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Chasing Daylight
《追逐日光》记述了作者尤金·奥凯利本人在人生最后四个月的心路旅程。尤金·奥凯利生前是毕马威会计师事务所（KPMG）的董事长和首席执行官，在53岁时他被诊断为脑癌晚期，医生给他的预言是还有三到六个月的时间。这个消息对于正处于人生与事业巅峰上的尤金仿佛当头一棒，原本充满光明的未来顿时阴影笼罩。然而他没有被击垮也没有消沉，而是着手修改原来的人生计划，并充当自己生命最后旅程的首席执行官，拿出在高尔夫球场上为多打一杆球而追逐日光的精神，追逐自己生命中最后的时光，活得精彩，死得无憾。
此书出版后引起很大反响，得到众多读者的推荐。本期摘录了书中最精彩的一些片断，希望读者朋友们从中吸取尤金对待生与死的人生哲学和智慧。
I came to wonder， almost marvel（感到惊讶）， over this question： if how we die is one of the most important decisions we can make （again， in those situations where it’s somewhat within our control， or， at least， its occurrence is approximately known）， then why do most people abrogate（抛开）this responsibility？ And， in so doing， sacrifice benefits both for themselves and for the ones they leave behind？ As for those considering taking the time someday to plan their final weeks and months， three words of advice： Move it up （行动起来）. If you’re 50 and you’d planned to think about it at 55， move it up. If you’re 30 and had planned to think about it in 20 years， move it up. Just as a person with a terminal illness（绝症）is motivated to adhere to（坚持）a more souped-up （提高了效率的）schedule， so a person in good health has little motivation to address（解决）the situation even one minute before it’s time， which may already be too late. That’s your disadvantage， maybe even your curse. Move it up. A close friend who was invited to participate in a “Renaissance（文艺复兴）Weekend1”—those high-octane（富有活力的）gatherings of politicians， artists， academics， captains of industry， Nobel Prize winners， and others—told me that， at the end of the weekend， a select few attendees（参加者）are asked to give a short speech to everyone assembled（集会）. The speech-maker is given no more than three minutes and is instructed to imagine that， as soon as the talk conclude， he or she dies. My friend said that the speeches were uniformly riveting（吸引人的）， but， more notably（显而易见地）， they were surprising. The men and women charged with the honor of giving these speeches clearly thought hard about what was most essential（至关重要的）for them to say， and often it wasn’t at all what you might expect from a senator（参议员）， a world-renowned physicist， or a CFO.
Move it up.
That’s not to say I got it completely right. I had lots of work to do. I got a lot of it wrong. When I aimed to be fully conscious and in the moment， I often had trouble keeping my mind from wandering to the future or the past. I got angry. Frequently I cried. Occasionally I got obsessed（无法摆脱的）. I experienced repeated failure at what I was trying to do. But not once did I regret that I had exercised control over my life， the final and most precious inches （少许）of my life for the last real time I was able to. Sitting at the dining room table， I made a to-do list（任务清单）for my final days.
Get legal（合法的）and financial affairs in order
“Unwind”（解开）relationships
Simplify（精简）
Live in the moment
Create （but also be open to） great moments， “perfect moments”
Begin transition to next state
Plan funeral（葬礼）
Boiled down（归纳起来）， I wanted this last period to be marked by resolution and closure（结束，谢幕）； by heightened awareness； by the pleasure and joy of life. Boiled down still further， I wanted these things， and only these things：
Clarity. Intensity（强烈）. Perfection.
There’s a great blessing， probably Irish： Here’s to a good life and a better death. Well， I wanted the best death possible. I didn’t mean it in a competitive way， as in， I’m used to winning， so I’m going to win at this， too； as in， I’m going to have a better death than you are. I mean that I wanted to achieve in death what I’d always tried to achieve in life： to do it the best way I knew how. Over the years， I’d come to love wine， and the way I did that was to taste all kinds and to subscribe to（订阅）wine newsletters and read them when I could. I came to love and understand opera by seeing it and listening to it， and also by reading the story ahead of time. I didn’t want just to dabble（浅尝）.
Now， I was motivated to “succeed” at death—that is， to try to be constructive about it， and thus have the right death for me. To be clear about it and present during it. To embrace it.
My hot pursuit of the present seemed predicated on（以……为基础）the idea that history and the past needed to recede （撤退）into the background. Yet all I wanted to read [or， because of my deteriorating（正在恶化的）vision， listen to on tape] were books about history. In How the Irish Saved Civilization， I heard about how manuscripts from the crumbling（崩溃的）Roman Empire were brought to monasteries（修道院）on the then incredibly remote island of Ireland， where literature monks “saved” history from destruction.
As I closed down my life， Corinne and I planned our final trip， for Gina and us. We would leave in mid-September， after the radiation treatments（放射性治疗）were done and I’d had a chance to get my energy back， as well as complete the other tasks I’d set out to do. I—we—chose three places with great significance to me： Prague（布拉格）， Rome and Venice. Prague because of its important historical and spiritual roots [during the Middle Ages， pilgrims（朝圣者）passed through the city as they followed a trial to the holy lands]； Rome because of its archaeological（考古的）/historical roots （you could actually see how layers of history were built on top of each other）； and Venice because it was both beautiful and dying [it would also be a somewhat triumphant return to the opulent（富裕的）， sinking city， since Corinne and I had gone there as newlyweds（新婚夫妇）with very little money， and would now be returning with credit cards.] I had always loved reading history and appreciated the lessons it taught， if we listened. I’d always felt that， to live a meaningful， useful life， one had to feel that one was a part of history. Now， as I was dying， I realized that for all my authentic（真正的）， even desperate pursuit of the present， I desired another feeling almost as much： the desire to be soaked in history， enveloped by it， where the very passage of centuries was visible.
Corinne， Gina， and I were privileged to be invited for a visit with Cardinal（红衣主教）Egan， head of the New York Archdiocese（大主教之管区）. I figured that he had spent a great deal more time thinking about eternity（永恒）and death and matters of the soul than I had， so I took advantage of the opportunity. In his private chambers， we celebrated communion（舉行圣餐仪式）， then we talked. I told him there had been much unfinished business when I had stepped down from my job. How could I learn to live—and die—with things still unresolved（未解决的）？ I wanted desperately to live in the present—but how could I get past the past？ “How can I stay in the moment？” I asked.
The cardinal told me that earlier in his career， he’d spent many years in Rome， becoming educated not just in the ways of Roman Catholicism（天主教）， but also in the Italian mindset（心态）. And much as he loved being Irish and so many things Irish， he’d come to appreciate a fundamental difference in perspective（正确地）between what he saw as the Italian viewpoint and the Irish viewpoint. The typical Italian， he said， never went back over a decision he’d made； he felt as if that decision was the best one he could possibly have made given the information he possessed at the time， that while the choice he’d made might not have worked out as he’d hoped， it was the best decision at the time. “The only decision to focus on is the one you are still able to make，” he said.
I nodded. We Irish suffer a long-standing tradition， if not a genetic predisposition（遗传素质）， of looking back， of going over unresolved situations. “They say the only things the Irish take to their graves，” I said， “are grudges（积怨）.”
Before my illness， I had considered commitment king （最重要的） among virtues. After I was diagnosed， I came to consider consciousness（意识，知觉）king among virtues. I began to feel that everyone’s first responsibility was to be as conscious as possible all the time， especially later in life， especially toward the very end. For one thing， it could help others to understand the end better. That’s a responsibility we owe to each other， certainly to the generation to follow. Maybe we’ll discover that dying is something not quite so frightening. That would certainly be a nugget（重要的建议）worth passing on. Maybe we’ll discover that death is even something worth marching（前进）.
《追逐日光》记述了作者尤金·奥凯利本人在人生最后四个月的心路旅程。尤金·奥凯利生前是毕马威会计师事务所（KPMG）的董事长和首席执行官，在53岁时他被诊断为脑癌晚期，医生给他的预言是还有三到六个月的时间。这个消息对于正处于人生与事业巅峰上的尤金仿佛当头一棒，原本充满光明的未来顿时阴影笼罩。然而他没有被击垮也没有消沉，而是着手修改原来的人生计划，并充当自己生命最后旅程的首席执行官，拿出在高尔夫球场上为多打一杆球而追逐日光的精神，追逐自己生命中最后的时光，活得精彩，死得无憾。
此书出版后引起很大反响，得到众多读者的推荐。本期摘录了书中最精彩的一些片断，希望读者朋友们从中吸取尤金对待生与死的人生哲学和智慧。
I came to wonder， almost marvel（感到惊讶）， over this question： if how we die is one of the most important decisions we can make （again， in those situations where it’s somewhat within our control， or， at least， its occurrence is approximately known）， then why do most people abrogate（抛开）this responsibility？ And， in so doing， sacrifice benefits both for themselves and for the ones they leave behind？ As for those considering taking the time someday to plan their final weeks and months， three words of advice： Move it up （行动起来）. If you’re 50 and you’d planned to think about it at 55， move it up. If you’re 30 and had planned to think about it in 20 years， move it up. Just as a person with a terminal illness（绝症）is motivated to adhere to（坚持）a more souped-up （提高了效率的）schedule， so a person in good health has little motivation to address（解决）the situation even one minute before it’s time， which may already be too late. That’s your disadvantage， maybe even your curse. Move it up. A close friend who was invited to participate in a “Renaissance（文艺复兴）Weekend1”—those high-octane（富有活力的）gatherings of politicians， artists， academics， captains of industry， Nobel Prize winners， and others—told me that， at the end of the weekend， a select few attendees（参加者）are asked to give a short speech to everyone assembled（集会）. The speech-maker is given no more than three minutes and is instructed to imagine that， as soon as the talk conclude， he or she dies. My friend said that the speeches were uniformly riveting（吸引人的）， but， more notably（显而易见地）， they were surprising. The men and women charged with the honor of giving these speeches clearly thought hard about what was most essential（至关重要的）for them to say， and often it wasn’t at all what you might expect from a senator（参议员）， a world-renowned physicist， or a CFO.
Move it up.
That’s not to say I got it completely right. I had lots of work to do. I got a lot of it wrong. When I aimed to be fully conscious and in the moment， I often had trouble keeping my mind from wandering to the future or the past. I got angry. Frequently I cried. Occasionally I got obsessed（无法摆脱的）. I experienced repeated failure at what I was trying to do. But not once did I regret that I had exercised control over my life， the final and most precious inches （少许）of my life for the last real time I was able to. Sitting at the dining room table， I made a to-do list（任务清单）for my final days.
Get legal（合法的）and financial affairs in order
“Unwind”（解开）relationships
Simplify（精简）
Live in the moment
Create （but also be open to） great moments， “perfect moments”
Begin transition to next state
Plan funeral（葬礼）
Boiled down（归纳起来）， I wanted this last period to be marked by resolution and closure（结束，谢幕）； by heightened awareness； by the pleasure and joy of life. Boiled down still further， I wanted these things， and only these things：
Clarity. Intensity（强烈）. Perfection.
There’s a great blessing， probably Irish： Here’s to a good life and a better death. Well， I wanted the best death possible. I didn’t mean it in a competitive way， as in， I’m used to winning， so I’m going to win at this， too； as in， I’m going to have a better death than you are. I mean that I wanted to achieve in death what I’d always tried to achieve in life： to do it the best way I knew how. Over the years， I’d come to love wine， and the way I did that was to taste all kinds and to subscribe to（订阅）wine newsletters and read them when I could. I came to love and understand opera by seeing it and listening to it， and also by reading the story ahead of time. I didn’t want just to dabble（浅尝）.
Now， I was motivated to “succeed” at death—that is， to try to be constructive about it， and thus have the right death for me. To be clear about it and present during it. To embrace it.
My hot pursuit of the present seemed predicated on（以……为基础）the idea that history and the past needed to recede （撤退）into the background. Yet all I wanted to read [or， because of my deteriorating（正在恶化的）vision， listen to on tape] were books about history. In How the Irish Saved Civilization， I heard about how manuscripts from the crumbling（崩溃的）Roman Empire were brought to monasteries（修道院）on the then incredibly remote island of Ireland， where literature monks “saved” history from destruction.
As I closed down my life， Corinne and I planned our final trip， for Gina and us. We would leave in mid-September， after the radiation treatments（放射性治疗）were done and I’d had a chance to get my energy back， as well as complete the other tasks I’d set out to do. I—we—chose three places with great significance to me： Prague（布拉格）， Rome and Venice. Prague because of its important historical and spiritual roots [during the Middle Ages， pilgrims（朝圣者）passed through the city as they followed a trial to the holy lands]； Rome because of its archaeological（考古的）/historical roots （you could actually see how layers of history were built on top of each other）； and Venice because it was both beautiful and dying [it would also be a somewhat triumphant return to the opulent（富裕的）， sinking city， since Corinne and I had gone there as newlyweds（新婚夫妇）with very little money， and would now be returning with credit cards.] I had always loved reading history and appreciated the lessons it taught， if we listened. I’d always felt that， to live a meaningful， useful life， one had to feel that one was a part of history. Now， as I was dying， I realized that for all my authentic（真正的）， even desperate pursuit of the present， I desired another feeling almost as much： the desire to be soaked in history， enveloped by it， where the very passage of centuries was visible.
Corinne， Gina， and I were privileged to be invited for a visit with Cardinal（红衣主教）Egan， head of the New York Archdiocese（大主教之管区）. I figured that he had spent a great deal more time thinking about eternity（永恒）and death and matters of the soul than I had， so I took advantage of the opportunity. In his private chambers， we celebrated communion（舉行圣餐仪式）， then we talked. I told him there had been much unfinished business when I had stepped down from my job. How could I learn to live—and die—with things still unresolved（未解决的）？ I wanted desperately to live in the present—but how could I get past the past？ “How can I stay in the moment？” I asked.
The cardinal told me that earlier in his career， he’d spent many years in Rome， becoming educated not just in the ways of Roman Catholicism（天主教）， but also in the Italian mindset（心态）. And much as he loved being Irish and so many things Irish， he’d come to appreciate a fundamental difference in perspective（正确地）between what he saw as the Italian viewpoint and the Irish viewpoint. The typical Italian， he said， never went back over a decision he’d made； he felt as if that decision was the best one he could possibly have made given the information he possessed at the time， that while the choice he’d made might not have worked out as he’d hoped， it was the best decision at the time. “The only decision to focus on is the one you are still able to make，” he said.
I nodded. We Irish suffer a long-standing tradition， if not a genetic predisposition（遗传素质）， of looking back， of going over unresolved situations. “They say the only things the Irish take to their graves，” I said， “are grudges（积怨）.”
Before my illness， I had considered commitment king （最重要的） among virtues. After I was diagnosed， I came to consider consciousness（意识，知觉）king among virtues. I began to feel that everyone’s first responsibility was to be as conscious as possible all the time， especially later in life， especially toward the very end. For one thing， it could help others to understand the end better. That’s a responsibility we owe to each other， certainly to the generation to follow. Maybe we’ll discover that dying is something not quite so frightening. That would certainly be a nugget（重要的建议）worth passing on. Maybe we’ll discover that death is even something worth marching（前进）.