L. G.: I am 48 years old – or 58, corrected age, according to authorities on the aging process in quadriplegics.
Now, to answer the second part of your question, I live in Ottawa, Canada, in a one-bedroom apartment. Thanks to the Canadian disability-support program, the apartment is well-suited to my special needs and the building has an office for a great team of caregivers that provide thirteen disabled adults (including me) with basic nursing care. What is more, this apartment is conveniently located near a shopping mall and faces, much to my delight, towards a lush greenbelt along the Ottawa River.
T. C.: How and when were you hurt? What is the level of your injury?
L. G.: One sunny and warm afternoon at the beginning of June 1974, I cycled to the house of a dear friend of mine, who had a pool in his backyard. To take a plunge in cool water seemed most appropriate to offset the heat. The next thing I knew, I was laying paralyzed underwater, in need of rescue. My neck was broken at the level of the fifth cervical vertebra.
I had slipped on one of the wet concrete slabs forming the edge of my friend's pool, while attempting a shallow dive in three feet of water. The dive was a miss and I hit my head on the bottom of the pool with the force of my 220 pounds. In a split-second, the big burly 17-year-old that I was – filled with dreams that matched my athletic build – became as physically helpless as a newborn child, except that in my case this helplessness was permanent.
T. C.: How did you become a writer and how long have you been one?
L. G.: A few months after my diving accident, I started to write. My first stab at writing – on an electric typewriter – was in the context of physiotherapy at a rehabilitation facility. But not long after, I became hooked on this exercise for reasons that exceeded its initial purpose, centered on maximizing the small remainder of my physical abilities in my upper body.
My breakneck plunge had unfortunately extended to a plunge into depression. After a spell of denial and wishful thinking, I had awakened to the fact that the dreams fueling my will to live were now impossible. To all appearances, paralysis and happiness were polar opposites. Writing came as a lifebuoy to prevent me from drowning in the very depression that was overwhelming me. It was an outlet for suffering, which grew poetic as well as cathartic (providing emotional relief like a cry in response to pain). My inability to live my life according to my wishes was somewhat redeemed by my ability to express this failure poetically.
The problem is, the failure essentially remained and I continued believing that my life was largely meaningless, a depressing heap of nuisances and pains and other woes. After years of lamenting my ill fortune in poetic style, I began to feel terribly uneasy about this path, especially since I was tired of rehashing the same negative ideas. The uneasiness sprang in part from the dawning sense that my inability to live my life according to my wishes was an obvious failure that hid another failure of mine. And this one was embarrassingly foolish.
Thanks to much reflection – combined with the study of various wisdom books – I finally realized that my ill fortune notwithstanding, the one responsible for my unhappiness was I and nobody else. I had miserably failed to adjust to my situation. In other words, I had wallowed in nostalgia and fantasy instead of pondering and exploiting the potential for happiness that my reality was still pregnant with. And so my life did have meaning, which was contingent on my willingness to look on the bright side and turn things to good account.
My writing changed course. It was no longer a poetic vehicle for an endless lament, rooted in a foolish – negative – attitude; it was a philosophical vehicle for the wisdom I had acquired and was constantly expanding through further reflection and study.
T. C.: What made you decide to write your book, and what is it about?
L. G.: In the fall of 1998, wiser for having long battled for happiness against heavy odds and having finally gained a victory over them, I thought the time was ripe to take stock of this epic and share it with others. In short, I felt I had much to offer. My life story, laden with unique challenges that were fundamentally universal nonetheless, and my extremely positive philosophical message promised to interest, move, enlighten, and inspire a good many readers.
My philosophical stance is nonreligious, though I respectfully leave the door open for the religious option. This stance and this option are more complementary than mutually exclusive. I therefore contend that my book can benefit people of all persuasions. Its purpose is to promote a genuine love for life by bringing into focus the aspects of life that make it worth living. Readers are free to add faith to this picture or not.
T.C.: How many books have you sold so far?
L. G.: Under a hundred, but in all fairness the book has only been on the market for a couple of months and the media are just beginning to pay attention to it. Who knows what the future holds. Of course, the goal is to raise public awareness of the availability of this book and reach the appropriate audience – namely, people who have an appetite for an inspirational autobiography with much meat about the meaning of life.
T. C.: Was it difficult getting published?
L. G.: I knew that my book was not mainstream or did not fit neatly into any standard category. So I chose to publish it under my own imprint – NardisPress – while following stringent editorial guidelines. Six professional editors, one of whom was also a graphic artist, besides several educated proofreaders, formed a capable team that helped me give "A Reason for Living" a final polish together with a great-looking cover.
T. C.: What advice do you have for aspiring, disabled authors?
L. G.: Disabled or not, authors can only succeed by meeting the specific requirements of their art. An excellent work takes a lot of work indeed – much thinking, much reading and studying, much consulting dictionaries, much writing and rewriting with a view to superior content and form.
T. C.: Anything else you'd like to add?
L. G.: Yes. A paragraph about the unsurpassable limits of words: However enlightening and inspiring words may be, they can never cause people to apply themselves to acquiring wisdom and putting the principles of this wisdom into practice to achieve happiness. They can encourage them to do so, while providing them with the appropriate philosophical tools, but ultimately the choice to either show courage and succeed or show no courage and fail is entirely up to them.
T. S.: What were your athletic dreams before your accident? Were you a swimmer? Did you dream of diving professionally?
L. G.: I was not a remarkable swimmer or diver – nothing to warrant the hope of winning medals in these sports. My main physical gift was an exceptionally strong build: I was a muscular 220 pound 17-year-old, almost 6 feet tall, with broad shoulders. When I broke my neck at a friend of mine’s pool, I was about to change school at the invitation of a phys ed teacher who thought I had great athletic potential. His school was far better equipped than mine to help me realize this potential.
To be honest, I don’t think I was Olympic material. My training would have had to start a lot sooner in the right school with the right trainer. Having said this, I think I could have fared very well in various sports and track-and-field events at a high amateur level. My main dream, however, was to become a phys ed teacher myself, all the more as I loved kids and had a flair for interacting with them.
T. S.: Did you think of ending your life after the accident? What thoughts went through your mind? Did you have extensive physical therapy? Are you completely paralyzed? What motor functions do you have?
L. G.: The answer to your first question is yes. Countless times, in the course of many years, I entertained the thought of killing myself. Virtually everything about the future I envisioned with eager anticipation was now impossible, no matter how much physical therapy I did. I became depressed in the extreme, especially since my condition grew increasingly problematic. Skin problems, bladder problems, among other health problems, compounded my near quadriplegia (total paralysis, save partly active biceps and deltoids, with nearly inactive wrist extensors).
T. S.: Today are you married? Do you live on your own? Where do you lecture? To what groups? Around the country? What is a typical week like for you?
L. G.: I am single – happily so, I might add – in a one-bedroom apartment. Thanks to the Canadian social system, I have access to round-the-clock nursing.
Until now, I haven’t lectured or traveled. The truth is, my condition has deteriorated in the last three years, and I simply do not feel physically up to lecturing and traveling. I believe I can be useful in other – more suitable – ways. I am still a hard worker, with a view to making a positive difference in society.
Currently, I start working at 7 a.m. It used to be 4 a.m., but my age has forced me to reconsider this demanding habit.
During the six years that I worked on my book, full-time, seven days a week, my work was all about writing. This included meditating and studying in preparation for writing. Now, I divide my time between reading (mostly philosophical essays), taking notes, writing articles on wisdom, issuing my semimonthly newsletter entitled “Philosophical and Inspirational Tote Bag,” participating in the odd forum about the meaning of life, jotting down ideas about some future work, and promoting my book A REASON FOR LIVING mostly online, which entails tending the website dedicated to this book.
This summer I will make a point, however, of taking advantage of the warm sunny afternoons to enjoy the outdoors. Living between four walls from morning to night in company with books and spending hours in front of the computer is not the healthiest daily routine.
T. S.: Who influences you? How do you think you found the key to turning your depression around? What things did you tell yourself that made the difference?
L. G.: Influences are so numerous and subtle, and often secretly pervasive that I do not know exactly what to answer. Let me just say that I have polished myself into a wiser, kinder, and happier man through the contact of relatively favorable circumstances, despite considerable hardship, and a cultural heritage, both from the Occident and the Orient, that is extremely rich.
As for how the gloomy young man that I was grew into a mature life lover, resolutely looking on the bright side and intent on enlightening and uplifting others, that is a good and difficult question.
One determining factor was that after years of my gloom inspiring me to write poetry, I ended up being disgusted with this source of inspiration. I stopped writing poetry, and whatever gratification I used to derive from this art was now but a memory. My gloom became insufferable, and my freedom was reduced to a straight choice between life and suicide.
I guess my instinct of self-preservation, my pride, and my attachment to my family and friends, in addition to a few pleasures, saved the day: I chose life. This, however, was only the beginning. I still had to learn to cope with my choice. And for that, I needed guidance.
I first found this guidance in the works of Epictetus and other Stoics, and Buddhist philosophers. I gradually switched my negative attitude to a positive one. I had to let go of my old dreams that were impossible in the present. Furthermore, I had to embrace the opportunity for a new happiness this present afforded me.
Years of poetry writing had awakened me to my intellectual resources, to which I was blind when I was a teenager, seemingly gifted for physical activities alone. It was high time I exploited these resources constructively, to promote wisdom, not gloom.
T. S.: What would you say to someone who feels depressed with their own situation right now? Your philosophy in a few sentences.
L. G.: I would first point out that depression is an unhappy state of mind that calls for an improvement in one’s attitude and behavior.
For some, this unhappy state of mind may depend at least in part on some chemical imbalance in the brain. In that case, medical help may be advisable. Otherwise, the depression is solely a product of negative attitude (i.e., wishing for the impossible while paying no attention to promising opportunities) and self-destructive or unproductive behavior (e.g., poor diet, carelessness or recklessness, and indulgence in the easy option).
In short, happiness starts with a resolution: to reform the attitude and the behavior that are the cause of depression. This entails depressed people acknowledging this cause and the possibility of this reform. It also entails them developing an intolerance to depression and committing themselves to removing this cause through the appropriate improvement in their attitude and behavior.
This improvement is best achieved with the aid of wise and supportive individuals – family members, friends, counselors, life coaches, or anyone else who can be of assistance.
T. S.: You said on your website: “My reader, in my eyes, is a brother or sister of the same human blood, and what motivates me to share my experience with him or her is a genuine desire to provide the requisite mental tools for living a wiser and happier existence.”
What are those mental tools?
L. G.: The starting point is an awareness of the fact that these God-given tools exist and that we would be fools if we neglected to use them, thereby creating our own misery. Actually, this awareness is itself a mental tool, and the primary one at that. The other ones have to do with adaptation, or the acceptance of our limitations – namely, those that cannot in any way be exceeded – and the willingness to make the best of life within them.
T. S.: What do you want to be doing 5 years from now?
L. G.: I intend writing another book, with the same essential purpose as before: to enlighten and uplift others to the best of my ability. I am also toying with the idea of eventually counseling people who have suffered a disabling injury or any other dream-shattering tragedy. Giving short talks or workshops in my hometown are other options I am considering. We’ll see.
L. G.: Half-autobiographical half-philosophical, my book retraces the various stages of my evolution at every level, physical, psychological, and intellectual, since my diving accident in 1974. Predictably, it starts with a chapter on denial, which is a common attitude in traumatic circumstances that turn an entire life upside down. But fortunately it ends with a chapter on happiness, founded on the wisdom I have acquired during the last two decades, through much reflection and study. This wisdom, as that of any human being, is of course imperfect, a work in progress, yet I trust it can serve as a steppingstone toward a greater knowledge and love of life. My reader, in my eyes, is a brother or sister of the same human blood, and what motivates me to share my experience with him or her is a genuine desire to provide the requisite mental tools for living a wiser and happier existence. Hence, the focus is on the message that I try to convey in the most intelligible and useful way. I do think, however, the narrative is a valuable backdrop that will illustrate this message and make it more credible and convincing, and also more entertaining.
A. B.: Tell us about yourself.
L. G.: I was born in 1957 of Canadian parents. My mother was a loving, insightful, and a bit worrisome woman who was also very down-to-earth and full of get-up-and-go. My father was a kind gentleman who was an extremely bright intellectual to boot, with two unfortunate addictions: alcohol – which poisoned his life – and cigarettes – which eventually sealed his fate. My brother, nine years my senior, quickly developed into an extremely bright intellectual himself. Like father like son, some will say. Yet, during my youth, everything about me seemed to contradict this saying. At 17, in particular, my build and my inclinations were as different from my father's as black is from white. I was a 220-pound young athlete whose only interests were girls, sports, and motorcycles. By contrast, my father was a slim man, a journalist by trade, usually buried in books, periodicals, and dictionaries, when he was not at work with a typewriter as his main point of contact between him and the world. His relationship with my mother was strained at best.
Then June 1974 came around; I made a shallow dive in a friend's pool and hit my head on the bottom; I broke my neck and became paralyzed; my dreams foundered. Everything that had given meaning to my life was now impossible, a thing of the past confined to memories. Depression took hold of me and did not release its grip for many years until I grew so disgusted with this constraint and put up such a struggle that I broke free from it. Before that turning point, I had written some gloomy poems that fed on this depression and relieved it somewhat, not enough. I needed a reason for living that was not limited to the satisfaction I could derive from writing well about suffering and death, the latter regarded as the ultimate escape, away from this suffering. I needed wisdom, an outlook on life that would be favorable to happiness. And this need turned my vocation as a poet into a vocation as a philosopher with a positive message to convey, one that could enlighten and cheer readers, rather than oppress them with gloom.
A. B.: How is your book different from other inspirational autobiographies?
L. G.: Taking a typical classic as a reference point, the book "I Know What the Caged Bird Sings" by Maya Angelou (and this title should radiate meaning to anyone who has read my book), I would say that mine is different in at least two ways. Let us begin with the obvious: My experience is unique, full of twists and turns like a winding mountain road, and I am confident that my reader will be richer for the ride (well, on a mental level that is, since on a more prosaic – material – level he or she will be a few dollars poorer). But again, after six years of investing passionately every part of me in the writing of my autobiographical essay, as I struggled to turn my life into a source of light, of inspirational wisdom, I dare believe it is worth it. This brings me to the second way in which my book is different. While many other ones give priority to the narrative, with measured introspective or reflective digressions, I make much room for the latter. As both a warning and an incentive to the reader, allow me to quote an editor who commented on my book: "You have a very classic, intricate, dense – and I mean that in a positive way: very compact, precise, not a word wasted – style of writing. Each sentence is loaded with meaning, and, in many parts of the book, one finds oneself stopping, considering and weighing up nearly every phrase. This has advantages and disadvantages. On one hand it does make one pause and absorb every thought, and every thought is worth pausing over and absorbing, but, on the other hand, it does not make for light reading! All this means is that you may never become a newsstand best-seller (although who am I to say? Look at Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, by Robert M. Pirsig, which has become a cult classic) to the general public, but I don't think that's your intended audience, anyway. I think you will have success with this work."
A. B.: Where can people buy your book?
L. G.: They can go to my bookstore where they will be given several safe purchase options.