Letter to a Friend in Pain and Confusion

One of my dearest clients is being treated for cancer. We are in regular contact. I sent him this the other night. Both he and his wife were very appreciative of it, so I’m sharing it with the rest of you. (Relative-world challenges, too, are within the embrace of wholeness.) Perhaps take a moment and send a good thought his way.

Love and blessings to all of you,

Fred

Hey, pal. You have one job right now: survival. 

Survive. 

One day in the not too distant future this shit will pass. There will again be calm (or at least the Ron unit’s version of calm.

Back when I was drinking and selling cars, I would sometimes have to go work with terrific hangovers. All I wanted to do was drink, to get a bit of the dog that bit me. I wanted to lie down in the dark. I wanted to rest. I wanted to die. 

There was no way in the world I was going to approach a customer. I would go to the used car lot, open up a van, and sit and sweat bullets and booze and for 10 or 12 hours until it was time to go home. It was hell. 

Given that I had zero chance of earning any money that day, other  salesmen would ask me, “Fred, why are you even here?” My answer was always the same. “I’m here to preserve this fucking job for a day when I might actually want it.”

Do that now, Ron. Survive. 

There will be a day when you thank yourself. There will be a day when life is beautiful again—probably better than ever before because you’ll come to appreciate all the stuff you’ve been overlooking. 

Survive for the day you might actually want the Ron job again. 

Hang on.

And that’s enough.