hope

 Death. Death. Death. Death. Not again…

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It’s typed four times in clearly readable Calibri* because typing it three times didn’t make the word sound as ridiculous as it should. Say it four times really, really fast…you’ll get an idea of how strange it is to worry about The Word. We accept a lot of things in life out of our control, why is “that one” any different? If I was 6 feet 8 inches I’d be a retired, rich former NBA basketball star, in the Hall of Fame. Being normal height hasn’t made me fall on the floor lamenting and grieving.

In “Slaughterhouse 5”, Kurt Vonnegut introduces the Tralfamadorians who view death as simple transport, a journey to another place, a minor station in life. Their view is life is never-ending since they exist in 26 dimensions representing all stages of their lives, and they can transport into any stage at any time. Want to revisit your gestation? No problem. Death? Only take a second, unless you want to stay longer. Any time in any individual life is always being played out in some dimension, somewhere, sometime. Death is merely another pearl in a necklace to be enjoyed, admired, and revisited. Neat, right?

Philosophy, science, and science fiction are not as far apart as the rational among us might think.  Learned and tamed Quantum Entanglement could explain the mechanics of the Tralfamadorian dimension travel, for example. But it might be wise to not expose young minds to any of these thoughts, as they leave a lasting impression with sometimes controversial side effects. Billy Pilgrim’s story of travels to his other dimensions was learned when I was 16, when death was not only unnecessary to consider, but touching life anyway, with car accidents, drugs, and the Viet Nam war…in the 1960’s dimension.

It isn’t any pedantic puzzle to solve, then, how an attitude towards death can be skewed, and become slightly comic. Sure, death is inevitable, and could come suddenly, but so what? If we simply move to another dimension, what’s the problem? In religious arguments with all sects, it was the same question: if the dead are actually going to the heaven you describe, why are we sad for them?

From then on, at funerals, I was a reasonably handsome, silent man in a nice suit with tissues in every pocket. The paper product’s sole purpose was to allow grief to transfer from the breaking hearts of grieving widows, mothers, daughters, sisters, and anyone else, to those flimsy papers, then the pockets, and finally, disposal. Rarely were more words than these exchanged: “It’s so nice of you to be here for______.” Accidents, the unlucky military draft, and suicides caused the scene to be repeated often and ended with a final straw**, the death of mom. I didn’t need to be the strong silent Man With Tissues. Where she was going would be a lot better than where she’d been. I was happy for her.

It’s easy to understand grief and loss surrounding death. They have been companions often, but when Death suddenly appears, the theory or assumed reality of where the dead are going should outweigh any selfish sense of loss, shouldn’t it? If given a choice, especially for eternity, we’d all choose heaven instead of sticking around to keep relatives and loved ones from crying. Wouldn’t we? Wait, if everyone went to heaven…

It’s hard to see how the medical world fits into a discussion of death. When doctors cure cancer, it is only a temporary victory, a battle won even though the war will be lost. Is our happiness for the cure and few extra years really that big a deal? It helps to wonder about what would have happened if the world never became “developed”, and we lived the laws of nature, not medicine and man. Is living with someone else’s heart, for example, worth it? Is donating your organs to someone else your goal in life?

Only until we know for sure, only until we have made that journey, it’s open season on end-of-life issues and we will discuss them forever, by ourselves or our progeny.

Conclusion: The journey matters. Not The End. Say it four times really, really fast.

Final note: The Calamities of the past three years stress-tested the opinions expressed in this post. Winning the battle rang the bell that saved them for another round. Can’t wait to see what’s next.***

And apologies for bringing this subject up for the umpteenth time. It’s not my fault if people keep dying.

PS Looked it up and the last time you were lectured about Death was January 11, 2026, when Bob Weir died, a Grateful Dead. See? It’s not my fault.

*Which the wordpress gods will change to New Times Roman.

**There is never a “Final Straw”. And loss never ends.

***Sarcasm?

Expectations? Don’t Bother.

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In thinking about happiness and well-being, and after years of observation and self-testing, my conclusion is we are our own worst enemies. We get in the way of happiness by not seeing it when it’s there and by not pursuing it when it isn’t. The sentence sounds odd so take a moment to think about it…

I’ve been a New York Yankee fan since 1960. Sixty-two years. When you are a sports fan, you get to live the highs and lows of the teams’ results. Championship years and cellar-dwelling years, it’s all a package. Happy when the World Series ends in victory, banners raised, and sad in years they don’t make the Series, and the season is over with a whimper. It’s easy to see when happiness comes and when it doesn’t. They win, we’re happy. They lose, we’re not. Is there anything we can do about it? No, especially when we are a small child listening to every play on the radio. You actually experience happiness and despair, clearly defined and unavoidable. Damn Yankees.

So what does that have to do with anything? It’s easy to live with the happiness thrust upon you by your team winning, but what about the unhappiness of losing? Ah, there’s always next year. In baseball, the following spring brings hope for a better year, a hope for seasonal happiness, a hope for the World Series Ring. For a sports fan hope becomes an expectation. Before any new games are played, we do not hope the Yankees will be better, we assume to know the Yankees will be better, we expect it. And when the Yankees lose, we are unhappy because an expectation not realized makes us unhappy.

And there it is in black and white: expectations are the cause of unhappiness. The measured and regulated nature of sports makes it obvious, including the annual renewal of “expectation” no matter what happened last year. A common fan’s announcement after an unhappy, expectation-denying season is “never again will I root for them”, a vow only kept until next season begins with a new hope/expectation.

But the damage expectations do to our lives is harder to see in real life. Why are some of us unhappy? Something in life didn’t go as planned, didn’t happen as we expected it to happen, and there is no choice but to feel unhappy about it. Marriage doesn’t meet our expectations, we divorce. Friends don’t meet our expectations, we dump them. Even in our dining habits, if a restaurant doesn’t meet our expectations we unhappily decide not to dine there again. We expect a diet to work? Potential unhappiness. We expect to get a job? Meet the girl of our dreams? Become an influencer? Be like Taylor?

But it is not the action or inaction making us unhappy. Unhappiness comes from the destruction of expectation and how we process that destruction.

You want to be happy? Don’t expect anything. Ever. At all. Enjoy the terrible meal. Enjoy the Yankees losing. Enjoy your girlfriend dumping you. At least be ambivalent, but don’t be unhappy. And you can expand the process into your philosophy of life: don’t expect happiness and you won’t be unhappy when you’re not happy…?

A little hyperbole helps make a point until it veers off into absurdity. Hm. If you expect to understand what makes you happy and you never do, you’ll always be unhappy? Or happy you understand you’ll never be happy?

That’s it. You got it. Want to be happy? Just be happy. Let things be what they are. Do your best, but don’t expect it to be better than anyone else’s expectation, especially if it really is better.

Final example and possible escape from this mess: A young female student sits behind a young male in class. She constantly complains to him about not meeting the “right” guy. It takes her the entire school year to see her expectation of the right guy is wrong and the guy in front of her is The Right Guy. They fall in love and marry, something neither of them expected, though the guy did hope. (Don’t think too hard about this one. It’s a true story but a poor example.)

I took a shot of tart cherry juice to clear my head for the final, really final thought. Hope is one thing, but expectation is another, different thing. Find the hope all around you and you’ll find happiness anytime you want it. Let hope fester into an expectation, you lose control.

Keep hope alive. You can do it.

PS Hope this sloppiness helped someone…I expect to hear about it, too.