GUEST BLOGGER - BOYD HOWELL CHADWICK

Friends:

It is my pleasure to introduce to you my friend and occasional guest blogger, Boyd Howell Chadwick. Of the Newport Chadwicks. From prep school, to the Ivy League, to the squash court, Boyd’s insights and wisdom run deep. He’s here today with an important set of life lessons from which we all could benefit. Be sure to look for more posts by Boyd, as more lessons get learned. And unlearned.

Life Lessons

By Boyd Howell Chadwick – Capitalist, sailor, experiencer.

This is America. We’re Americans. We love a good list. When the whole of our existence can be broken down into easy to digest nuggets, it tastes better. Especially a list of important life lessons we may have been ignoring because bad things only ever happen to other people. But then the day comes when something bad happens to us and everything changes. When such a thing happened to me, I began to realize how important it is for you to know that now that I have learned things and you should learn them too. From me.

1. It’s good to be healthy:

I never get sick. I never broke a bone. I don’t have any cavities. I am a superior specimen, who has never missed a day of work due to illness. Then one day someone close to me got sick. Really sick. So sick they died sick. I realized in that moment that I had taken my good health for granted all my life. I felt like a jerk because I had such disdain for sick people. Now I know that people get sick and understand that I must quietly pity them.

2. Grief has no timeline:

How many times did I roll my eyes and say, “Get over it, Grandma. Pop Pop’s been dead for years.”? A lot. Then Grandma died. But before she did, she pulled me close and whispered to me that she hopes that one day soon, I lose somebody close to me and nobody will care. Now that I’ve lost a dear one, I regret my callousness. Mostly because the miserable old crone cut me out of her estate. Obviously my loss is more profound than hers, because I learned that I'm still sad years after somebody died.

3. You don’t know everything about other people:

Life is simpler when you can make assumptions about people by the way they appear. I know when people look at me they think “entitled douchebag,” and they may have a point. But now I’ve suffered loss, and so it offends me when people call me that. I used to not have time to consider the inner lives of the UPS guy or bank teller. Watching my friend suffer often made me sad, and strangers would encourage me with helpful platitudes like, “Why so frowny?” or “Cheer up, it’s not so bad,” or “What’s an entitled douchebag like you got to be upset about? Did your stocks take a tumble?” In those moments I could either have empathy for their intentions – maybe they were sad and seeing me sad made them sad and they didn’t want to be sad – or I could respond without compassion. I chose to respond sympathetically. “I’ve lost more money in the last 24 hours than you will make in your entire lifetime.”

4. Learn from the wisdom of others:

It turns out that other people have done, seen and experienced things that have changed them in some way. They have gained some sort of insight that is worthy of sharing. I never knew this until my friend got sick. Then I started telling people everything I’ve learned. They really seemed to care. Some people actually wanted share their stories with me, but I was wise and gentle enough to remind them that what I went through was different and more valuable.

5. Money doesn’t buy happiness:

Honestly, this one eludes me.

I hope you can appreciate what I’ve done here. I’m heading out to do stuff. If I learn anything, I’ll be sure and let you know. ~BHC

F*CK CANCER

In a span of 2 years and 8 days, I have witnessed two dear friends get diagnosed, and lose ugly battles with pancreatic cancer. I am not writing this to gain sympathy, for “my” loss is miniscule compared to the pain endured by their beloveds. There is another loss to speak of. Your loss. If you never had the pleasure of knowing Tom Cheever or Kevin Brooks. If you’ve never heard them tell a story, or improvise a song. If you’ve never witnessed them admiring their children, or looking into the eyes of the women they loved. If you’ve never seen their fantastic smiles or better yet, heard them laugh, then the loss is yours. Lives cut short (Tom 43, Kevin 55) from achieving professional, creative and personal goals. Happy, healthy, lives. Admirable lives. Imperfect, striving, beautiful lives. Potential unmet. Potential the entire world has lost.

When someone dies of cancer, it seems as though the same questions get asked. “Did he smoke? Was he overweight? Does it run in the family?” What people are really asking is “What did he do wrong to bring this on?” because, somehow we want to think that we’re immune. That if we eat this, don’t do that, or practice the other, then we won’t get caught in cancer’s ugly net.

Cancer doesn’t discriminate. It hates everything it touches. It’s in the air we breathe, the water we drink and the food we consume. We are playing Russian Roulette every day.

When I sat down to write this, I’d hoped for some kind of uplifting message. That we each walk our journey, and we never know where or how it’s going to end, and somehow that’s okay. Well, it’s not. It sucks. We are richer for having known Tom and Kevin and yet poorer for having lost them to a force that will not succumb. As the work they didn’t finish slowly fades, we’re left to carry on without them. I am humbled by cancer’s cruelty and powerless in its prevention. I have no lessons to share or wisdom to appreciate. These are but two men. Two men I have known, I have shared meals with and laughed with.  There have been and will always be others whose time with us isn’t nearly as long as should be, and we can only move through our grief hoping that one day the pain will ease. But it will never cease. And I guess that’s what it means to be human.

Life’s a bitch, and then you die.

Adding to the noise:

MORE IRREVELANT THOUGHTS ON WOODY ALLEN

I posted the Daily Beast “defense” of Woody Allen on Facebook, not because I believed it to be true, but to continue the conversation. The fact that this story has triggered such passionate discourse shows that this crime is more widespread than anybody wants to believe.

Let me be clear. I believe Woody Allen raped his daughter. I also believe that there is more that went on in those households than anybody will ever know. I further believe it’s fair to say that what we believe or don’t believe will have zero impact on Woody Allen. Hopefully Dylan’s letter will shine a light on an insidious crime and help to empower thousands of victims without a voice.

When it comes to the life and times of this “great American filmmaker,” the nation is suffering from a severe case of cognitive dissonance. We have willfully accepted the persona of the Neurotic Jewish Genius who manages to produce a movie every year. Yeah, the Soon-Yi thing is strange, but they seem normal-ish. You know, by ShowBiz Standards. (“ShowBiz standards,” one of life’s great oxymorons. The Entertainment Industry has always been the home to weirdos and perverts. It’s where the outcasts go to form their own cliques and get back at the people who bullied them as teenagers. Yes, I’m generalizing, lay off). Now you’re asking us to reconcile that benign image with the idea that he has committed the most heinous crime a person can commit? No thank you, that’s way too much work on our part. It’s much easier to pick apart a child’s words than to face the reality that the brilliant artist who wrote and directed some of our favorite movies is a creepy dirty pedophile. The Onion makes the point here.  

At least Roman Polanski had the good sense to be foreign. 

This mess got me thinking about Jerry Sandusky. His punishment was swift and stern. A beloved university was embroiled in scandal when the lengths it went to cover up his crimes were revealed. The court of public opinion convicted him early and easily. Of course he had his defenders, but they were dismissed simply as colluders with something to gain by standing up for the guy.

Dare I say that one of the differences between the two was the gender of their victims? Raping teenage boys is monstrous, but raping little girls (your own daughter, for crap's sake) is…heterosexual? Where is that invisible line among pedophiles that delineates creepy from criminal? Why are we so quick to dismiss young men who’ve been tormented by women?

Sexism is alive and well here in the good old USA. You’d think there wouldn’t be a double standard when it comes to such things, but alas, if Ronan had been the victim, this would be an entirely different conversation.