Unlike a painter who can totally obliterate his canvas and start fresh, I had to somehow transform and reconfigure my existing image. This I did by overcompensation, not just by changing direction, but by doing it with a vengeance. In doing so I discovered qualities in myself of which I had previously been unaware, the ability to discipline myself and delay gratification, to focus and be consistent, to persevere and to tolerate discomfort in the service of accomplishing goals.
My life up to that point had unfolded via an attitude of helplessness and futility, so I resolved to actively take my fate into my own hands to the greatest degree possible. I would strive to do my best in all ways knowing failure was always possible, but, if not risked, would be inevitable.
While the portrait transformed for the benefit of the viewer, ghostly tendrils of the original version continued to permeate through my inner image of myself, often undermining my ability to see myself as others did. This persisted over my lifetime and negatively skewed my internal image. I continued within my heart of hearts to distrust the positive feedback I received from the world (and to be overly sensitive to criticism.) Never fully satisfied with anything I accomplished, I found it hard to accept the praise of others. There was a nagging sense that if they “really” knew me they would not think so highly of me. On the plus side, I turned this in a positive direction to spur me on to try ever harder, not just at accomplishing my own goals but at treating people well and conveying my genuine interest and positive feelings toward them.
One good thing that has come out of my illness is that the people in my life have finally and emphatically put the lie to that nagging sense of inadequacy. My gradual fading out of the world as the disease inflicts its many losses has had a plus side. I have had time to say my goodbyes. The outpouring of love I have received has relieved me of any lingering doubts about my lovability. Whether or not I lived up to my own expectations, it’s clear that I have more than fulfilled those of the people who care about me. Friends recently showed me a video they had taken of me performing a song at one of their parties. The person I saw in it was so far removed from the one I tended to perceive myself coming across as, I was thunderstruck. The performance projected warmth, charm, charisma, liveliness, humor, musical skill and fully unselfconscious engagement. It evoked an outpouring of enthusiasm and affection from the audience which, at the time, I did not fully appreciate.
The transformation began to unfold in earnest after I spent my 12th and 13th summers at overnight camp. There I received encouragement to hone athletic and social skills. The swim instructors told me I had natural talent and encouraged me to join the swim team when school resumed. That I did. Eventually this led me to join the age group swim team of Philadelphia’s elite Vesper Boat Club to supplement my high school workouts. Their coach, George Breen, a medalist in two Olympic games, espoused the ethic imparted by his coach, the great James “Doc” Counsilman, that in order to do his best an athlete must train though the stages of “hurt, pain, agony.” George permitted me to participate at Vesper despite the fact that my inherent potential was far below that of most of its members. This he did because he knew my lack of natural endowment was counterbalanced by the fact that I strove to embrace Counsilman’s philosophy. Once, frustrated by the fact that I felt I was working as hard as teammate and Olympic gold medalist Carl Robie, yet was so much slower, I asked George for an explanation. His reply has resonated though all my years. “Norm,” he said, “if Carl worked as hard as you, he’d be a lot better.”
The pattern was set for everything I ever accomplished in life. Nature had not endowed me with movie star looks, championship genes, genius or great talent, but, by god, whatever endowment I had been granted, I would strive to develop to the max. Swimming was a paradigm for that as I spent my high school summers literally eating, sleeping and swimming. Social needs were filled by shared activity with teammates. Living the life of an Olympian without hope of Olympic glory, I came to understand that in life as in sport, it was the effort and dedication that mattered, and, ultimately the character it developed.
Swimming transformed my body and self confidence. I became captain of the high school team, an honor roll student, and eventually overcame much of my social awkwardness, learning to interact with my teammates and peers with that good natured oneupmanship typical of guys. Girls I would never had imagined would give me the time of day actually found me worthy of their attention. Athletic prowess had jump started and become a central factor to my self esteem and identity. This operated within me my whole life. It makes the body wasting illness I was cursed with both ironic and doubly cruel.
Swimming opened the door to future success in many ways. During winter break of my senior year, a snowstorm made me decide to forego the forty-five minute drive to the Vesper pool. But my mother kicked me out of the house to drive my jalopy with bald tires through the snow. It would be good experience, she said. As serendipity would have it, on arriving at practice I was introduced to George’s friend, Bob Beaudry, coach of the Union College swim team, who encouraged me to apply to this top tier small college in far away Schenectady, New York, a place I had never heard of. I doubt Bob had travelled to Philadelphia intending to recruit me or certainly he would have contacted me first. Coincidence? A believer, would say God sent him and made sure I showed up. Either way, it was one of the best things that ever happened to me, one of those defining forks in the road of life from which all else flowed.
l wound up enrolling at Union, where I studiously adopted the speech inflections, accent and mannerisms of the cool preppy, WASPy students I encountered for the first time in my life in that wider world so far from my provincial and ethnic roots. At Union I was awakened to the great trove of knowledge that was accessible to those who applied themselves to their studies. There I began to love learning for its own sake and discovered how much I enjoyed writing.
But the best thing that happened during those college years was on the day that I traveled to nearby Skidmore College. There I first laid eyes on the bright, beautiful, sweet, girl who would eventually become my wife. Of all the gifts fate had bestowed on me during those critical developmental years, Sandy is by far the greatest. Thanks to her, I will depart this world in the certainty that no two people have ever experienced a greater love than that which she and I have shared for well over a half century.
The pattern of my new life had been set. In a way, there is not much more to tell, but for the sake of memory, Sandy wants me to chronicle highlights of the ensuing years. How can I not comply? I hope you will join me, then, next time for chapter three.
An Author's Inner Mind 