In 1991, I was in the hospital with cancer (lymphoma) and my mother was reading Norman Cousins to me. I was familiar with his laughing his way to recovery concept, but I hadn't thought about it from the viewpoint of someone who was actually ill.

The basic idea is that positive thoughts will heal and negative thoughts will kill. I could not find a positive thought. Career, dreams, goals -- all seemed to be meaningless, unredeeming of my life. I was scared and depressed.

Then I realized that my mother had come to St. Louis from North Carolina; she had left her job to come and be with me. My son had driven up from Texas. My brother had flown in from New York, and my daughter had come up from Florida. And they seemed to love me very much.

I asked each of them to tell me in detail who I was, what I had been to them in our lives together. Each of them flooded me with love and admiration. I cried a lot and heard that I had basically been a good father, brother, and son. The people who knew me best thought I had done a good job of my life. My brother bragged to the nurse, "You should have seen this guy pushing the car around the block, working out for football." My mother laughed at the remembrance, and I cried.

Then I got it. My life was fulfilled. I had done it. I didn't need to live. There was nothing to prove. I was surrounded by love. My life was a success, complete.

At that point, my desire to live was no longer fear driven. I wanted to experience more of the love I had just seen. I didn't want to ruin another day with fear and uncertainty. I wanted to live in that love and appreciate it. It was the healing place.

I recovered and made a vow to myself to live in that love. Anything that was not love would be healed or banished. If you weren't interested in healing and love, you'd just have to get the hell out of my way and my life.

I've lived this way ever since.

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