On my run this morning, I was thinking about how different people deal with life’s challenges. I’ve said before that working out is largely how I deal with loneliness, sadness, anger and frustration. It’s what got me through much of 2013, which was a hard year for me. It’s also how I make decisions, as I’ve found that time running, biking or swimming is often perfect time for thinking through an issue. I’m lucky that my coping method is largely a healthy one. Others aren’t so lucky. Why is that?
I became concerned on Monday that my response to the death of Philip Seymour Hoffman lacked compassion. I hope that’s not how it was received. I don’t know what led him to the point of taking heroin initially, getting clean or returning to it years later. I didn’t live his life. In the past, I’ve been clear in saying that we can’t know what it’s like to live another person’s experience. I want to be clear about that now.
I don’t know how Philip Seymour Hoffman got to the point of dying with a needle in his arm. I hate that he did. I hate addiction. I hate and fear drugs. I’m angry at the loss and the manner of the loss, but I am not angry at the dead. I ache for him, both for the loss of him and for what he experienced – whatever he struggled with – that got him to the point of death by heroin. I hope that was clear in my words.