Life Is a 4-Letter Word - David A. Levy

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Uncool Effort

       The Booby Prize

       Obviously

       Inverted Self-Esteem

       When Intuition Goes Awry

       The Prozac Dilemma

       Pseudo-Worries

       “He Just Doesn’t Understand”

       Lying or Crazy?

       “We Hold These Truths…”

       Biofeedback

       Journey B. Goode

       To Love, Honor, and Betray

       Zorro Goes Home

       Perfectly Flawed

       The Third Act

       Final Request

       Epilogue: The Shot — Redux

       Appendix: “The Lessons”

       P.S.

       Acknowledgments

       About the Author

      Foreword

      David Levy has nailed what it means to glean all the greatness out of life’s masterful lessons in his new book, Life Is a 4-Letter Word. Laugh along with him, as I did, while drinking in these warm-hearted anecdotal stories that will help you keep life in perspective.

      Kristine Carlson, co-author of the

      Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff books

      Prologue

      I can still remember the antiseptic smell of the doctor’s office and the feel of the cold metal examination table underneath my naked six-year-old legs. My white jockey shorts provided the only shroud of protection and dignity I had left, barely buffering me from utter humiliation. My mom sat close by, patient but helpless.

      Of course, every kid hates shots. But I especially hated shots. The mere thought of that cold, shiny, spiky tool of torture nearly paralyzed me with terror. But I was also a very verbal kid. And when I was anxious, I’d talk. A lot. It was my best defense — in fact, frequently my only defense.

      The nurse’s name was Gabe. I know that because I can vividly picture that ominous name embroidered in dark red stitching on her crisp white uniform. Outside of the office, Gabe was probably a decent enough woman. But when armed with that wicked weapon, Nurse Gabe was nothing more to me than a heartless bureaucrat, whose only function was to inflict her merciless will on me before moving on to the next hapless child.

      The door flung open with a thud, followed by Nurse Gabe, holding The Shot with the nonchalance of a mailman merely delivering the next package. Instantly, I felt that familiar raw panic coldly surging through my tiny veins. She made her approach, ready to stab me with her bayonet. I counter-attacked with a barrage of questions: “No, wait! What kind of shot is it? Wait! Is it a booster shot? Wait, wait! Is it a tetanus shot?” Nurse Gabe turned to me and said simply but firmly: “David, you can ask me all the questions you want. But you’re going to get the shot.”

      She had me. Checkmate. I realized there was nothing more I could do or say. I had run out of escape routes. I reluctantly offered her my arm, wrenched my head away, scrunched my eyes, held my breath, and prayed it would be over quickly…which, to my surprise, it actually was.

      Don’t get me wrong, it was really bad. But not nearly as bad as the gut-wrenching agony of all that waiting. When there’s no getting around something, it’s best just to go through it. And when it’s inevitable, the sooner the better.

      Although my experience with The Shot happened nearly sixty years ago, it still lives inside me. And the lesson I took from it has carried me through decades of life’s challenges: Why put off the inevitable? In a very profound sense, Nike had it right: “Just Do It.”

      The power of this lesson inspired me to start collecting other stories from my life that captured some important moral. Whenever I’d recall one, I’d grab whatever was handy — a Post-It note, a scrap of paper, a napkin — and scribble down a few key words as a reminder:

      •what do women want?

      •beat by a computer at tic-tac-toe

      •press button for better sound

      •you are NOT going to Disneyland!

      •the booby prize of life

      One by one, I would place them into a folder labeled LIFE LESSONS, stash it in my filing cabinet, and then get back to doing whatever it was I was doing.

      Over the years, the folder became thicker and thicker, eventually brimming with dozens of notes. I hadn’t given much thought to what I was going to do — if anything — with them. But I knew they were important to me.

      On occasion, in my work as a psychologist and a professor, I’d share a few of these anecdotes when they seemed relevant. I was struck by how frequently they resonated with others. I came to realize the impact of these stories is a result of their being both personal and real.

      Gradually, the collection of ideas metamorphized into the form of a book. I decided at the outset that I did not want this book comprised of my experiences as a therapist working with clients. There are several such books out there — many of them quite good. Instead, I envisioned a book that reflected experiences of everyday living, both ordinary and extraordinary: passing moments, distressing episodes, all kinds of occurrences that most people can relate to.

      But how to organize these anecdotes? At first, I toyed with the idea of grouping them by themes: facing fears, letting go, envy, aging, life is grand, life sucks, and so on. However, as I amassed more and more of these stories, a different structure emerged. I saw that, when placed in roughly chronological order, they traced the arc of my growth, my development, my life — story by story.

      As you pass through the gallery of these essays, I hope they will prompt you to reflect on your own stories and life lessons. Maybe you can even share them with others, as I’ve done with you…

      #

      P. S. The names used throughout this book are real. (Except those that aren’t.)

      “PLAY THE COMPUTER AT TIC-TAC-TOE.” The innocent invitation was posted at a local corner shopping center one sunny Saturday afternoon. “Not much of a challenge,” I smugly mused. “How hard could this be?” After all, I had long since mastered this game for tots.

      Mind you, I wasn’t exactly sure what a computer actually was. But no matter. This was the early 1960s, I was nearly eight years old, and everything was possible. It was going to be a battle of the ages: Boy versus Computer. And I was gonna kick the computer’s electronic butt.

      I confidently strode into the exhibit tent, which was sponsored by IBM or Bell Labs, or some other creator of futuristic technological wonders. As I took my place in line, my eyes were drawn to a massive sign hanging ominously above the computer screen: “YOU

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