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Genie, I Wish You Free

This morning as I awoke, the thoughts of Robin Williams’ death barged into my mind again. I’d never met him, but like millions around the world, his apparent suicide has left me troubled as if he were a family member. This is one we all feel more than we logically should.

Did anyone not love Robin Williams?

Our grief seems pretentious – truly only family and close friends knew him, if anyone did. Yet we feel we’ve lost a friend.  For a man so filled with apparent joy, his passing brings questions that bother us.

How could anyone that loved by so many people not be happy?

The obvious answer is to point to his continued battle with depression and substance abuse, both of which are serious and life-threatening. Then we learned he not only was suffering from Parkinson’s disease but also a form of progressive dementia (diffuse Lewy body dementia).

He wasn’t alone – he had a family who evidently loved him very much. He had warm friendships with many gifted people we’d all love to know. News came out last month he was in treatment for addiction, but that was a struggle he had always acknowledged transparently. Yet with all he had going for him, including a loving support system and the collective admiration of the world, it wasn’t enough.

One thing performers realize is that the love of an audience is thrilling only for a time. When the audience goes home, you’re left with who you really are. Those who look on adoringly never realize talent is as much a responsibility as a gift. One thing repeated by the endless talking heads on TV has been how he was always “on”, joking and entertaining anyone near him. While that seems lovable, it’s also evidence of someone with an insatiable need to please.

That need, while so entertaining for us, may have been a curse for him.

It’s always surprised me how people react to my piano-playing. No, I’m not the musical equivalent of Robin Williams – far from it – but I play a pretty good piano. I can’t count the number of people who’ve come up to me and said, “Boy, I’d give anything to do that. It must be a thrill to be able to play beautiful music any time you want!”

Well, sort of…but not how you think. Creative performance is fun for the performer in about the same way your golf game is fun for you. You get in a zone focused on one thing, you forget about your other problems for a while, and the people with you have a good time together. But it is not the transformative, transcendent experience non-musicians think it is.

Join me in the orchestra pit of the next show I play and look at the bored expressions on the musician’s faces. No transcendence, just guys doing their craft, same as any other craft. Sure, we take pride in doing it well, and there are moments of fun when we get to play something we like. But that’s it, so stop beating yourself up for quitting piano lessons. You played football, I played piano. Not much is different except that my knees probably work better than yours now.

The Bible talks about the key to happiness in a stunningly simple way:

“God gives some people the ability to enjoy the wealth and property he gives them, as well as the ability to accept their state in life and enjoy their work. They do not worry about how short life is, because God keeps them busy with what they love to do.” (Ecclesiastes 5:19-20)

So it would appear the key to happiness is a matter of focus and acceptance. You focus on the things you enjoy and not on your failures and the fact that the clock is running out. But talent, fame, money? Those have little effect.

I’m not saying Williams didn’t know that truth, nor am I offering him up as a cautionary tale. I loved him probably as much as you did. My understanding is in that last decade of his life, his faith in Jesus gained a new vibrancy. It appears he had faith in Christ for what would happen to him after death, even though it appears he may have hastened that death. If you think no believer could ever be tempted to end things, you haven’t experienced some of the hard things I have.

I am saying his life is a reminder to us never to presume people are OK, just because they have a lot going for them. Like Robin, we’re all fragile and need purpose in life. That purpose is found in the simple things, not the flashy ones. So after we’ve taken time to mourn his passing and pray for his family, let’s remember to stay focused on the things in our own lives that matter and forget the ones that don’t.

And let’s remember that the gifted, funny person sitting next to us may actually need some encouragement. When you look at someone, you rarely see the battle going on behind their eyes. So…tread carefully, and always be kind.

Rest well, Robin. We’ll miss you.

2 Comments

  • Sheri
    Posted August 12, 2014 at 11:18 am

    Beautifully written, Dave. Depression is a disease most people don’t understand. For those who have never dealt with it personally, there is no way to know how debilitating it can be. It goes far beyond feeling sad or blue. Depression can hijack a life and paralyze a person, making even the most basic tasks impossible. Getting out of bed, picking the kids up from school and interacting with people becomes overwhelming. I speak from experience having dealt with it all my life. For those close to me, the signs are very clear, others have a harder time discerning there is anything wrong.

    Depression can be caused by a chemical imbalance and helped a great deal with the right medication. Often there are other factors that come into play exacerbating the condition. Depression hits people of all ages from teenagers to adults, at any time. Some of the first noticeable symptoms are the inability to get out of bed in the morning, no matter how much sleep you get. Excessive sleeping or napping throughout the day. Eating too much or not at all. Withdrawing from friends and family. Symptoms of depression last longer than two weeks. Everyone has a bad day or feels sad, that does not qualify as depression. Telling someone who is clinically depressed to, Cheer Up or Get Over It, does not help. If we could cheer up, we would. If we could get over it, we’d try. We can pretend to be happy, and often times will, to make you feel better. We can even pull it off for a time. Likely, Robin Williams felt compelled to ‘put on a happy face’ for those around him. It was expected of him. But it doesn’t last long and only makes us feel more tired having to use the limited energy we have to appease those around us. Because my sense of humor is so much a part of who I am, I understand how Robin Williams could have masked the depth of his despair so easily. I also understand how sad and alone he must have felt, even when surrounded by people who loved him.

    Fortunately, depression is treatable. Most of the time mine is under control and I’ve come to recognize when I need to reach out for help or give myself the rest I need. Limiting stress, accepting help and love from others goes a long way in my ability to stay in the light. My hope for anyone who suffers from depression is to know, even in the darkest place, that help is available. Even when people around you can’t understand you, they still love and care about you. Depression tells you life is not worth living. That is the cruelest trick the disease plays on you.

    These days a family doctor can prescribe medication, seek out a physician immediately and if you need extra counseling, get that as well, but get the symptoms under control. Most medication helps within 7-10 days, and you will feel more like yourself quicker than you think. You are not weak, you have a disease. You are not crazy or worthless, even if you feel like you are.
    It may be cliche to say good will come out of Robin Williams death, but good will come. Depression is uncomfortable to talk about and carries unnecessary shame, but we are talking about it. I think Robin Williams would be okay with that.

    • Post Author
      davegipson@hotmail.com
      Posted August 12, 2014 at 12:12 pm

      Thanks, Sheri. I think what you wrote is already proof something good can come out of this tragedy. Thanks for your transparency and insight!

      Dave

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Our dream house was a 120-year old 3-story Victorian home. It was just a few blocks away from one of the loveliest parks in the city and the same distance from the church I pastored. I could literally walk to work, and did so on many mornings. How convenient!

Unlike the other brick houses that lined the streets nearby, this one was painted light yellow and stood apart from the rest. Plaster reliefs of baby angels wrapped around the base of the house. They represented the children of the original owners, making the structure even more unique. It also had a three-car garage at the back of it. Few houses in this older section of town had one as large, and many people resorted to parking on the street. But not us! On just an average salary, we had bought one of the nicest places to live in the area. 

I had always dreamed of owning a Victorian home. I had performed the role of Prof. Henry Higgins from the musical My Fair Lady right before we moved to our new city. So I was primed to live the life of the English gentleman, sipping tea in my beautiful old house. I loved the old wood, the stained glass windows, and our “penthouse suite” for my wife and me on the top floor. We’d be sequestered away from the noise of our little girls playing below us. It all seemed so ideal.

But it turned out to be anything but ideal. Our “Golden House”, as our little girls came to call it, was not so golden. In fact, our dream house almost killed us, quite literally. 

One afternoon I got a call at the church. It was Dawn, my wife, and she was sobbing hysterically. Finally I was able to make out enough of her words to understand what was happening.

“I fell…come home!”

Almost 20 years ago, my wife had been in a bad car accident that crushed her right leg. That ankle couldn’t turn at all. So as I ran the 5 blocks to my home, I knew what had happened.

When I got to the house, I found Dawn in the basement. She was headed to the washer and drier there, and had misjudged a step going down. She hit the concrete floor hard.

After getting her to the hospital, thankfully we learned nothing had been broken. However, that would be just the first of several falls for Dawn down those steps. We eventually moved the washer and drier up to the second floor, which helped a little. But the bottom line was a three-story house with narrow stairways were not meant for a woman who had challenges with mobility.

I also learned having your bedroom on the third-floor is not a good idea for a chubby guy in his mid-50s. There were a few days I wondered if I’d still be alive by the time I reached the top floor. Though I began on the stairway to the bedroom, I might end up on the stairway to heaven…

Then there was the city. Dawn and I always loved culture, restaurants, theater and all the things a great city has to offer. So living there, we felt like kids in a candy store. There was always some new restaurant to explore, always a show playing somewhere, and interesting people living all around us. It seemed ideal.

Except for crime. And taxes. Many cities are big on those, and ours was no exception. We had both in abundance.

One of our regular nightly diversions was watching the notifications on our community’s “Next Door App” alert us to all the recent shootings and hold-ups around us. One of us would hear gunshots, and I’d watch for the posts to pop up. I’d then calculate how close it was to our home. Many were within just a few blocks, some just down the street. 

We would occasionally get notices of some tax we hadn’t paid. Usually, we neglected to pay because the city had neglected to ever send a bill. Then one day, you get a notice you’re being sent to a collections agency, even though you still hadn’t received a bill yourself. 

Once we got a bill for trash pick-up. We were confused because we paid a refuse bill on time every month. But a lady on the phone informed us what we had paid was in fact only the garbage bill. There was completely different bill that was a tax for just having trash pick up available to us in the city. This bill was paying for the “possibility” our trash might be picked up. No kidding.

I’m sure they’re still probably working on a way to collect a tax on our taxes. 

All of this added together was a painful lesson on the difference between perception and reality. After we first moved to that city and were still living in an apartment, I walked down those very streets and fantasized about how wonderful living there would be. When we found the Golden House, we rejoiced and basically cried out, “Here, take our money” to the realtor. 

But the view from the outside of a situation is always much different from the inside. Nothing is ever quite what you expect…with houses, or with life.

The problem with so many of the things we want is it’s too often based on an illusion. We think a thing, a person, or a situation will bring happiness. But happiness is never found in those things outside of us.

Real happiness only happens from the inside out.

There’s an old fashioned Bible word for this foolishness: covetousness. The prohibition against coveting is actually the 10th and final commandment. It’s easily skimmed over in favor of the more R-rated commandments against murder or adultery. Simply wanting your neighbors stuff as opposed to stealing it or killing for it seems like no big deal in comparison.

But coveting is like a powerful drug. The addict never gets enough. Once he gets that one thing he’s obsessed over, he’s disappointed to realize it doesn’t fulfill his needs and he moves on to something more. The new car he’d wanted all his life now sits in the garage most days. She can’t even remember why she bought that purse now. That’s how coveting works: whatever you get, it’s never enough. You’re always left wanting something else, and even more addicted to your desires.

Whatever my eyes desired I did not keep from them. I did not withhold my heart from any pleasure, for my heart rejoiced in all my labor; And this was my reward from all my labor. Then I looked on all the works that my hands had done and on the labor in which I had toiled; And indeed all was vanity and grasping for the wind. There was no profit under the sun. - Ecclesiastes 2:10-11

Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness, for one's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions. - Luke 12:15

There was nothing wrong with us wanting a house. But it was very wrong of me to think that it would bring us so much happiness on its own. The ideal life and fulfillment I was expecting from a house was unreasonable. 

That kind of happiness only comes from God’s address, not mine.

Inevitably, we become like kids on the day after Christmas. We’ve opened every package, played with every toy, and we’re already bored with them. The newness wore off in a day, all because we were expecting too much from them to begin with.

Most homes stop being dream houses the minute we walk into them. Reality inevitably sets in, and the “house porn” on the realtor’s website is now just a bunch of plaster and dry wall. 

We finally made it out of our dream house before it killed us. No, we didn't run screaming from it in the middle of the night like in the Shining or the Amityville Horror. When we left, it did take quite a bite out of our finances, and we had to sell for quite a bit less than we'd paid. But the wound was worth it for the lesson we learned.

We’re in a new place now, in a much smaller city. We’re renting a little one-story house we’re hoping to buy soon. We're in a little neighborhood where we hardly ever lock our front door. It's pretty boring compared to city life, but that’s just fine with me.

I’ve discovered what really makes a “dream house”. The dream is not the house, it’s the people you put in it. Regardless of the size or location, those people are what makes life worthwhile. 

Everything else is just a dream. And all that glitters is not a golden house.

Our dream house was a 120-year old 3-story Victorian home. It was just a few blocks away from one of the loveliest parks in the city and the same distance from the church I pastored. I could literally walk to work, and did so on many mornings. How convenient!

Unlike the other brick houses that lined the streets nearby, this one was painted light yellow and stood apart from the rest. Plaster reliefs of baby angels wrapped around the base of the house. They represented the children of the original owners, making the structure even more unique. It also had a three-car garage at the back of it. Few houses in this older section of town had one as large, and many people resorted to parking on the street. But not us! On just an average salary, we had bought one of the nicest places to live in the area. 

I had always dreamed of owning a Victorian home. I had performed the role of Prof. Henry Higgins from the musical My Fair Lady right before we moved to our new city. So I was primed to live the life of the English gentleman, sipping tea in my beautiful old house. I loved the old wood, the stained glass windows, and our “penthouse suite” for my wife and me on the top floor. We’d be sequestered away from the noise of our little girls playing below us. It all seemed so ideal.

But it turned out to be anything but ideal. Our “Golden House”, as our little girls came to call it, was not so golden. In fact, our dream house almost killed us, quite literally. 

One afternoon I got a call at the church. It was Dawn, my wife, and she was sobbing hysterically. Finally I was able to make out enough of her words to understand what was happening.

“I fell…come home!”

Almost 20 years ago, my wife had been in a bad car accident that crushed her right leg. That ankle couldn’t turn at all. So as I ran the 5 blocks to my home, I knew what had happened.

When I got to the house, I found Dawn in the basement. She was headed to the washer and drier there, and had misjudged a step going down. She hit the concrete floor hard.

After getting her to the hospital, thankfully we learned nothing had been broken. However, that would be just the first of several falls for Dawn down those steps. We eventually moved the washer and drier up to the second floor, which helped a little. But the bottom line was a three-story house with narrow stairways were not meant for a woman who had challenges with mobility.

I also learned having your bedroom on the third-floor is not a good idea for a chubby guy in his mid-50s. There were a few days I wondered if I’d still be alive by the time I reached the top floor. Though I began on the stairway to the bedroom, I might end up on the stairway to heaven…

Then there was the city. Dawn and I always loved culture, restaurants, theater and all the things a great city has to offer. So living there, we felt like kids in a candy store. There was always some new restaurant to explore, always a show playing somewhere, and interesting people living all around us. It seemed ideal.

Except for crime. And taxes. Many cities are big on those, and ours was no exception. We had both in abundance.

One of our regular nightly diversions was watching the notifications on our community’s “Next Door App” alert us to all the recent shootings and hold-ups around us. One of us would hear gunshots, and I’d watch for the posts to pop up. I’d then calculate how close it was to our home. Many were within just a few blocks, some just down the street. 

We would occasionally get notices of some tax we hadn’t paid. Usually, we neglected to pay because the city had neglected to ever send a bill. Then one day, you get a notice you’re being sent to a collections agency, even though you still hadn’t received a bill yourself. 

Once we got a bill for trash pick-up. We were confused because we paid a refuse bill on time every month. But a lady on the phone informed us what we had paid was in fact only the garbage bill. There was completely different bill that was a tax for just having trash pick up available to us in the city. This bill was paying for the “possibility” our trash might be picked up. No kidding.

I’m sure they’re still probably working on a way to collect a tax on our taxes. 

All of this added together was a painful lesson on the difference between perception and reality. After we first moved to that city and were still living in an apartment, I walked down those very streets and fantasized about how wonderful living there would be. When we found the Golden House, we rejoiced and basically cried out, “Here, take our money” to the realtor. 

But the view from the outside of a situation is always much different from the inside. Nothing is ever quite what you expect…with houses, or with life.

The problem with so many of the things we want is it’s too often based on an illusion. We think a thing, a person, or a situation will bring happiness. But happiness is never found in those things outside of us.

Real happiness only happens from the inside out.

There’s an old fashioned Bible word for this foolishness: covetousness. The prohibition against coveting is actually the 10th and final commandment. It’s easily skimmed over in favor of the more R-rated commandments against murder or adultery. Simply wanting your neighbors stuff as opposed to stealing it or killing for it seems like no big deal in comparison.

But coveting is like a powerful drug. The addict never gets enough. Once he gets that one thing he’s obsessed over, he’s disappointed to realize it doesn’t fulfill his needs and he moves on to something more. The new car he’d wanted all his life now sits in the garage most days. She can’t even remember why she bought that purse now. That’s how coveting works: whatever you get, it’s never enough. You’re always left wanting something else, and even more addicted to your desires.

Whatever my eyes desired I did not keep from them. I did not withhold my heart from any pleasure, for my heart rejoiced in all my labor; And this was my reward from all my labor. Then I looked on all the works that my hands had done and on the labor in which I had toiled; And indeed all was vanity and grasping for the wind. There was no profit under the sun. - Ecclesiastes 2:10-11

Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness, for one's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions. - Luke 12:15

There was nothing wrong with us wanting a house. But it was very wrong of me to think that it would bring us so much happiness on its own. The ideal life and fulfillment I was expecting from a house was unreasonable. 

That kind of happiness only comes from God’s address, not mine.

Inevitably, we become like kids on the day after Christmas. We’ve opened every package, played with every toy, and we’re already bored with them. The newness wore off in a day, all because we were expecting too much from them to begin with.

Most homes stop being dream houses the minute we walk into them. Reality inevitably sets in, and the “house porn” on the realtor’s website is now just a bunch of plaster and dry wall. 

We finally made it out of our dream house before it killed us. No, we didn't run screaming from it in the middle of the night like in the Shining or the Amityville Horror. When we left, it did take quite a bite out of our finances, and we had to sell for quite a bit less than we'd paid. But the wound was worth it for the lesson we learned.

We’re in a new place now, in a much smaller city. We’re renting a little one-story house we’re hoping to buy soon. We're in a little neighborhood where we hardly ever lock our front door. It's pretty boring compared to city life, but that’s just fine with me.

I’ve discovered what really makes a “dream house”. The dream is not the house, it’s the people you put in it. Regardless of the size or location, those people are what makes life worthwhile. 

Everything else is just a dream. And all that glitters is not a golden house.