Chapter 11 Third Tuesday - Talk About Regrets

The following Tuesday, I brought my usual bags of groceries—corn pasta, potato salad, apple cobbler—to Morrie's house.I also brought one more thing: a Sony tape recorder. I want to remember our conversation, I said to Morrie.I want to record your voice and listen to it... later. "After I die." Don't say die. he laughed. "Mitch, I'm going to die, and soon." He looked at the new machine. "It's so big," he said.Immediately I had an offended feeling, which journalists often have, and I started to realize that putting a tape recorder between friends really does feel weird and unnatural, and now that there are so many people wanting to share Morrie's time , Am I asking for too much by doing this?

Look, I took back the tape recorder and said, we don't have to use this thing.If it makes you uncomfortable-- He stops me, wags his fingers, and removes the glasses from the bridge of his nose, which are hung around his neck by a string.He looked me straight in the face and said, "Put it down." I put down the machine. "Mitch," he went on, softer, "you don't understand. I want to tell you about my life. I'm going to tell you everything while I can." His voice became weaker. "I want someone to hear my story. Would you like to?" I nod. We sat in silence for a while.

"Okay," he said, "press record?" The truth is, this tape recorder is more than just nostalgia, I'm about to lose Morrie, everyone is about to lose him--his family, his friends, his former students, his colleagues, the people with whom he was so close Emotional current affairs discussion group buddies, his former dance buddies, everyone.I figured these tapes might be like a photo or a videotape, a steal of something from the deathbox without wasting any time. But I also became more and more aware of his courage.his humor.His patience and his frankness told me that Morrie's attitude towards life is different from others.That's a healthier attitude, a wiser attitude.And he is about to leave us.

When I first met Morrie on "Nightline," I couldn't help but wonder what kind of regrets he would have when he knew his death was near.He bemoaned his lost friend?Will he change his way of life again?Secretly I wondered, if I were in his position, wouldn't my mind be filled with bitter thoughts about what I was about to lose?A secret you regret not telling? When I shared these thoughts with Morrie, he nodded. "That's what everyone has to worry about, isn't it? If today is my death day, what will happen to me?" He studied my face, maybe he saw my difficult choice psychology.I thought about the day when I suddenly collapsed on the workbench while writing a press release, and when the ambulance crew carried me away, the editors were rushing to get my manuscript.

"Mitch?" Morrie asked. I shook my head and said nothing.Morrie saw my ambivalence. "Mitch," he said, "our culture doesn't encourage you to think about that kind of stuff, so you only think about it when you're dying. We focus on very selfish things: career, family, making money, Paying off the mortgage, buying a new car, fixing the heater - getting stuck in a never-ending chore just to survive. So we're not used to stepping back and looking at our lives and asking, is that all? This is what I need Everything? Is there anything missing?" He paused.

"You need someone to guide you. Life doesn't happen overnight." I know what he's talking about.We all need a mentor to guide us in our lives. And my mentor was sitting across from me. OK, I thought to myself.If I am going to be that student, then I will try to be a good student. On the plane back to Detroit that day, I made a list on my yellow legal pad of topics we were going to cover, from happiness to aging, from birth to death, and of course there are a lot of self-help books on the subject. Thousands of them, not counting the shows on cable TV and the $90-an-hour counseling sessions.America has long since become a Persian bazaar for do-it-yourself gadgets.

But it seems that there is still no clear answer, should we care about others or our own spiritual world?Should we restore traditional values ​​or abandon tradition?The pursuit of success or the pursuit of indifference?Should I say no or do it? What I do know is this: My old professor Morrie isn't jumping on the self-help bandwagon.Standing on the railroad tracks, listening to the whistle of the death train, he knew exactly what was most important in life. I need this awakening.Everyone who is confused and lost needs this awakening. "Ask me questions," Morrie kept saying. So I listed this directory:

die fear senescence desire marriage family society forgive meaningful life This catalog was in my bag when I returned to West Newtown for the fourth time.It was a Tuesday in late August, and the central air conditioning at Logan Airport was malfunctioning, and people were fanning.Angrily wiping sweat from my brow, every face I saw looked horribly cannibalistic. When my final year of college was just beginning, I had completed several sociology courses and was within a few credits of my degree.Morrie suggested that I write a magna cum laude thesis. ① After passing the dissertation, an honorary degree can be obtained.

I?I asked.Write what? "What are you interested in?" We discussed and discussed and finally decided to write about sports.I started a year-long dissertation course writing about how American football had become a ritual, a mass religion and a drug.I didn't expect that this would be an internship and exercise for my future career.All I knew at the time was that it offered me the opportunity to meet Morrie once a week. With his help, I wrote a 120-page dissertation in the spring. The dissertation included information, notes, and citations, and it was bound beautifully with black leather as the cover.I took the pride and elation of a junior baseball player after he hits his first home run and put it in Morrie's hands.

"Congratulations," Morrie said. I couldn't be happier when he was flipping through my thesis.I survey his office: bookcases, hardwood floors, rugs, sofas.I thought to myself, I have sat in every possible place in this room. "Mitch," Morrie said thoughtfully, straightening his glasses. "With a paper like that, maybe we should call you back for graduate school." OK, I said. I chuckled to myself, but the suggestion was tempting for a while.I was both afraid of leaving school and anxious to leave it.reverse force.I looked at Morrie who was reading the thesis, thinking about the vast world outside.