You have not written for a long time now. Nothing to write? I hope you don’t mind I will continue to write from time to time, even if you are a bit of an imaginary person to write to now. But then, one day, we all become some imaginary person, don’t we?
For the time being, I am still real. Struggling with disappointment, trying to get up, and start another life. There is some good news here. I think I am on top of my drinking problem. It was a weird thing. I have had trouble coping with stress all of my life, professionally or family-wise, and I guess I just copied the behavior of my dad, as he coped with that too—so I am behaving exactly the same as someone whom I don’t want to imitate. It’s like trying to avoid an obstacle in a narrow street while you’re driving too fast, or when not sober: the more you look at it, the more chance of hitting it.
It’s not that I wasn’t good at what I was doing. No. Not at all, actually. I’ve always been the best. Part of the problem is that eternal drive for perfection. High performers always have trouble accepting the inevitable imperfections.
When does a habit become an addiction? And when is an addiction harmful? I mean, alcohol is a social addiction but—as a social addiction—it is not harmful. I guess it becomes harmful when it’s your only way of coping with depression. Typically when you drink alone to get through the evening or the night, for example. I’ve come to the conclusion that, unlike what many people would think, there is actually always a good reason to start drinking, but, yes, there is, perhaps, no good reason to continue drinking. However, once you’re there—once it has become second nature—you need an even better reason than the one that got you going to quit.
Fortunately, I have a good reason to quit. My kids are here, in Belgium, and I need to look good and strong so as to make sure they don’t worry about me. Kids shouldn’t worry about their parents. That’s just not how life is meant to be. Or perhaps it is, but I don’t want it to be that way.
I want to die like my mom did—one day, but not now. She said goodbye in a powerful gesture. She greeted Death in the most cheerful of manners and only asked one favor: she wanted to chose the moment herself. So she did, and we were all with her. I don’t want to copy my dad. I got many of his greatest talents and gifts—including that desire that often drives me crazy: I want to understand. I want to truly understand.
That often drives me nuts. The book I am going to publish on quantum mechanics could only have been written because of those long and lonely nights, fueled by alcohol to soothe the pain in my heart and in my soul. It was born out of darkness. I don’t want to do such things anymore. I want life to be good, so I’ll try to be good to myself.
I’ll turn 50 later this month. I want to count down again after reaching that milestone: I just want to turn back and count down again. 49, 48, 47, etcetera. I want to be on top of Mont Blanc again one day. I will.
I hope you are well. You should keep inspiring.