Six Months to Life

How Would You Live Your Life Differently?

Archives for April 2018

Mississippi College

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The most important group of friends in my life came to me at a most important point and rescued me from my own isolation.

But let’s start many years earlier, when I was six. It’s a story I’ve told many times.

I was in the second grade before I noticed that other people had friends, and I did not. Most of the other boys would play a game called “Smear the Queer” where one person would dare to pick up a playground ball and all the other boys would try to tackle him and strip the ball. I was sensitive; roughhousing scared me. I wanted to be part of the group, but all I could do was stay close and not go for the ball or try to tackle anybody.

But there was Tim. During recess he would race me from the lunch room to the other end of the parking lot. Tim was fast. He would always beat me. From this, I concluded that I must be the second fastest kid in my class.

I wanted a friend. In complete naiveté, I asked him if he wanted to be my friend. He agreed. I knew that friends invited each other over, so I asked if I could come over. He agreed.

That’s how I found myself at Tim’s house one afternoon. After we played for about 20 minutes, Tim found a group of neighborhood friends and ran off with them. I was alone. In his house. After a while I decided to just go home.

This was the first time I had ever felt the pain of rejection. I was determined to never feel it again. So I isolated myself.

I didn’t sit with anybody during lunch. This pattern would continue through elementary school, junior high, and high school.

I seemed to be the second least popular boy in class. The least popular boy was actively persecuted. They hit him and called him “bullet head” and “chisel chin.” For the most part I was left alone. I don’t know if that was any better.

During recess I didn’t want the others to see me playing alone. So I found a place in the woods off school property and spent every recess alone there. My view was a parking lot and a McDonalds. I was only caught once there, by a teacher. She yelled at me to get back on school grounds. Other than that, not even the teachers noticed me.

When I started noticing girls, I found myself woefully under-socialized. I hadn’t developed the social skills needed to make friends, let alone carry on a nerve-wracking private conversation with a girl. It was the first time I really wanted to get out of the comfort zone I created for myself.

This scared kid with crippling social anxiety enrolled as a freshman at Mississippi College in 1979. I was assigned a roommate: Randy. Randy did the most to pull me out of my shell, and I will cover this when I write about him.

Randy knew a high-school friend named Greg who enrolled at MC the year before. At some point, Greg put together a group of friends to play a new game called Dungeons and Dragons. Randy attended the first game, Greg was the dungeon master, and Randy very nearly pulled off a legendary heist of everyone else’s treasure on their first trip into the dungeon. Randy invited me to join them, and so I got to know my first group of all-guy friends.

Some guys would drift in and out of the group, but a smaller group of hard-core gamers quickly formed. We would have all-night games and then talk about what happened all the next day. It was frustrating for others, because we were in our own world (literally). Once, Greg’s girlfriend and future wife exploded in frustration, exclaiming, “Do you know what it’s like to date the dungeon master?” After that we tried to be more inclusive when Tammy was around.

We all had nicknames for each other. Mine was “Saf”—my first and only nickname. There was Tack, Bro, Grubber, Mage, Holi, and more.

Most of our group consisted of Physics and Computer Science majors. We enjoyed messing with the teachers. The most legendary tales came from the Physics majors. The stories are theirs to tell (I won’t have the space) but I will mention their coup de grâce: One day they bricked up the entrance to the Physics lab.

Yes, bricks. Actually, real brick veneer mounted on a sheet of plywood and held against the door from behind by a lab table. At the beginning of class that evening, the professor unlocked and opened the door, and was presented with a brick wall. He silently closed the door, re-locked it, walked back to his office, and sat down. One of the onlookers who wasn’t in on the prank exclaimed, “You’ve gone too far! You’ve just gone too far!”

We computer science majors had our fun too. For instance, one of our professors assigned programs that were intended to take a few weeks to complete. But we would wait until the last day to get started and then spend an all-nighter in the computer room.

The professor got tired of this, so he required that we do the program in phases, with a separate due date for each phase. The day we got received our assignment, we spent an all-nighter in the computer room, completed all the phases in one night, and turned in the entire project the next day.

As a homework assignment, Jim (Grubber) had to write a blackjack program. He asked for my help. I knew some advanced programming techniques, so we decided to write the program in as few lines of code as possible. We spent more time optimizing the code than it took to write it in the first place. I think we got it down to under 200 lines of code, a major achievement.

The college had just added a computer science major, and hired a new computer science teacher. She was pretty green and was keeping just a few weeks ahead of her students. Jim turned in his assignment, and a few days later the teacher called him into her office. She confessed that she didn’t even begin to know how to grade his program.

One of us managed to get his hands on a master key for the dorm. Within 24 hours we all had a copy. That summer a group of high school kids were on campus and staying at the dorm. One of us ended up with an item missing, and suspected one of the high school kids took it. So a few of us used the pass key to enter every room, found the stolen item, and then trashed the room.

Sometime after that, the school administration discovered that we all had pass keys. But because we were mostly scholarship students, we were only made to turn the keys in and told not to do it again.

This group of guys gave me an identity. I still had a hard time being alone with girls, but I was secure that I had a good group of guy friends who truly cared about me. This was pivotal because I had brought a deep sense of shame from my childhood. Shame is defined as a sense that we are deeply defective and therefore unworthy of love and belonging. I had finally found my love and belonging.

It surprised me to learn that I wasn’t alone to find our group to be special.

After graduation, we were in each other’s weddings. That helped us keep in touch.

Then, one of our own died in a tragic car accident.

I didn’t attend the funeral, but I’ve heard the story told so often I can almost tell it as my own. We all realized that we’d have to do something intentional to stay in touch. Otherwise the next time we’d see each other would be at the next funeral. So we arranged for our families to spend a week together over the summer.

We would meet for 30 summers. Four or five families each summer.

Not all of the wives were initially enthused to give up a week of vacation so the guys could have reunions. But they’ve now become great friends. Our kids grew up together. They each have a set of additional cousins.

Only in recent years has our ritual begun to fall apart. Vacation days are at a premium for at least one of us, and for decades he was unable to do much more for vacations than attend our reunions. He never went to Mexico and wanted to go. So he declared his intention and said anybody else could join him. We did.

Then another member of the group declared his intention to take a Mediterranean cruise and said anybody could join him. I don’t know if anybody did, but for the first time it wasn’t a group deal.

The writing was on the wall, and people started opting out. We needed a break. It’s been a few years now.

Guys, you changed my life in ways you can’t even imagine. This letter only scratches the surface of the level of friendship, connection, and belonging we experienced together. When I was young, I thought it was just me who felt this way about us. Now I know.

We needed a break. I felt it. That’s why I didn’t jump in and plan the next one either. Have we had enough of a break yet? Do we need to meet less often?

I’m prepared to wait longer for us to yearn for connection again. I’ll plan the next one when you’re ready. I think it’s time to renew an invitation to a family who hasn’t joined us in 20 years.

Janet

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It’s interesting. The first two people I decided to write about are strong, hard-working, successful women who have been business partners and friends. It wasn’t my intention; I’ve simply started with people I know locally. Of course I’m aware they’re women, but it’s never affected my relationship with them or the way I’ve treated them as partners and equals.

I say this only because Janet’s experience growing up—and probably for most of her life, was not like this. She was not encouraged to go to college, not encouraged to be independent. Her forceful rejection of the role given to her as a young woman has become her life’s passion and driving force.

For example, she recently completed a book titled I Don’t Wanna Wear a Crown. It’s a women’s empowerment book for pre-schoolers. It’s a timely concept and a great message to give girls who are so often directed toward princesses as their heroes. You should buy it. Then purchase it as gifts for all of the preschool girls in your life. Click on the image of the book.

I met Janet when my children started attending St. Mary’s Catholic School here in Rome. She was a staff member. For a year or two she was the principal. She wasn’t called the principal because she wasn’t Catholic, but she was. (Shh… don’t tell.)

The roof over the oldest part of the school was leaky and needed to be replaced. This was around the year 2000. But we thought bigger than that, because it was time to completely replace the old part of the school. We put together a proposal and a $4 million budget to be funded through a capital campaign and a loan from the Catholic archdiocese of Atlanta. We had our appointment with the archbishop, and we were prepared!

The big day came and Janet, as usual, was on time. But I was lost. The building was on Peachtree Street. There are DOZENS of Peachtree streets in Atlanta, and to make things worse, there was no “Archdiocese” sign on the building due to security concerns.

The archbishop was on time, and you don’t keep an archbishop waiting, especially if you’re asking for something. But I was the one who had the outline and was prepared to present it. So Janet had to bluff, improvise, and BS her way through nearly a half-hour of presentation before I arrived. She explains this with a lot more “color” than my explanation. Let’s just say it bound us together forever. Happy ending: We got our new school.

Janet tells people, “Whatever Steve Safigan tells me to do, I do.” (She uses complete names like “Steve Safigan.” She even refers to her husband by his full name.) I don’t think I want the responsibility of telling Janet what to do. But what it really means is that she respects me tremendously. The feeling is mutual.

When I first became a personal coach, she was one of my “practice” clients. She still calls me “Coach.” It has allowed me to have many meaningful conversations with her. We continue to have coach conversations every once in a while.

Anyone who has met Janet knows that she is a demon of productivity. She seems driven to do as much as three mere mortals. She is a force of nature, and if you say ‘no’ to her, she’ll find a way to get it done without you, or even despite you. I think she’s learned to relax and enjoy life a little recently, which is to say that she now does the work of two mere mortals.

She once went to a personal growth workshop. (It was one of the things I “told” her to do.) At the workshop, the leader told the group to stop wasting even 10 seconds of your day. She’s taken it to heart.

She’s been involved in law, education and politics, rising to the level of senior leadership in multiple roles. She has authored multiple books. She’s involved in many local charities and was bestowed with the exclusive Heart of the Community award. I won’t try to list every activity and honor associated with her life. I think you get the idea. She is a community treasure.

We worked together for about a year. Although it didn’t turn into what we intended, it was fun working with her. In most of my roles, I’m the mentor. While it’s an honor to be someone’s mentor, it’s a little lonely. The refreshing part about my work with Janet is we worked as equals. We both tried to feel our way through together. We each had our strengths and weaknesses. There was a lot neither of us knew. We found a path that sparked both of our interests and passions.

She’s a good friend to the rest of my family as well. She’s always ready to lend a hand and get involved.

I’m honored and privileged to have seen some of her vulnerability, fear, and uncertainty. But she acts in the face of those feelings. That’s the definition of courage.

My friendship with Janet will last to the end of our lives. Her “tell it like I see it” approach is refreshing in its candor and honesty, and I always appreciate it. We have fun; she brings a sense of excitement to whatever she does, and it’s contagious. She checks in on me. We have long conversations. I wish I had more friends like her locally. I wouldn’t feel as isolated.

She’s exactly the kind of friend you would love. And I do.

 

The Beginning

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I have difficulty with the very idea of death. I avoid going to funerals. When I do go, it’s to support somebody else, such as when my mom’s mother died. Being there for her was exhausting.

My wife Jamie finds huge value in going to funerals. And I’ve spoken to others who would agree. But funerals force me to face my own death, and my fear becomes overwhelming.

Here’s where my existential crisis comes in. If you don’t want to do a deep dive about the idea of eternal life, you can stop reading here. You have been warned. 😉

I was raised Catholic, and I now consider myself to be agnostic. I’m not an atheist. I leave myself open to the possibility that my Catholic upbringing is at least close to the truth. I’m agnostic because neither position—belief in God nor disbelief in God—can be proven. This means that either position is a matter of faith.

The reason neither position can be proven is because it’s impossible for something outside of the bounds of time and space to be proven using rules that are bound by time and space. One cannot prove—or disprove—heaven using physics. Science cannot help us, which bums me out because I’m a scientist.

So here’s my existential crisis: What if there are only two choices: Either we live forever or we cease to exist. Both of these positions Blow. My. Mind.

Let’s assume that we cease to exist. What’s that like? Well… it’s like… it’s not like anything. It’s like nothing. I can’t wrap my head around it.

Now let’s assume heaven exists and I will live forever. I’m reminded of the last verse of Amazing Grace:

When we’ve been there ten thousand years,
Bright shining as the sun,
We’ve no less days to sing God’s praise
Than when we’d first begun.

When we’ve been there 10 million years… 10 billion years… 10 trillion years… you get my point. Just how long is forever, and will I really have to sing that long? Mind equally blown.

By now you might be thinking about other alternatives. That’s why I started this discussion with “What if there are only two choices?”  Our minds thrash around looking for other explanations until we find one so our mind can rest.  Reincarnation. Becoming part of the universe, or nature. My explanation: I believe that there’s something about the nature of time itself we don’t understand, like when we thought our flat earth had to have edges. It’s my scientist’s mind trying to solve eternal questions again.

So this whole existential crisis thing keeps me from fully diving into this “6 months to live” project. I’m scared of death, of what death will do to my consciousness. And my mind blocks me like a middle linebacker when I try.

I warned you this would be deep.

I recall a recent conversation I had with my father. He said we was ready to die, meaning he’s willing to accept death when it comes. I’d guess this is because his faith tells him that something better lies on the other side. I remember that feeling and I’m sad to have lost this reassurance. It would be a huge comfort to me.

As I get into the mindset of these six months, I doubt I’ll be successful achieving anything like the feelings I will feel the day I actually find out I’m dying.

But I resolve to squeeze all the juice out of this I can. Merely creating the structure has already yielded dividends. Because I’ve told enough people, I’m actually doing it. The structure also helps me explain to other my unusual project in a way that can be grasped easily.

And if I can’t quite imagine what it’s like to die, I can hope to imagine what it’s like to live.

Six Months To Life.