who was subsequently fined 500 francs and sentenced to three months’ imprisonment. Gauguin immediately filed an appeal in Papeete and set about raising the funds to travel to plead before the judge. At this time he was nearly penniless, very weak and in great physical pain. He resorted  to using morphine. He died suddenly on the morning of 8 May 1903.

Nobody thought too much of his passing, but one hundred and ten years later, Gauguin’s painting Nafea Faa Ipoipo (When Will You Marry?) sold for $295,000,000 to the museums of Qatar, as one of the most expensive art objects ever. Gauguin would be tickled pink.

Who knows what you’ll be worth after you are dead?