Don's Existential Dilemma

“… so the only real question, the most critical question…,” Don leaned in close, almost conspiratorially, for emphasis, “is do you choose to taste the Strawberries?”

I should back up from the table at Cava Java in Ann Arbor some twenty some years ago, where I was meeting for an independent study project on existential literature with my mentor and friend Don. He was the last in a long chain of sympathetic and philosophically aligned instructors and professors, each one directing me to the next like stops along some sort of underground railroad towards a degree.

The question he posed about the strawberries though, that was the key for him. I could tell by the way his dark eyes gleamed. It cast light on Don himself, who was maybe in his mid 30's at the time - younger than I am today. As an avowed hedonist, Don's answer to the dilemma he presented was fairly simple to discern. That theoretical dilemma went something like this:

Imagine for a moment that you’re camping somewhere remote. Suddenly, a tiger comes out of nowhere, sees you and starts to charge. It’s herding you up a steep incline and at the very top, there’s a sheer drop. You climb over the ledge and hold onto a handful of roots growing out of the side of the cliff face, but your hands start to slip and the roots are brittle. It won’t hold you for long.

At the bottom of the cliff happens to be a snarling, fire-breathing dragon, waiting to devour you the moment you slip. No way up and no way down. You’re doomed, with minutes, maybe just seconds left. Yet from the side of the cliff there’s a patch of wild strawberries growing. They’re perfectly ripe and ready for plucking.

So with the few remaining moments you have, do you savor the sweetness of the strawberries?

That’s Don’s dilemma, quite possibly his last and most enduring gift to me (although, to be accurate, it didn't actually originate with him - it's a zen story/meditation popularized by D.T. Suzuki). After more than a decade, I’ve come back to it time and time again, turning it over endlessly in the palm of my mind’s hand, like a rare coin.

My first reaction was no, of course not. Denial. I’d try to figure out some way out. There has to be a solution, right? I’d dig my fingers into some kind of a hold, I’d find a way to hang on longer. I’d struggle. I’d fight it tooth and nail. Like James T. Kirk, I’d bend the rules if I had to and find some way out of the Kobayashi Maru.

But that was a young man’s reaction, and while that person may still be standing over a philosophical cliff somewhere, the person I am now left that whole continent a long time ago. I've long since consumed enough bitterness to appreciate the value of the sweetness of a wild strawberry.

So resignation then? There were times when I thought, sure, why not? Enjoy the little time remaining and maybe even get a laugh at the absurdity of it. Enjoy the simple and unexpected pleasure before you instead of squandering those last moments trying to avoid the inevitable? No escape, but hey, here’s a patch of strawberries for you. That was Don’s answer, of course. To go proudly off into the next world, mouth stuffed to overflowing with the sticky sweetness.

It took me a long while to find my own answer, but I have it now. I know exactly what I would do with whatever time was left to me. It would be, of course, that one thing I always come back to. The only thing in my universe over which I've ever had complete control.

I’d grab a bunch of those strawberries and squeeze the juice from them until I had enough makeshift ink. And then I’d write something.