The Accidental Optimist's Guide to Life

By Emily Joy

Exploring an inimitable philosophy of hope and humor through a variety of ups and downs, this quirky recollection illustrates the author’s search for the meaning of life. Depicting her experiences as the only doctor on call for an entire hospital in Sierra Leone in the midst of civil war, this portrait tells a story of optimism triumphing over what might elsewhere be the makings of disappointment and despair. From births and illnesses to family deaths and problem pets, this frank and unpredictable memoir demonstrates the remarkable insights that can be discovered from living through the seemingly unremarkable.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eye Books
• Release date: Sep 1, 2005
• ISBN: 9781908646781

Book preview

Answers?

Prologue

Why were the philosophers such pessimists?

It’s bad today and every day it will get worse until the worst of all happens. Schopenhauer (1788-1860).

How are these grumpy old men going to help anyone understand the meaning of life? Only three out of the ‘great philosophers’ ever married. So there they were, oblivious of over half the human race, naval gazing in their caves, private rooms or gardens, undisturbed by small children, the need to make dinner or change a nappy.

The only women to make a grudging appearance in the top one hundred philosophers were St Julian of Norwich (a nun with a man’s name) and, depending on the compiler, Simone de Beauvoir and Mary Wollstonecraft. Simone never married either (lived with Jean Paul Satre, no children) but Mary Wollstonecraft married after her first child, then had a second daughter. At last a parent – a mother even! (I’m not saying everyone has to reproduce, but mankind does rather rely on someone doing it.)

Virtue can only flourish among equals. Mary Wollstonecraft (1759-97)

Unfortunately Mary died after childbirth. The women were obviously too busy risking their lives for the continuation of life itself to philosophise about it. Maybe it is this fact of death that gives the pessimists the upper hand?

So we are left with 97% men telling us what to think. Do they really also have to be grumpy and old? Old people know more of course. I have many magnificent older patients who are cheerful, grateful and stoic, often having lived through huge hardships and loss. For them, death is a fact of life, and may even be a wonderful thing. These are the people I want to listen to. The grumpy old man, however, assumes death will be a ‘bad thing’ so no wonder that as they approach that ‘bad thing’, each ache and pain and disappointment is another nail, and they get a bit scared, and thus even grumpier.

The man who is a pessimist before 48 knows too much; if he is an optimist after it, he knows too little. Mark Twain (1835-1910).

Help! I’ve only got 6 years left! I’ve always been an optimist, I can’t help it, I was born that way, but suddenly I feel like part of an endangered species. What’s worse is that as I get older, I can feel pessimism infect my being. I can no longer call myself a cheerful young woman. I’m not getting enough sleep; I’m tired and grumpy; I shout at my kids; I get to the end of the day and would rather slump in front of the TV with a glass of wine than save the world. And I confess I’m not at all serene and accepting of death, not for me and not for my family.

I’m also a bit disappointed in Mr. Twain. He was one of the few great novelists who didn’t wallow in misery (even Shakespeare was only allowed to give his plays happy endings if he called them comedies). Is the only way to avoid coming down with a nasty dose of pessimism is to stick our fingers in our ears and go ‘la-di-da-di-da’? Why is negativity deemed wisdom? I need these great minds to chivvy me up, not push me over the edge! Optimists don’t have to be deluded, even though I’m a firm believer that a bit of healthy delusion can be a lifesaver. Are there any intelligent optimists, or is that just an oxymoron?

This is going to take brains, not brawn. Bagheera.

"You better believe it, and I’m loaded with both." Baloo the Bear. (Jungle Book, Walt Disney 1967).

Ah, that’s better – Baloo always cheers me up. There are brainy optimists who are truly loaded with both.

I have not failed. I’ve just found 10,000 ways that don’t work. Thomas ‘the Light Bulb’ Edison (1847 – 1931).

Mr Edison isn’t smiling (they didn’t in these old photos) but he doesn’t look grumpy. Neither does this next chap…

Only those who attempt the absurd can achieve the impossible.

There are two ways to live; you can live as if nothing is a miracle, or you can live as if everything is a miracle. Albert Einstein (1879 – 1955)

Good old scientists, not just thinking, but trying to prove. Whilst I’m feeling positive towards and scientists, researchers at the Mayo Clinic have shown that being an optimist is good for your health – Optimists live 19% longer (and enjoy it more). Martin Seligman, a Professor of Positive Psychology, wrote Learned Optimism and Authentic Happiness as part of his crusade to teach people to be Optimists on purpose. I must applaud the valiant effort by this Purposeful Optimist (and a highly educated man). The world needs more optimists!

But we also need to nurture all the optimists we already have. Optimists are a precious resource. We cannot afford to lose any to the Contagion of Pessimists, just because some things don’t go according to plan. I was an Accidental Optimist, with my happy childhood, job that I love, adventurous travels, lovely husband and three beautiful children, but now I’m getting a bit older, I’m finding I have to try. I wrote this book, not to convert pessimists, but to encourage my own inner optimist, and any other optimists out there, with a few optimistic goals:

Prove Mark Twain wrong. Getting older shouldn’t mean an inexorable slide into pessimism.

Redress the balance of thinkers: more optimists, more women and more parents thinking as well as doing. (I wondered about including those naturally optimistic beings – children - but decided that they should just be having fun.)

Get some perspective. This is life. Things go wrong, but optimism remains the best defence against adversity.

Encourage all Optimists (Accidental, Purposeful, Trainee or Lapsed) to stay out of the closet. Perhaps we can reach a critical mass to provide optimistic ‘herd immunity’ from the pessimists.

Discover the meaning of life...

The Meaning of Life - Where to start?

Let other pens dwell on guilt and misery. Jane Austen (1775-1817)

Ms Austen might have been the Queen of Happy Endings, but that was fiction. If you really want optimism in the face of adversity, then St Julian of Norwich (1342-1423) is your woman. She wrote this whilst living through the Black Death.

All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.

That’s more like it. See, don’t you feel better just reading that – even though I do wonder if she is protesting just a little too much? No, no, I will not let sleep deprivation, middle-age and cynicism destroy my inner optimist, just because she was a saint and didn’t have a husband or children to contend with. All shall be well. It shall! It shall!

What I really need is a happy intellectual, preferably not a saint, who led a normal sort of life, didn’t dwell on guilt and misery and who can give me a practical, realistic framework for leading a better life; somewhere between ‘we’re all doomed’ and ‘don’t worry, be happy.’ So I Googled ‘life’ and the ‘meaning of life’, and scrolled down pages of philosophers, biologists, theologians and psychologists to try and find someone who was smiling. (Okay, I have too many children and too little time to look up the resulting 500 million entries, but I did spend 20 minutes on line with my daughter on my knee and half an hour in the library whilst the boys were at a swimming lesson). Anyway my smiler is…

Abraham Maslow (1908-1970).

Admittedly he’s a man, but I think Mary Wollstonecraft will forgive me (she wanted equality for women, not power over men). What Dr. Maslow did have was six siblings (I’m an only child, and am always impressed by the life survival skills siblings bring), a wife and two children. His hierarchy of needs is rightly famous – a nice simple triangle to explain everything. Not a circle with its complicated mathematical variables and philosophical considerations of beginnings and ends, nor a rhomboid or even a double helix, but a triangle.

Maslow said you couldn’t fulfill your ‘higher’ needs until your basic needs were met. These ‘lower’ needs he termed ‘deficiency’ needs, implying you only seek out the oxygen, food, water and sleep that you need, and once satisfied, you don’t want more. (Rubbish, there’s always room for more chocolate). Oh dear, I haven’t made it to the end of the Prologue without falling out with Dr. Maslow. Never mind, life would be boring if we all agreed.

In the first section I’m not only going to challenge Dr. Maslow to dig me out of my enormous pile of needs, but I’m going to ask anybody else who might have any useful insights on life that take my fancy. After all, life includes blue green algae, dinosaurs and the Universe - not just the over-evolved psyche of a few selfish bipeds. Asking around might make me a bit of philosophical slut, but Socrates asked people on the streets of Athens what they thought. What’s good enough for the Great Granddaddy of Philosophy, is good enough for me. And Socrates had a wife!

If you want to skip to the third section for the ‘Answers’ then that’s fine, but in the second section, I’m going to apply all this good advice to my own life and see if I could have rescued myself from those moments of optimism failure. Everything that happens will have happened to someone else, and perhaps I could have learned from others’ mistakes rather than having to make them all myself? Having said that, you can’t help a chicken to hatch, it has to break its own egg. I suspect you’ll have to mess-up all by yourself for maximum development. Still, if you’d like to try cheating a little, here’s my guide to the series of accidents that make up the triangle of life.

Section 1

Climbing The Pyramid

1. Life is Fragile

The Bottom Rung: Basic Needs

Life is defined by the ability of the organism to metabolise, excrete, breathe, grow, respond to external stimuli and reproduce. My Mum (retired biology teacher)

Look for the bear necessities, the simple bear necessities. Baloo the Bear

To live at all is miracle enough. Mervyn Peake

Prioritise Your Life

Prioritise Your Life! I came across an article whilst sifting through a pile of junk mail and children’s drawings looking for my chequebook. Hmmm. It talked about financial investments and aromatherapy facials. Not a single mention of the bare necessities that apply whether you’re the Queen, a tree, an amoeba or a bear. Not even a suggestion that food, water, oxygen or sleep might be a priority. Nor any acknowledgment of the need for our other miraculous biological homeostatic mechanisms to be functioning, such as maintaining our pH and temperature within tiny margins. Nor did it suggest that it might be more important to have the smooth disposal of our bodily wastes rather than a smooth face or a very smooth extra percentage point on our interest rates.

Never mind, Dr. Maslow’s hierarchy of needs to the rescue. He constructed a list of priorities inspired by his study of monkeys. And Dr. Maslow’s monkeys knew their priorities. If they were hungry and thirsty, they would satisfy their thirst before their hunger. Once they’d had a drink, they forgot all about thirst, and could think about their bellies. Bellies full and bladders and bowels emptied, they could then start making more monkeys.

So forget my chequebook, the mortgage, my wrinkles and my cellulite, I’m going to prioritise my life according to a more fundamental analysis than the one offered by today’s hyperbolic marketing gurus. Let’s start with my favourite basic need. Food. Baloo’s favourite bare necessity too, although his preference was for paw-paws, prickly pears, honey and ants. I must say I’d have to be very hungry indeed to eat ants (with or without honey). Give me chocolate any time.

Food

You Can Never Get Enough Chocolate

Chocolate chok’ (a-) lit, n. preparation in the form of a paste or solid block made from roasted and ground cacao seeds, usually sweetened.

Well if you put it like that, it doesn’t sound terribly exciting. So why are there 28 million entries if you Google chocolate? That’s 11 million more entries than for the meaning of life! Is chocolate the answer to life the universe and everything?

He’s just adorable, the waitress said. Yes, Art, our nine month old baby, had the capacity to be most adorable. Would he like a chocolate?

That’s kind, but no, I answered, a first-time middle class doctor mum with all sorts of nutritional ideals for our precious child.

No thank you, echoed Danny, Art’s doting Dad. He’s never had choc…oh.

Art had already snatched the chocolate from the waitress and was ripping off the shiny wrapper. Why? Why did he know it was something he really, really wanted when he had never had it? Was it the smell? Was it the shiny wrapper? Was it that we had said ‘no’?

Our springer spaniel is no better. Bo can sniff out chocolate, double-wrapped inside a box inside a carrier bag sitting amongst ten full carrier bags of the weekly shop. Why? Chocolate is poisonous for dogs (and horses and parrots, apparently). A three stone dog will be poisoned by a half-pound bar of chocolate. A pound of chocolate will give it fits, internal bleeds and heart attacks. But does that put Bo off? No way! Chocolate is poisonous for humans too (if you ate twenty pounds at one sitting - no mean feat, even for me). But look at its benefits!

Chocolate contains over 300 chemicals, including the flavinoids, which lower blood pressure and protect against heart attacks and cancer. Chocolate triggers all the same responses as falling in love, with its secret ingredients such as the psychoactive theobromide, phenyl ethylamine (a cousin of the amphetamines), and small quantities of anadamide (a cannabis-like compound). Chocolate’s so good, it’s banned in racehorses.

But it’s bad for your teeth and will give you spots! Wrong, wrong. Cacao butter is thought to actually protect you from dental plaque and several trials have shown that chocolate doesn’t make acne any worse. It will of course make you fat* as it’s full of sugar and saturated fats, which we humans are genetically programmed to love. Breast milk, for instance, is full of sugar, so we had a sweet tooth before we even had teeth, and in Stone-age days you might go for a week without food, so you crammed in as many high energy fats and sugars as you possibly could to stave off the forthcoming famine.

Obviously we fat people are just perfect evolutionary survivors from the Stone Age, when the ability to pig out was a lifesaver. Unfortunately, all stuffing yourself does in our times of plenty, is give you diabetes, painful hips and knees and a broken heart (both literally and figuratively).

I have a theory about fat people and thin people. Under stress, thin people lose their appetite, whereas stressed fat people comfort eat. And of course, chocolate is the perfect comfort food, with its melting point being just below human body temperature, so that it melts in the mouth. Ah! Chocolate!

Chocolate covers the whole of Maslow’s pyramid:

Basic needs. Eat it or use it to buy other bare necessities (many Central American tribes used cacao liquid or beans as currency) and of course there’s 20 reasons why it’s better than sex (good when soft, not scared of commitment etc.).

Safety needs. You’ll never feel safer than drinking a nice warm mug of hot chocolate.

Love and belonging. Casanova and the Aztec Emperor Montezuma used it as an aphrodisiac and the Aztecs associated cacao with the god of fertility. Today anyone bearing gifts of chocolate will increase their chances of being loved.

Esteem. It makes you feel good.

Cognitive needs. It’s full of brain-enhancing chemicals.

Aesthetic needs. It looks and tastes beautiful.

Self-actualisation? Hmmm? I’m sure I’ll think of something.

It seems miraculous to me that mankind managed to live without it for thousands of years. The first recorded chocolate beverage was made from the chocolate tree (Theobroma Cacao) and drunk by the Aztecs in the fifteenth century, although the Maya Indians were probably using it long before that. Actual chocolate bars didn’t make an appearance until the nineteenth century, which means, I regret to say, that chocolate cannot be a panacea for our needs. Perhaps, just perhaps, chocolate is masking unfulfilled needs?

Give up chocolate and get a life? No, no, I can’t believe I just said that.

Fat People and Thin People

Lisa (thin person) and I (fat person) were sent to Sierra Leone with Voluntary Service Overseas. Lisa was a nurse tutor and I was a doctor and we shared a house at Serabu Mission Hospital. After sixteen months of chocolate deprivation (me) and three months deprivation (Lisa), we had visitors from the land of chocolate who presented us with two bumper bars of Toblerone. Wow! Now they could come again! My last remaining piece of chocolate (a Minstrel, I remember it well) had been borne off by an army of ants, and my best friend’s attempts to fulfil my chocolate needs resulted in a sticky brown package covered in teethmarks, a few shreds of foil and a paper doily that had once been the letter wrapped around the bar of rich dark Bourneville. (And I hope chocolate is poisonous to rats too!) Anyway, this time I was going to nurture my chocolate, so we laid our Toblerone carefully in the fridge, side by side, hoping that eight hours electricity out of twenty-four, would be enough to keep the chocolate under melting point.

I was ENORMOUSLY impressed with myself for making my Toblerone last nearly three days!!!!! Lisa’s however, sat in the fridge, with just the tiniest of nibbles from the corner, for over SIX WEEKS.

Every day I would gaze on Lisa’s Toblerone and salivate. One night I had been up for hours, repairing the ruptured bowel of a man who had fallen from a palm tree, with the DIY instruction book in one hand and a scalpel in the other. I came home exhausted in the small hours and could bear it no longer. I took my kerosene lamp to the silent fridge, pulled out the chunky triangle from its sleeve, shaved a sliver from the back end with a knife and let it melt in my mouth. Aaah! I covered the evidence carefully with the foil wrapper and replaced the chocolate bar in its cardboard sleeve. Lisa never knew.

Two months passed and over half of Lisa’s Toblerone remained. Then SHE STARTED GIVING IT TO THE CHILDREN. I wanted to hurl myself in front of her like a protester in front of a bulldozer in the Amazon forest. Why was she giving her Toblerone away to the African children who had never had chocolate in their lives and were never likely to have it again and probably (possibly) didn’t even particularly like it? Surely it was just cruelty, yes cruelty, especially after leaving it there