Seneca

I had a difficult night at work last night; my patient was admitted for a loss after 20 weeks, and that loss wasn't her first. Her losses ran into the double-digits. She felt shame and sadness. I sat with her for hours. Other nurses in my unit remembered seeing her before for her other losses. All the tests, as far as we could tell, had not identified a medical reason for the continued losses. We were focused on providing her with psychosocial support and as much pain relief as possible. Her psychological pain was immense. No one wanted her to suffer a moment of physical pain. Even our grumpiest anesthesiologist stood at her bedside during conscious sedation and let her hold his hand, and talk.

I was reading Seneca's "On the Shortness of Life" this morning (translated by C.D.N. Costa), and would like to share one paragraph instead of retreading the story of my search. In particular, Seneca is talking about finding an intellectual home by "adoption" in the metaphorical sense.

We are in the habit of saying that it was not our power to choose the parents who were allotted to us, that they were given to us by chance. But we can choose whose children we would like to be. There are households of the noblest intellects: choose the one into which you wish to be adopted, and you will inherit not only their name but their property, too. Nor will this property need to be guarded meanly or grudgingly: the more it is shared out, the greater it will become. These will offer you a path to immortality and raise you to a point from which no one is cast down.

In other words, read those whom you admire, think, and write your own story to leave a mark on the world! Easier said than done, but all worthwhile. Seneca (a provincial Stoic from Hispania--go, Hispania!) was of course arguing for the importance of philosophy in particular, but we can also take his meaning more broadly these days. I don't believe he'd be offended; the world has changed mightily in the ensuing two millenia.

I have many spiritual/intellectual mothers and fathers; I want to make them all proud. I have thought about my collection of books and papers, and how all of them together have meaning for me (when and where I bought them, certain passages, etc.). Without me, they're just a collection of books and papers. The connections I can make are the result of my education, training, imagination, and experiences. No one puts them together quite the way I do, and that's powerful. I am glad I never gave up on life altogether.