I had landed in Dallas unprepared for the heat and humidity that greeted me outside the airport’s arrival bays. On the curb I pleaded with my pores to remain closed; I had a long drive ahead of me and didn’t want to be sticking to the leather seats of the Tesla. I stripped myself of the Automattic-branded North Face windbreaker and kept an eye out for Eric’s arrival.
Eric had been weakened by the cancer and its treatment. He and his family were busy preparing for his daughter Destiny’s wedding that evening. And still he drove ninety minutes to Dallas to pick me up. I had argued for the use of an Uber, not wanting to be the friend who added complexity to the day’s events by needing a ride from the airport. Eric wasn’t having it. He insisted it was no trouble.
I had expected him to arrive in his newly purchased BMW, but at the last minute his uncle had offered to make the drive—though it was more akin to supervising with the Autopilot enabled—to get more time with Eric. A nice gesture, but that meant the two-seater Beemer was out and the uncle’s Tesla was in.
They pulled up, I got in the backseat, and off we went to get some BBQ. I am sure I would stir a debate if I shared here that Rudy’s is my favorite Texas BBQ, maybe even see some parading torches and pitchforks, but it’s true. Matt, Barry, and others have taken me for some really impressive BBQ throughout Texas that would no doubt win over Rudy’s in a blind taste test. For me, food is not about edging out the competition on the scales of greatness; I can hardly discern the minor differences. For me, the food’s quality is the foundation on which I begin to build an experience combining a variety of factors including the memories and nostalgia from past experiences.
I prefer Rudy’s because it’s greater than the sum of its parts. Rudy’s serves consistently good BBQ on parchment paper laid across a plastic tray. No bowls, no plates, no frills of any kind. They weigh your brisket, drop a scoop of creamed corn, and hand you a fistful of white bread and send you on your way. That was the experience I had the first time I found a Rudy’s tucked in the back of a gas station after filling up my rental outside Austin thirteen years ago on my way to give a talk at SXSW. And it was the same experience I had with Eric outside Dallas.
The conversation, like the meal, had no frills. We didn’t skirt around the prognosis. Eric spoke candidly about the seriousness of his cancer and how he had come to terms with the gravity of the situation. He told me he wasn’t afraid to die; he was just afraid to leave his wife, Sara, unprepared, and I believed him. Eric’s genuine absence of fear was almost startling, and it was reflective of his deeper character. A true stoic, living in the moment, unconcerned with the aspects of his life that he couldn’t control, focused on his friends and family and how he could give more of himself to them until the very end.
I, on the other hand, was in complete denial that my friend, younger than me by more than half a decade, was really facing a life-threatening situation. I just didn’t believe at that time that the cancer was going to win. Eric had hope and was putting up a good fight, but you could see in his eyes that he had also come to terms with the fact that he might not win the battle, and it really didn’t scare him.
With full stomachs we continued on to Wichita Falls. Eric and I hung back in the Tesla for a minute; his uncle headed inside. We chatted for a minute about what exactly I can’t recall. It was the fall I remember perfectly. Exiting the car, Eric fell to one knee in a patch of grass between the street and the sidewalk. Awkwardly, I couldn’t help him from the backseat; opening the door would have just knocked him over further. He took a beat, got his bearings and picked himself up. I didn’t realize then how that moment captured exactly how I’d be feeling for the next four months: me trapped on the other side of the glass, looking at him struggling, unable to help.
Tuning your focus to the things you can actually control, or affect, is a characteristic of Stoicism. This is a virtue, a muscle, I am constantly trying to grow, and one that Eric exuded naturally.
My upbringing didn’t lend itself to the nature of a stoic. Family gatherings were often kettles filled with joyful, loving moments, set on a stove to boil, erupting with blistering hot steam and an ear-piercing whistle. The flash of light across a peaceful sky that can easily change the course of your ship with a crack. Navigating those unpredictable waters was only made worse by the fact that I spent most of my life compensating for undiagnosed OCD, completely unaware of the toll my compulsions were taking.
Overcoming OCD through cognitive behavioral therapy was the hardest work of my life, and it changed everything about how I lived my life and that made it possible for me to actually find peace and presence in a moment. And in that peace I found Stoicism. I read Meditations, I read Letters from a Stoic, I read The Daily Stoic, I read everything I could get my hands on about Stoicism. I read about other types of philosophy, I subscribed to podcasts, I read about religion and spirituality, the creative process, and inspiration and innovation. My personal time, the time I usually spent ruminating and obsessing about an irrational fear, was now filled with research and reference materials. I bathed in the words of ancient and modern philosophers, I visited libraries all over the world, I meditated and carved out time to be really present in moments and to fully understand how much of the world around me I was actually missing.
I punctuated all that work with a three-month sabbatical, courtesy of Automattic, spent reading, writing, and finding myself. I spent the majority of the time inside the Providence Athenaeum beset on all sides by the great works of giants. And that was when I was able to fully embrace memento mori, the idea that I too must die. I was now well into my early forties, abundantly aware that I had lived more than half of my life, and I decided then I would soak up every minute of what I had left. But in order to do that, in order to really be present in the moment, you have to be open. You cannot truly feel a moment if you aren’t in it, vulnerable, empathetic, self-aware, and fully aware. Achieving this means identifying your character, living by virtue, and no longer fighting your nature.
These paragraphs were reflective of that work. I’m opening my book for you, being vulnerable in my storytelling, and sharing myself because giving it freely is the only way to get it back. And that lived experience made it possible for me to fully appreciate Eric’s true greatness.
Eric and I worked together for a dozen years. We worked on projects together, worked on teams together, traveled on meetups and to events together, we saw a lot of the world together. Not once did he ever share with me that he studied Stoicism or philosophy. Yet Eric was the model stoic and a mentor through example.
You may think that Stoics are unfeeling, or unemotional. That is not the case at all. Ancient and modern Stoics alike love, and laugh, and get angry, and feel fear. Stoicism is more about remaining within the boundaries of rational emotion. But staying within those boundaries does not prevent you from feeling things deeply.
I have only felt the love for my wife and my child and my friends get stronger as I have become more attuned to my nature. And through that practice, faced with the reality that the friend I was sitting across from was facing his mortality head-on, I chose not to wait.
Inside the house, Eric took his time climbing the stairs. His lungs weren’t working the way they should be. He showed me to the room where I’d be staying. A comfortable twin bed on one side, a small couch on the other, and down the middle, under the window, was Eric’s desk. It was a modest, thin wood desk with a monitor and a laptop. Truly nothing special to look at, which only bolstered Eric’s legend. A man whose code was used by millions to run blogs, ecommerce stores, and apps. A man who led others by example and proved time and time again that roadblocks were only hurdles, and bottlenecks were only ephemeral limitations. Eric lived for a challenge, and telling him something couldn’t be done only fueled him to work harder.
Eric and I talked in that room, he on the couch, me on the bed, about the legacy he wanted to leave to his kids. How he was writing them letters, and planning on leaving messages behind for them. How he was trying to leave more of himself on eric.blog for everyone else. He talked openly about his plans for how Sara would be taken care of afterwards. He shared the absolutely amazing ways that Matt was helping him with treatment, and housing, and connecting him with doctors. We talked until it was time for him to tux up for the wedding. And before we broke to get ready for the wedding, I told Eric that I loved him. That I was proud of him. And I made sure he knew that whatever the outcome, I would be there for Sara and the kids. We hugged and split up to suit up.
Eric walked Destiny down the aisle—the wedding had been moved up for this exact reason—and they both looked amazing. Later, when Eric and Destiny had their father-daughter dance, Destiny’s feet were rioting in her shoes, but, as is difficult in wedding dresses, she couldn’t get them out herself. Despite Eric’s earlier weakness, he heroically dropped to one knee to help her out of her shoes. A rather mundane act any other time showed me how strong Eric was when he had the opportunity to help someone he loved.
Later, back in Rhode Island, Eric and I talked about Stoicism. I have redacted most of Eric’s comments for his privacy, but they aren’t important to the story:
Jesse: I have been studying philosophy a lot. I spent my last sabbatical in a library nearly everyday reading and writing about philosophy. And man, I have to tell you that you are exemplifying stoicism in a way that ancient Romans would strive to mimic. I really look up to you and hope I can handle whatever comes for me someday half as well as you.
Eric: And thank you for everything you said. It means a lot. I think that stoic is usually a way I think of myself. Though, definitely harder lately.
Jesse: You are facing life’s hardest challenge and the only thing you can hope to do as a master stoic is to meet it with grace and dignity. You are looking complete madness in the face and aren’t blinking. You can do this because you are leaning on your integrity and virtues as a good man, great husband, amazing father, and fantastic friend. Despite all that it’s not just natural it’s completely expected that you can’t maintain it completely 100% of the time. Might even make your family feel like they can feel their feelings more.
This small anecdote is representative of Eric’s greater nature. Unlike me, Eric didn’t study philosophy; he didn’t familiarize himself with the characteristics of Stoicism. He just lived that life. He was generous, giving, caring, but had a remarkable way of blending that with candidness. You never had to guess what Eric was thinking. He was someone focused on outcomes over vanity. At work and in life he cared far more about what he could build, how he could help the people around him, than he ever cared about credit or the way it appeared to others.
He was a man who came face to face with his mortality and didn’t blink because he was confident that he lived his life according to his integrity and principles. His only concern was what he had in his control to change and make ready for his family in his absence.
Eric Binnion was also boldly hilarious. . .
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