Work can kill you
I had to fly to Pittsburgh on business the other day and I thought I
was going to die. Not that anything traumatic happened. In fact, the
trip was uneventful. Just the same, I made sure I kissed my wife and
hugged the kids before I left for the airport. I’ve changed my behavior
to now consider that this might be the last time I see them before my
untimely demise. I get similar feelings when I drive over a bridge or
go through a tunnel. Attending a meeting in a tall office building or
opening a piece of mail sets off the same alarm.
Airports have become the new chapels of the world. A flight on a plane
has become a call to prayer. I’m also finding that it’s kind of bizarre
leaving my house at 4:00 a.m. to catch a 7 o’clock flight, when the
airport “chaplains” don’t even make it in till 6:00 a.m. I wind up
waiting on line in the dark for an hour or more to bolster patriotism
and protect myself from terrorists. I guess it’s a spiritual thing.
Psychology 101 taught that most of us live our lives in a serious state
of denial about death. Woody Allen said that he didn’t mind dying; he
just didn’t want to be there when it happened. I like living my life
that way. It helps me get on with it, remain productive and fight
morbid thoughts. Even though I’m aware that I can buy my coffin ahead
of time on the web and realize considerable savings, I still avoid the
transaction.
However, my life wasn’t always one that ran from discussions of death.
Or eschewed meditations on the frail human condition. There was a time
when it was different.
An Older Tradition
In my younger days, I spent 15 years in a monastic community. They had
a spiritual practice called “The Exercise for a Happy Death.” Sounds
kind of morbid, but if truth be told, it was rather refreshing. On the
last day of each month, you spent time alone reflecting on death. It
was a chance to see what you were doing right and wrong. A time to
leave behind the distractions of the day-to-day world, go inside
yourself and get clear on what’s important. There would be prayer
services and a chance to confess your sins to the priest. Some would
spend the time planning their own funerals. Eulogies were occasionally
scripted and I’m sure some monks would have prepared PowerPoint
presentations if there were computers back then.
There was something called a “Superfluous Box” that was put out for the
entire day. The idea was that if you had acquired anything over the
past month that you really didn’t need or that encroached on your
commitment to the simple monastic life, you were to deposit it in the
box. It would be given to the poor or more needy members of the
community. This was a chance to lighten the load on your personal
journey to sanctity. Lunch was intentionally austere to keep the senses
focused on eternity. However, “The Exercise for a Happy Death” always
ended with full dinner and a special dessert. It represented a
spiritual sense of humor: while we spent the day focusing on the grave,
life still needed to be lived and celebrated.
Business Transition
My transition from the religious to the secular world has been going on
for over 20 years. The most noticeable difference is that when I was in
the monastery, 20% of my superiors thought they were Infallible. In
business, the number’s up to 80%. As we aging baby-boomers confront
mortality with cancer, strokes and wrinkles and I put my life on the
line just going to work, I consider “The Exercise for a Happy Death” as
a practice worth transplanting into the secular world. And my monastic
roots are starting to resurface in peculiar ways:
1. I wake up daily with the prospect of death before me;
2. A brief prayer of thanks gets uttered as my feet hit the bedroom
floor;
3. At work I become more tolerant of others, wondering if maybe they’ll
be dead sometime soon;
4. I spend part of my day getting quiet and going inside myself;
5. I write letters and cards to my wife and two young boys that get put
away in a box in the basement. When I die, I’ve arranged that they’ll
be presented to them as gifts from the grave: expressions of love and
remembrance from someone who’s gone;
6. On the last day of each month, I eat a hearty dinner and partake of a
special dessert to recall that I’m still alive and have other chances to
cooperate with the Divine;
7. I give away things I no longer need and look for reasons to put a few
bucks in someone else’s palm;
8. I acknowledge my mistakes and make it a point to say sorry somewhere
in the day;
9. I read obituaries in the newspaper for inspiration, hope and humor.
I remain in awe of how the human condition works itself out with zest,
flair and a slightly twisted sense of the sacred.
The final curtain
Steven Wright, the comedian, may have nailed it on the head when he
said: “I believe I’ll live forever. So far, so good!” I don’t know if
it is ever possible to get in touch with our mortality or fully
comprehend the preciousness of life. And it’s certainly been more
challenging living outside the cloistered walls. I’ve personally had
two near-death experiences over the years. I came away from both with a
profound sense of clarity and thankfulness. But alas, it was
short-lived. A few months down the road, I was back yelling at the
kids, criticizing the wife and complaining about senior management. My
therapist said it was a sign of normalcy. I felt like I had lost
something precious.
To help regain some of what got lost, I take more risks to scare myself
back into clarity. If I could be dead tomorrow, what should I not pass
up doing for want of courage? “I wouldn’t be caught dead doing that…”
gets repositioned into “So what is it that I want to be caught dead
doing?” Then I go out and do it. Some might say that’s suicidal. I
find it enlivening. There are consequences, though. I am living with
significantly more guilt, as well as a marked attraction to
tomfoolery. The propensity to say, “What the hell … let’s try it” has
increased. My wife says it’s gotten out of hand. I fear she’ll seek
revenge when she writes my eulogy.
Fortunately, there are the daily business reminders to keep me on
track. All I need do is get ready for my next business trip or open an
unsolicited piece of mail. New opportunities are presented once again.
I’m learning to take advantage of them … for who knows? Maybe one day
it will all come to an end.
P.S. If you’re thinking about writing me, give in to the temptation.
I love getting mail ... and being influenced by what you have to say.
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Kenny Moore is co-author of The CEO and the Monk: One Company’s Journey
to Profit and Purpose (John Wiley and Sons, 2004), rated as one of the
top ten best selling business books on Amazon.com. He is Corporate
Ombudsman and Human Resources Director at a New York City Fortune 500
energy company. Reporting to the CEO, he is primarily responsible for
awakening joy, meaning and commitment in the workplace. While these
efforts have largely been met with skepticism, he remains eternally
optimistic of their future viability.
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