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“Death is our eternal companion,” don Juan said with a most serious air. “It is always to our left, at an arm’s length. It has always been watching you. It always will until the day it taps you.” “How can anyone feel so important when we know that death is stalking us?” he asked.
“The thing to do when you’re impatient,” he proceeded, “is to turn to your left and ask advice from your death. An immense amount of pettiness is dropped if your death makes a gesture to you, or if you catch a glimpse of it, or if you just have the feeling that your companion is there watching you.”
I argued that it would be meaningless for me to dwell upon my death, since such a thought would only bring discomfort and fear.
“You’re full of crap!” he exclaimed. “Death is the only wise adviser that we have. Whenever you feel, as you always do, that everything is going wrong and you’re about to be annihilated, turn to your death and ask if that is so. Your death will tell you that you’re wrong: that nothing matters outside its touch. Your death will tell you, ‘I haven’t touched you yet.’”
Death touched Payne Stewart October 27. It was a day like any other. He had a schedule; his plane was heading to Texas for a tournament. There was nothing special about anything that particular day. He said goodbye to his wife and two children and made his way to the plane that would take off, but would never touch down.
By all accounts his life was in an enviable state of order. His relationships were solid, with his family, his business, his associates, and his god. There were not a lot of great things undone. He had won the U.S. Open, and he had been a part of the great Ryder Cup victory. He was looking for new goals to inspire him, but he knew that his role in the lives of his family would be his ongoing motivation, to raise his kids, to love his wife. He had much in front of him, until his death tapped him and the five others on that ill-fated flight.
Tragedy is all around us. Local and national news abounds daily with murder and mayhem. Psychotic gunmen attack their coworkers; young students shoot other children. Planes drop from the sky filled with passengers and crew. Earthquakes, hurricanes, tornadoes-nature’s furies descend at a moment’s notice. War spares no one in its path. And every injury, every death affects a large circle of people other than the victim. If we are lucky, our experience with tragedy is less than personal. We may see it only on television, or read about it in the newspaper. If we find that knowledge disconcerting or depressing we can choose to ignore it altogether. Certainly, it seems, just as Carlos Castaneda reacted to the words of the Indian sorcerer don Juan, that dwelling on the death of others and worrying about our own demise would at least be morbid and perhaps even harmful.
We think, “How can we be happy if we worry about whether or not we are going to die”? We live as though we will never die, and thus we let the pettiness of self-importance color our every action. We fight with our loved ones and stubbornly refuse to forgive old slights. How many times have you heard the story of the parent and child who refused to speak to each other until one of them died and it was too late to reconcile? Rarely will you find a sadder tale.
We become engrossed in our jobs and in our desire for success, losing sight of the one thing that can’t be made up, time spent with our families watching our kids grow up. We treat people poorly, as though they are less than we are, and we endure the slights of those we deem above us because to stand up for ourselves might be detrimental to our ultimate goals.
In short, we lose perspective of what we have because we don’t want to think about not having it. What we have is life. We are here, and we matter. We affect the world in our own ways, and our existence is not a trifle. When don Juan speaks of “death as an advisor”, he is imploring us to remember that life is a privilege, and it is precious. There are no guarantees that it will continue on any discernible path. We can be thrown wicked curve balls at any moment. Illness, injury, or death may strike us or any of our loved ones at any moment.
Instead of fearing these immutable truths, we should, instead, embrace the knowledge and use it to give us the perspective we need to truly live. Acknowledging our proximity to death should serve to make us better appreciate what we have here and now. There is no time for acting as though the whole world is against us. The things we see as thwarting us and driving us into depression or anger all pale in importance to the reality of our death. The acceptance of this reality can propel us to adopt the “mood of the warrior”, which, as don Juan explains to young Carlos, “one needs for every single act. Otherwise, one becomes distorted and ugly. There is no power in a life that lacks this mood. Look at yourself. Everything upsets and offends you. You whine and complain and feel that everyone is making you dance to their tune. You are a leaf at the mercy of the wind. There is no power in your life. What an ugly feeling that must be!”
A warrior, on the other hand, is a hunter. He calculates everything. That’s control. But once his calculations are over, he acts. He lets go. That’s abandon. A warrior is not a leaf at the mercy of the wind. No one can push him; no one can make him do things against himself or against his better judgment. A warrior is tuned to survive, and he survives in the best of all possible fashions.”
Life is not easy. We are constantly faced with circumstances we feel that we have little or no control over and that we wish would simply disappear. I have had my share of struggles in my 42 years, and I have spent more than a little time feeling sorry for myself. But I have always been able to look back to the words of don Juan, and the mood of the warrior seems to resurface in me.
I know that as long as I am still alive I have control over my attitude and disposition. I have always been able to fight my way back from the worst of circumstances, and I always try to remember that as bad off as I may think I am, there are countless others whose problems dwarf my own, and who constantly exhibit incredible strength and resilience in spite of their personal predicaments. As I imagine people speaking of me at my own death, I hear them remembering me as one who always gave the good fight and never gave up, and hopefully as one who recognized and cherished the privilege that is this life on Earth.
One of the things I enjoy most about teaching golf is that the game is more than just a game to most of the people who come to me for lessons. I have gained (and encouraged) the reputation of being a teacher for the serious student who cares dearly about his or her golf. Many see golf as a possible career. Others see it as a true challenge, where their success will bolster their feelings of self-esteem. For others golf is a connection to nature, to their physical bodies and to the land they live on, and the practice of it becomes their own form of healing meditation. One thing is certain; they all want to improve in the worst way.
It may sound like a cliché, but golf does in fact mirror life in that its enormous difficulty and complexity can seem almost overwhelming at times. No one can escape the feeling that at some point they are totally clueless, that the game is eluding them, that they will never come close to “getting it”.
While I am no philosopher, the time that I spend discussing these feelings with my students is substantial. As a life-long competitor I have wrestled with the game on every level. I have been on top and I have been what seemed to be below the bottom. What I try to impress upon those who seek to master the game is exactly the same thing I am trying to impress upon my two young daughters as they tackle the obstacles of growing up.
Look for the positive.
Be thankful for what you have, not envious or jealous of what you don’t have. Make an honest effort. Be hard on yourself, drive yourself, but don’t beat yourself up over results. Don’t let anyone tell you you’re no good, or that you’re hopeless. Never give up, something good is bound to come of your efforts, if not today, then tomorrow, or the day after, or perhaps next year. Take stock of what is truly important. Try not to waste precious time complaining or pitying yourself. If you are angry with yourself use that anger to focus and motivate you. Use your failures as the stepping-stone to self-knowledge. Do your best, be a good person, try to help others whenever you can, and don’t let your perceived missteps get you down. Hang in there and keep struggling. The enjoyment comes from the simple knowledge that you’ve just put in a good day’s work at something you love to do.
What can help us to gain and to put into practice these insights? I have quoted you passages from a book that has had a great influence on me. The writings of Castaneda gave form to my feelings that toughness was a necessary attribute in what can be a hard, capricious world. I majored in English and pursued writing because I saw early on that the written word had the power to teach me and to help me change in order to deal with the world. Other works have also had their influence. All great philosophy and religion have been handed down through writing. Payne Stewart gained great knowledge from his late introduction and acceptance of the teachings of the Bible.
To learn the gentler aspects of this way of looking at life I have needed my own teacher. In this case that has been my wife, Jennifer. She has shown me by her words and her example the virtues of compassion for others, of giving to the community around us, and investing time in the family. Having been faced with physical problems while trying to realize my ambitions in a game as difficult as golf had made me a tremendously focused, isolated, and almost unforgiving person. Lost in my own struggles I viewed most people as lacking the necessary toughness to face their problems head on. In short, I took to Castaneda’s ideas without the softer edge that would have rounded out my personality. I am still a work in progress on this count. Jennifer continues to show me, through her work with the sick and the less fortunate, that our small contributions to our community make a large difference and that true happiness lies in our relationships with friends and family. She has been, and still is, my teacher in life, and has shown me that I certainly don’t know everything about anything. I believe now that wisdom comes with age, although there is certainly no guarantee that the old will be wise.
I am only 42. I have a great deal to learn. Every hour I spend with my children is a learning experience. Many people blame their parents for their problems or their failures. They forget that all parents are children who grew up and had children. There is no test for parental wisdom, no restriction on when anyone is allowed to have children. It is ironic that youth is a requirement for procreation: those who have learned enough of life’s lessons to truly make the best parents are often too old to have children, or have spent their less enlightened youth attempting to be parents. The rest of us fumble through the process of giving our children what they need to become happy, productive individuals. All parents are teachers, and all teachers are forever learning. My own parents taught me the values that govern my life to this day, and their hard work and time spent with me has given me the opportunity to learn and to have a chance to realize my dreams. The knowledge that we give out and take in gives us and those around us ammunition with which to face the daily struggle that is our life on earth.
Everyone struggles at golf and with life. If you think money and success make you happy, and that the headlong rush toward both is the way you should spend and measure your life, think again. You may not have time to prepare yourself or get your things in order before your death comes to tap you. Get ready every day by living your life knowing that each moment may be your last, and that each goodbye may be forever.
Don’t wait until you or someone you love falls ill or succumbs to tragedy. Payne Stewart left this life in good order because he came to understand what was important. His sudden passing served as a wake-up call to many, and judging from the remarks of friends and peers it will have a lasting effect on the way they live their own lives.
The good news in this seemingly pointless tragedy is that the message to those of us who remain is positive: appreciate what you have and make the most of it. As long as you are here you possess the greatest gift of all. Do what you can with it. Payne certainly did.