Testing the Limits
A Short Story
The Ticking Clock
The Stoned Wall
The Marvels of Cynicism
Kiss Quest
Passing the Ultimate Buck
The Impostor Syndrome
15-Zip
Hedonic Greed
The Shell Game
Empathic Failure
Tincture of Time
It’s Just a Four-Letter Word
Uncool Effort
The Booby Prize
Obviously
Inverted Self-Esteem
When Intuition Goes Awry
The Prozac Dilemma
Pseudo-Worries
“He Just Doesn’t Understand”
Lying or Crazy?
“We Hold These Truths…”
Biofeedback
Journey B. Goode
To Love, Honor, and Betray
Zorro Goes Home
Perfectly Flawed
The Third Act
Final Request
Epilogue: The Shot — Redux
Appendix: “The Lessons”
P.S.
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Foreword
David Levy has nailed what it means to glean all the greatness out of life’s masterful lessons in his new book, Life Is a 4-Letter Word. Laugh along with him, as I did, while drinking in these warm-hearted anecdotal stories that will help you keep life in perspective.
Kristine Carlson, co-author of the
Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff books
Prologue
I can still remember the antiseptic smell of the doctor’s office and the feel of the cold metal examination table underneath my naked six-year-old legs. My white jockey shorts provided the only shroud of protection and dignity I had left, barely buffering me from utter humiliation. My mom sat close by, patient but helpless.
Of course, every kid hates shots. But I especially hated shots. The mere thought of that cold, shiny, spiky tool of torture nearly paralyzed me with terror. But I was also a very verbal kid. And when I was anxious, I’d talk. A lot. It was my best defense — in fact, frequently my only defense.
The nurse’s name was Gabe. I know that because I can vividly picture that ominous name embroidered in dark red stitching on her crisp white uniform. Outside of the office, Gabe was probably a decent enough woman. But when armed with that wicked weapon, Nurse Gabe was nothing more to me than a heartless bureaucrat, whose only function was to inflict her merciless will on me before moving on to the next hapless child.
The door flung open with a thud, followed by Nurse Gabe, holding The Shot with the nonchalance of a mailman merely delivering the next package. Instantly, I felt that familiar raw panic coldly surging through my tiny veins. She made her approach, ready to stab me with her bayonet. I counter-attacked with a barrage of questions: “No, wait! What kind of shot is it? Wait! Is it a booster shot? Wait, wait! Is it a tetanus shot?” Nurse Gabe turned to me and said simply but firmly: “David, you can ask me all the questions you want. But you’re going to get the shot.”
She had me. Checkmate. I realized there was nothing more I could do or say. I had run out of escape routes. I reluctantly offered her my arm, wrenched my head away, scrunched my eyes, held my breath, and prayed it would be over quickly…which, to my surprise, it actually was.
Don’t get me wrong, it was really bad. But not nearly as bad as the gut-wrenching agony of all that waiting. When there’s no getting around something, it’s best just to go through it. And when it’s inevitable, the sooner the better.
Although my experience with The Shot happened nearly sixty years ago, it still lives inside me. And the lesson I took from it has carried me through decades of life’s challenges: Why put off the inevitable? In a very profound sense, Nike had it right: “Just Do It.”
The power of this lesson inspired me to start collecting other stories from my life that captured some important moral. Whenever I’d recall one, I’d grab whatever was handy — a Post-It note, a scrap of paper, a napkin — and scribble down a few key words as a reminder:
•what do women want?
•beat by a computer at tic-tac-toe
•press button for better sound
•you are NOT going to Disneyland!
•the booby prize of life
One by one, I would place them into a folder labeled LIFE LESSONS, stash it in my filing cabinet, and then get back to doing whatever it was I was doing.
Over the years, the folder became thicker and thicker, eventually brimming with dozens of notes. I hadn’t given much thought to what I was going to do — if anything — with them. But I knew they were important to me.
On occasion, in my work as a psychologist and a professor, I’d share a few of these anecdotes when they seemed relevant. I was struck by how frequently they resonated with others. I came to realize the impact of these stories is a result of their being both personal and real.
Gradually, the collection
