Ontario has an interesting category of specialist doctor. Hereabouts, the MD psychotherapist is a certified medical doctor – hence those two initials – but one who specializes in mental health. Typically, too, their practice doesn’t focus on psychopharmacology but rather on talk therapy. I am very fortunate to have both a psychiatrist, Dr. D (who taught me Dialectical Behavioral Therapy, but now mostly monitors my medications on a monthly basis) and an MD psychotherapist, Dr. W, whom I meet with weekly about my ongoing mental trials and tribulations.
I introduce Dr. W here because she did an exercise with me yesterday that was very powerful, and I wanted to share some results. What she asked me to reflect on was: What are the things such that, if I haven’t done them, I’d feel regret on my deathbed? That is, what activities are such that, if I didn’t carry them out between now and my death, I couldn’t die in peace?
This is a very telling question about my hopes and my values. Indeed, it is so telling, I think going over it might be valuable for nearly everyone, as they choose priorities in their lives.
There are a number of obvious candidates for this especially dark version of a “bucket list”, but which didn’t make it. A first example. I have been trying to make history of philosophy of language (HOPOL) a thriving sub-field. To explain, no political philosopher in the West worth her salt would be wholly unaware of key figures in the history of Western political philosophy – e.g., Plato, Aristotle, Hobbes or Locke. Yet commonly philosophers of language don’t even know that all four figures wrote extensively on philosophical issues about language. Still less is it common among my fellow travelers to know what such thinkers had to say. If I haven’t made HOPOL mainstream by the time my tumour sends me across to the other side of the River Styx, would I feel regret? Would peace elude me? Not really. Granted, it’s something I’d love to see, but it isn’t dear enough to my heart to merit a place on this morbid list of mine. Relatedly, shifting to a slightly different example, I’ve long hoped to write an introduction to HOPOL in the West; no such volume exists in English. But I could certainly die in peace even if I don’t find the time and energy to write such a book.
What does make the list? One thing jumped out during my discussion with Dr. W: spending time visiting with friends and family. For instance, I really, really hope to be well enough to visit my in-laws and my dear friends in Uruguay during Canada’s winter (and not only because I want to escape the cold!) And I really hope that my darling daughter Moon can meet up with us somewhere and sometime in 2026-27. I miss her.
Evidently, based on this exercise, it’s those kinds of human bonds which lie at the heart of my values. I’d be so curious to hear what others would prioritize, as they reflect on their own mortality.
P.S. As classes resume, students, staff and fellow faculty are all kindly asking how I’m doing these days. I thought I’d share here, as a postscript, what I’ve been telling folks. I say to them something along these lines: I’m not terrific, but I’m not terrible either. I’m okay, somewhere in-between. That I’m especially non-terrible emerges when I reflect that, 13 months ago, it wasn’t clear whether I’d make it to Christmas 2025! More specifically, my fear symptoms have been really bad, but my depression symptoms are well under control: on the mental front, not terrific, but not terrible. I’m still lightheaded and out of breath; at one point I couldn’t even swallow water, and needed intravenous fluids and minor surgery to overcome dehydration; and my surgeon, when pressed, said that he was “confident that I’d remain stable for through 2026”. Not terrific, then, on the physical side. Still, I’m back at work 50%, bought a flight to Scandinavia for a family trip, and am able to walk up stairs and little hills, albeit slowly. And I can eat soft foods. So, not terrible. Doing okay.