The Second Act

Book summary

In "The Second Act," author Andrew Davie shares his inspiring journey from surviving a life-altering brain aneurysm to becoming a Clinical Mental Health Counselor. Through a blend of heart-wrenching and humorous anecdotes, Davie showcases resilience in the face of adversity, demonstrating the transformative power of empathy and courage. This book is a warm and witty companion for those navigating their own second act in life.

Excerpt from The Second Act

The Fantastic Note When the Rabbit Bites its own Head Off

The above title is a quotation from Dr. Gonzo in the book Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas writ-ten by Hunter S. Thompson. Gonzo says the line while he is in a bathtub submerged up to his eyes in opaque green water; the result of putting in too many Japanese bath salts. The good doc-tor has also taken enough acid to satisfy all of Haight/Ashbury and is hallucinating.

He requests Thompson throw a portable radio into the bathtub and electrocute Gonzo while the song “White Rabbit” by Jefferson Airplane plays at that specific part of the song men-tioned in the title. Although Gonzo might very well achieve enlightenment, or have some other epiphany of higher understanding, he would also be killed. Instead, Thompson throws a grape-fruit into the tub.

Later, when accosted by an angry Dr. Gonzo, who is displeased at his wish not being granted, Thompson threatens to mace Gonzo until he calms down. Though you might have diffi-culty seeing any corollaries here to ruptured brain aneurysm recovery, I’m going to do my darndest to establish one.

Early on in my healing from a ruptured brain aneurysm, sometime during the first year, my ab-stract thinking was virtually non-existent. It suddenly returned one evening while I was complet-ing a worksheet in which the goal was to infer information about dogs, types of dog collars, and their respective owners. It was as if someone had cast a spell on me. Naively, I expected the rest of the recovery to be similar. Like Dr. Gonzo in the bathtub, I had assumed the bulk of my heal-ing would happen just as quickly and suddenly, like being struck by lightning, or in his case, rid-ing the lightning.

In no time, I would begin to feel like my old self again. The same goals I’d had before the aneu-rysm: starting a family and becoming a successful author would mean as much as they had before and would essentially provide me with a drive and motivation to get out of bed each day.

Of course, this did not happen. I no longer had the same desire to start a family, and publishing a book did not alter the landscape as I had assumed. It took a while, about three years, for me to adjust to feeling more comfortable.

At the end of the previous addendum, “Playing With House Money”, I mentioned a quotation by Albert Camus which suggested that even though I knew the recovery would still be difficult, I was motivated and driven. That remains the same. Although, I want to re-enforce the idea that the journey won’t suddenly have become easier by Years 4 and 5, but I certainly feel more capa-ble and confident these days.

In March 2020, almost two years after the aneurysm, I had gotten a job at a tutoring center near where I lived. I figured since I had been a teacher, why not return to the profession—especially since I could still work. I had also just begun dating again. I was on track to resume my life after a few speed bumps. Of course, by April the following month, the job was canceled due to the onset of a worldwide pandemic in the form of COVID-19.

As a result, I would move back in with my parents for a little over a year. My mother drove to my house, picked me up, and brought me back with her. Initially, I assumed I would stay with them for a few weeks. Once I realized I had nothing to return to, a few weeks became indefinite. While not desirable by any stretch, this chain of events turned out to have a silver lining. Rather than try to build something that resembled my old life, but wasn’t going to provide solace, I would be able to focus exclusively on adjusting and a future that would be fulfilling. I began to ask myself if my former goals weren’t going to motivate me on a bad day, what could I do?

This is also where Simone De Beauvoir’s Ethics of Ambiguity comes into play. I had been listen-ing to a philosophy podcast titled Philosophize This! And an episode about Simone De Beauvoir resonated with me. She posits that we are both subjects and objects in the world. The tension we feel ultimately comes from the tug-of-war between those two states. We do not like being unable to define ourselves by one description, but the reality is we are both. According to De Beauvoir, we need to “will our own freedom” but since everything is interrelated, we also need to “will the freedom of others.”

Rather than focus exclusively on something that would only make me feel fulfilled, I realized I also needed to incorporate the wellbeing of others. When I thought back to the few times I’d felt at ease over the last few years, it always had to do with the reassurance from another survivor, usually in a support group or responding on a message board, that what I had been experiencing during my recovery was not unique.

Instead of returning to the teaching profession, I decided I would change careers. Technically, this would be the fifth different career after recruiter, office manager, sell-side broker/options trader, and teacher. Although I have made some money from writing, I wouldn’t count it as a career. I realized if I became a therapist, I could provide support for other people who needed guidance, which would also make me feel fulfilled as well. I did some research, found that clini-cal mental health counseling would be suitable, and applied to schools. I was accepted to The Chicago School of Professional Psychology’s Washington D.C. Campus, and I began taking clas-ses in January 2022.

A Recap of 2020-2021

The year I lived with my parents during the height of COVID, it was deciding to change careers, receiving Somatic Experience Therapy, and time, that ultimately helped me adjust. That’s not to say I wouldn’t have difficult days in the future, but those three changes were what allowed me to move forward with more confidence.

Previously, I was overwhelmed with no direction, and I had trouble imagining what sort of value my life would have since none of my previous goals seemed to matter. I had focused almost all my attention on writing with the hope that getting published would somehow provide meaning.

Rick Rubin’s podcast interview with Andre Benjamin does a phenomenal job articulating how finally achieving an artistic goal like publishing a book, making a film, or recording an al-bum, does not magically “fill the hole, most creative types are plagued by. My first book, Pave-ment, was released in 2019, so it was after the aneurysm and it felt like a double whammy. Not only would I have to adjust to life post-aneurysm, but the very thing that had been providing drive for me (publishing a book) didn’t solve my dilemma when it finally happened.

Teaching, while enjoyable, had always felt like a means to an end. Plus, my experience substitute teaching at my previous school the year after my aneurysm, hadn’t been fulfilling. Eventually, I was able to teach an online creative writing class as an afterschool elective, but I discovered my desire wasn’t there anymore.

Lastly, I had always assumed I would get married and start a family. After some reflection, I re-alized most of that desire had been conditioned by societal expectations. Although I did enjoy being in a relationship with someone, much of the trajectory of how I had wanted things to play out were due to the fact I assumed that having a family was what a good life included.

In the film Thief, James Caan plays an ex-convict who, while in prison, made a collage of all the things he would want in his life when he was released. The collage included most societal expec-tations such as getting married, having children, the house in the suburbs, car, etc. During my downtime with my parents, I realized that while I hadn’t made a collage, I was in essence doing a similar thing.

I had also touched on this previously, but the way I processed emotions had changed. Not only that, but rather than accept things would be different for the foreseeable future, I only focused on whether it would return. In 2019, while visiting a friend in New Hampshire, sitting on a dock at the lake during sunset, rather than enjoying what I could connect with, I spent most of my time focusing on how the serenity and beauty of nature had little emotional effect. Intellectuali-ty, I knew how wonderful it all was, and I kept expecting an emotional exhilaration.

What was particularly interesting was that during the first year of my recovery, I would frequently get emotionally overwhelmed and cry. Then, suddenly, at one point the opposite hap-pened. I became somewhat emotionally detached.

The final date I went on before COVID contributed to my decision to step away from dating; I went out to lunch with a very attractive and funny person. I remember thinking to myself that I should be sexually aroused and want to see her again. The analogy I made previously was that it was emotionally and physiologically similar to watching a documentary film about paint drying.

All of these differences necessitated a major change.