Life Turnaround
Early each morning as part of my spiritual practices I trudge up
the foot paths that wind along Glassy Mountain behind Carl
Sandburg's home. This morning, as I stop to catch my breath, my
mind flashes to a time in the early '80s, a bad and ugly, yet
necessary time. I'm lying on the bathroom floor in my apartment
in Greensboro, North Carolina, during another time of
contemplation. As I lie in a fetal position on the floor,
sobbing, I can't remember how I ended up there or how long I'd
been there. I know only that I'm in great pain and will do
anything to make it stop. I imagine what I might do if I had a
gun. Would I have the nerve to use it? If I did, would I screw
it up like I'd screwed up the rest of my life? The more I think
about it, the more real the gun becomes, until finally I realize
it's not my imagination but a real gun--a snub nose revolver --I
hold in my hand.
I feel the smooth wooden handle in my palm and the cold metal
circle of the snub nose pressed against my temple. My finger
begins to tighten on the trigger. Just a little more pressure, a
quick flash of pain, and the deeper pain will finally be over.
Funny, I think as I lay there, how many people will be surprised
to learn of my suicide. To outward appearances, I'm a successful
veterinarian, with my own practice, investments in real estate,
a fancy car, a wallet full of credit cards--all the trimmings of
a supposedly successful life. But beneath the well-crafted
exterior is a hollow core of emptiness and suffering. My life
feels worthless, without any real meaning. All the adornments of
my "Good Life" don't add up to true happiness or fulfillment.
The truth is, I feel alone in the world, with no one who truly
cares about me or understands what I'm going through.
Suddenly, someone has invaded my privacy. "Go away," I think as
loudly as I can, then realize I'm also shouting it. "Go away!
Leave me alone!"
But whoever it is, doesn't leave. A moment later I smell the
pleasant fragrance of a woman's perfume, then the voice of an
angel. "It's OK, Brad. We're going to get you some help. It's
OK." I recognize the voice of my friend Rebecca.
Now, as I sit watching the exquisite sunrise over the Blue Ridge
Mountains, that day in Greensboro seems to be from a different
person's life, and in many ways it is. I am no longer that
confused, scared, lonely young man. I no longer practice
veterinary medicine; instead, I'm the founder of the
spiritually-based Life On Purpose Institute. And today I can
truthfully say my life is filled with purpose and meaning.