Garry Shandling was a relative nobody in 1977.
The late comedian and writer would go on to a tremendously successful career in Hollywood and on stand up stages around the country, but around the time Star Wars was dazzling the minds of thousands for the first time, Shandling was just another young screenwriter in Hollywood, struggling to make a name for himself. He had sold a script or two for some of the top shows of the day, but he feared he wasn’t good enough to actually tell his own jokes and to make it as a legitimate comedian.
And then he died—almost.
One day, Shandling got into a minor car accident in Beverly Hills. While inspecting the damage to his and the other car, a third car came along and hit them back, trapping Shandling between the cars and crushing his spleen. He was in critical condition for two days and remained hospitalized for two weeks.
When he got out of the hospital, Shandling had found new vigor for his true calling as a comedian. Motivated by his second chance at life, Shandling threw away his old fears and got up on stage. It turns out he was pretty good, and thus began the career of one of the most influential comedians in entertainment history.
Yet, all of it would have gone for naught, were Shandling to have avoided that accident. Without the understanding it gave him about the shortness of life and the need to make the most of every day, it seems unlikely that he would have ever achieved success to the degree it did.
So many of us go through the life afraid to take that necessary step that could propel us to reach for our dreams. We do “well enough.” We don’t need to push ourselves. Taking that step means putting something at risk, possibly failing, maybe even dying. So why do it?
The biggest lie we tell ourselves is that we will live forever. We would rather remain blissfully ignorant of our certain doom, comfortable in the unknown of “when.” For most, the only way to break out of this spell, short of massive success being handed to us on a platter, is to receive a harsh reminder of our own mortality. To die—almost.
Consider the dilemma, if you were certain that a loved one would survive a near death experience and then use it to fuel a resoundingly successful and well-lived life, would you orchestrate that act to drive them to achieve and go beyond their heretofore untraversed limits?
Probably not, as few would wish to live with the guilt of having done harm to a loved one, even with the best of intentions. I would certainly count myself among these. So instead, I will “hope” that you die—almost. And find the inspiration in life you currently lack.
Of course, if you find a way to do it without the whole “death” part, please do reach out. I need guest writers.