追逐日光

蔣素華

Chasing Daylight

《追逐日光》記述了作者尤金·奧凱利本人在人生最后四個(gè)月的心路旅程。尤金·奧凱利生前是畢馬威會(huì)計(jì)師事務(wù)所（KPMG）的董事長(zhǎng)和首席執(zhí)行官，在53歲時(shí)他被診斷為腦癌晚期，醫(yī)生給他的預(yù)言是還有三到六個(gè)月的時(shí)間。這個(gè)消息對(duì)于正處于人生與事業(yè)巔峰上的尤金仿佛當(dāng)頭一棒，原本充滿光明的未來頓時(shí)陰影籠罩。然而他沒有被擊垮也沒有消沉，而是著手修改原來的人生計(jì)劃，并充當(dāng)自己生命最后旅程的首席執(zhí)行官，拿出在高爾夫球場(chǎng)上為多打一桿球而追逐日光的精神，追逐自己生命中最后的時(shí)光，活得精彩，死得無憾。

此書出版后引起很大反響，得到眾多讀者的推薦。本期摘錄了書中最精彩的一些片斷，希望讀者朋友們從中吸取尤金對(duì)待生與死的人生哲學(xué)和智慧。

I came to wonder， almost marvel（感到驚訝）， over this question： if how we die is one of the most important decisions we can make （again， in those situations where its somewhat within our control， or， at least， its occurrence is approximately known）， then why do most people abrogate（拋開）this responsibility？ And， in so doing， sacrifice benefits both for themselves and for the ones they leave behind？ As for those considering taking the time someday to plan their final weeks and months， three words of advice： Move it up （行動(dòng)起來）. If youre 50 and youd planned to think about it at 55， move it up. If youre 30 and had planned to think about it in 20 years， move it up. Just as a person with a terminal illness（絕癥）is motivated to adhere to（堅(jiān)持）a more souped-up （提高了效率的）schedule， so a person in good health has little motivation to address（解決）the situation even one minute before its time， which may already be too late. Thats your disadvantage， maybe even your curse. Move it up. A close friend who was invited to participate in a “Renaissance（文藝復(fù)興）Weekend1”—those high-octane（富有活力的）gatherings of politicians， artists， academics， captains of industry， Nobel Prize winners， and others—told me that， at the end of the weekend， a select few attendees（參加者）are asked to give a short speech to everyone assembled（集會(huì)）. The speech-maker is given no more than three minutes and is instructed to imagine that， as soon as the talk conclude， he or she dies. My friend said that the speeches were uniformly riveting（吸引人的）， but， more notably（顯而易見地）， they were surprising. The men and women charged with the honor of giving these speeches clearly thought hard about what was most essential（至關(guān)重要的）for them to say， and often it wasnt at all what you might expect from a senator（參議員）， a world-renowned physicist， or a CFO.

Move it up.

Thats not to say I got it completely right. I had lots of work to do. I got a lot of it wrong. When I aimed to be fully conscious and in the moment， I often had trouble keeping my mind from wandering to the future or the past. I got angry. Frequently I cried. Occasionally I got obsessed（無法擺脫的）. I experienced repeated failure at what I was trying to do. But not once did I regret that I had exercised control over my life， the final and most precious inches （少許）of my life for the last real time I was able to.

Sitting at the dining room table， I made a to-do list（任務(wù)清單）for my final days.

Get legal（合法的）and financial affairs in order

“Unwind”（解開）relationships

Simplify（精簡(jiǎn)）

Live in the moment

Create （but also be open to） great moments， “perfect moments”

Begin transition to next state

Plan funeral（葬禮）

Boiled down（歸納起來）， I wanted this last period to be marked by resolution and closure（結(jié)束，謝幕）； by heightened awareness； by the pleasure and joy of life. Boiled down still further， I wanted these things， and only these things：

Clarity. Intensity（強(qiáng)烈）. Perfection.

Theres a great blessing， probably Irish： Heres to a good life and a better death. Well， I wanted the best death possible. I didnt mean it in a competitive way， as in， Im used to winning， so Im going to win at this， too； as in， Im going to have a better death than you are. I mean that I wanted to achieve in death what Id always tried to achieve in life： to do it the best way I knew how. Over the years， Id come to love wine， and the way I did that was to taste all kinds and to subscribe to（訂閱）wine newsletters and read them when I could. I came to love and understand opera by seeing it and listening to it， and also by reading the story ahead of time. I didnt want just to dabble（淺嘗）.

Now， I was motivated to “succeed” at death—that is， to try to be constructive about it， and thus have the right death for me. To be clear about it and present during it. To embrace it.

My hot pursuit of the present seemed predicated on（以……為基礎(chǔ)）the idea that history and the past needed to recede （撤退）into the background. Yet all I wanted to read [or， because of my deteriorating（正在惡化的）vision， listen to on tape] were books about history. In How the Irish Saved Civilization， I heard about how manuscripts from the crumbling（崩潰的）Roman Empire were brought to monasteries（修道院）on the then incredibly remote island of Ireland， where literature monks “saved” history from destruction.

As I closed down my life， Corinne and I planned our final trip， for Gina and us. We would leave in mid-September， after the radiation treatments（放射性治療）were done and Id had a chance to get my energy back， as well as complete the other tasks Id set out to do. I—we—chose three places with great significance to me： Prague（布拉格）， Rome and Venice. Prague because of its important historical and spiritual roots [during the Middle Ages， pilgrims（朝圣者）passed through the city as they followed a trial to the holy lands]； Rome because of its archaeological（考古的）/historical roots （you could actually see how layers of history were built on top of each other）； and Venice because it was both beautiful and dying [it would also be a somewhat triumphant return to the opulent（富裕的）， sinking city， since Corinne and I had gone there as newlyweds（新婚夫婦）with very little money， and would now be returning with credit cards.]

I had always loved reading history and appreciated the lessons it taught， if we listened. Id always felt that， to live a meaningful， useful life， one had to feel that one was a part of history. Now， as I was dying， I realized that for all my authentic（真正的）， even desperate pursuit of the present， I desired another feeling almost as much： the desire to be soaked in history， enveloped by it， where the very passage of centuries was visible.

Corinne， Gina， and I were privileged to be invited for a visit with Cardinal（紅衣主教）Egan， head of the New York Archdiocese（大主教之管區(qū)）. I figured that he had spent a great deal more time thinking about eternity（永恒）and death and matters of the soul than I had， so I took advantage of the opportunity. In his private chambers， we celebrated communion（舉行圣餐儀式）， then we talked. I told him there had been much unfinished business when I had stepped down from my job. How could I learn to live—and die—with things still unresolved（未解決的）？ I wanted desperately to live in the present—but how could I get past the past？ “How can I stay in the moment？” I asked.

The cardinal told me that earlier in his career， hed spent many years in Rome， becoming educated not just in the ways of Roman Catholicism（天主教）， but also in the Italian mindset（心態(tài)）. And much as he loved being Irish and so many things Irish， hed come to appreciate a fundamental difference in perspective（正確地）between what he saw as the Italian viewpoint and the Irish viewpoint. The typical Italian， he said， never went back over a decision hed made； he felt as if that decision was the best one he could possibly have made given the information he possessed at the time， that while the choice hed made might not have worked out as hed hoped， it was the best decision at the time. “The only decision to focus on is the one you are still able to make，” he said.

I nodded. We Irish suffer a long-standing tradition， if not a genetic predisposition（遺傳素質(zhì)）， of looking back， of going over unresolved situations. “They say the only things the Irish take to their graves，” I said， “are grudges（積怨）.”

Before my illness， I had considered commitment king （最重要的） among virtues. After I was diagnosed， I came to consider consciousness（意識(shí)，知覺）king among virtues. I began to feel that everyones first responsibility was to be as conscious as possible all the time， especially later in life， especially toward the very end. For one thing， it could help others to understand the end better. Thats a responsibility we owe to each other， certainly to the generation to follow. Maybe well discover that dying is something not quite so frightening. That would certainly be a nugget（重要的建議）worth passing on. Maybe well discover that death is even something worth marching（前進(jìn)）.

One of my tasks before I died was to “unwind（使松弛，使不緊張）”， or close—or， as I saw it， beautifully resolve—my personal relationships. But why did I want to？ Why would anyone want to make some kind of part-symbolic， part-literal break with all the people he had enjoyed and loved？

The four reasons why I did it：

I thought it would bring me and those with whom I was unwinding more pleasure than unhappiness （and， believe me， I realized just how much unhappiness would be invloved）.

It would occupy me in an important way， making me think deeply about things I felt I should think about， things most people probably should think about.

I was hard-wired by temperament（性格，本性）and training for closure.2

And last， and certainly not least，

I could.

As I wrote down my list of people， those I intend to contact and plan a final encounter with（遇到）， I stopped at each name and made myself recall， in the closest detail possible， all the moments the two of us had enjoyed together. How we met. What made us become friends in the first place. The qualities in them I particularly appreciated. The lessons Id learned by knowing them. The ways in which having met him or her had made me a better person.

In short， the exercise forced me to do the very thing that wiser people every now and then advise us to do—that is， to stop and look up long enough to think about the people we love and why we love them， and to go and tell them explicitly（明確地）how we feel， because who knows when that opportunity will disappear forever？

The unwindings also made me feel good because they allowed me to remind myself of all the people whose lives I had touched， even if in a very small way. While quantity is not the end-all（終結(jié)，最終目標(biāo)）， I was surprised at how many people I came up with—and were you to try this exercise， you too might be surprised by your deceptively（虛偽地）large circle. The sheer（純粹的）volume brought me tremendous fulfillment.

Not only these unwindings spur（激勵(lì)）me to recall happy memories， but they kept my focus on life， not on death. They kept my focus on my multiple connections to people， not my aloneness in the world. They kept me focused on connection， period， which—whether you are a person of faith， as I am， or not—is a balm（鎮(zhèn)痛膏）. While Id like to believe I wasnt someone given to triviality（膚淺）， my self-imposed（自愿接受的）mechanism for focusing on these important encounters， these unwindings， guaranteed that I was almost always thinking about what mattered.

Without closure， some （not all， but some） of my most important relationships might never be acknowledged and understood in the fullest way， either by me or by the other person. That would be a loss for both of us.

One of the great fortunes of my life， my prosperous（豐富的）American life—and I wont apologize for sounding sentimental or patriotic（愛國(guó)的）—was that I could experience real enjoyment in my final days， just as I had experienced enjoyment during my life. Simply because I was given the gift of being able to unwind my relationships， I did.