Live Long and . . .

by William Shatner

  Finally, get enough sleep. Sleep is always difficult for an actor. When you’re working you are often so busy learning lines, rehearsing, developing your character, that there isn’t time to get sufficient sleep. If you’re working in the theater you’re usually so charged up after a performance that you can’t go to sleep. And when you aren’t working then the fear that “maybe this is it, maybe my career is over” takes charge and if you can manage to overcome the anxiety and get to sleep it’s generally restless.

  It isn’t only actors who struggle to get enough sleep. Most people do. Years ago I had a conversation with a physician, who told me there was only one cure for insomnia: “Get plenty of sleep.”

  Ironically, I have spent my life dreaming about getting more sleep. Usually without success. There always seems to be just a little more to get done than time to do it. But sleep is vital for good health. Your body needs that time to replenish and heal. The experts recommend adults should get between seven and a half and eight hours’ sleep a night. That is a vital ingredient in good health. I know people who worry so much about not getting enough sleep that it keeps them awake for hours.

  Here’s what I’ve learned: There are steps we all can be taking to maintain our health. There are no secret formulas or magic potions. Balance matters: Don’t smoke. Stay active. Eat sensibly. Remind yourself how good you feel. And get as much sleep as you need. For me, at least, so far, so good.

  6. My Curious Quest for Adventure

  THROUGHOUT MY ADULT LIFE, in an effort to understand more about who I am and what is this wonderful gift we have been given, I have on occasion found myself coming back to a few profound questions, among them: What the hell am I doing here? How did I get into this? And perhaps most important, How am I going to get out of this?

  I don’t think of myself as an adventurer. Meaning I don’t set out to put myself in precarious situations. I’m probably not someone who would have gotten into a ninety-foot-long sailing vessel and sailed into the unknown, believing there were demons just below the surface. I don’t necessarily equate being adventurous, taking a chance, with being a test of courage. Rather, I am someone who tries to satisfy my curiosity. Which is why I have often ended up in precarious situations.

  With age comes the expectation that you have acquired wisdom. Sages and gurus are never depicted as young men or women. They are most often wizened old men who pontificate in sometimes mysterious words. They are the people sitting on mountaintops or in remote places who supposedly have discovered the secret of life—and are willing to share it with people searching for … the answer. While in my acting career I have had many encounters with these people, I’ve only played one once. In the sitcom Third Rock from the Sun, I created the character of the Big Giant Head. Big Giant Head was the commander of the four aliens living on Earth disguised as human beings. And he wasn’t written as an especially wise man. In fact, when he was challenged his response was simply, “The yelling will cease and the killing will commence!”

  Because I have lived more than eight decades, people have mistakenly assumed I have acquired that knowledge and so I have been asked that question: What is the secret of life?

  Here’s the answer: If I knew, it no longer would be a secret. I would shout as loud as I could for everyone to hear: “Here it is! Here’s the secret of life!” For me, the answer has been simple: Keep living. I have always been open to new experiences. More than anything else, my philosophy of life has been: Say yes, yes to life. That isn’t a secret.

  I don’t know where this need to abandon security and seek adventure comes from. I actually should have been exactly the opposite: I have this terrible fear about being alone and yet throughout my life I have left loving arms and gone out into the world without knowing where I was going. It sometimes is incomprehensible to me that a person who so craves the warmth of familiar places would try to become an actor. Acting may well be the least secure of all professions. There is no such thing as security; there is only “I hope I get another job.” In other professions you follow a well-trod path; you go to school, you learn your trade, you take whatever professional courses are necessary, and you become a doctor or a lawyer or an appliance repairman or a plumber or a teacher. Why would an insecure person like me become an actor?

  Dr. Phil, calling Dr. Phil.

  The only thing that makes sense to me is that I have a need for adventure. I have to continually keep challenging myself. I need that thrill. I started out on this path with nothing; no money, no contacts, no real prospects. It was both terribly frightening and unbelievably thrilling. When I left Montreal, I went to those strange cities of Toronto and Ottawa. I didn’t have a home; I had no friends there; I had no acquaintances. I lived in the least expensive places I could find. As bad as it was, I knew I was in the midst of an adventure. I didn’t know what was going to happen the next day. I didn’t live with the hope that the phone was going to ring suddenly and change my life, because I didn’t have a phone. I remember, I literally can summon up the memory of lying on a rope mattress in an attic room, a five-flight walk-up, being so lonely I wanted to cry, knowing I was sharing that space with mice, and somehow being okay with it. I knew intrinsically I was in the middle of my great adventure. Whatever was going to happen, I found great comfort in the reality that I was not going to live my father’s life. I have never lost the feeling that something interesting and fascinating and maybe thrilling is waiting for me just ahead, if I have the courage to be open to it.

  Scientists now have evidence that new experiences build new brain cells. The logic is unassailable: Active people stay involved in life longer than sedentary people. I have been able to sustain my sense of adventure. So I get on a motorcycle, I ride a horse, I travel to strange places, I continue trying to explore and expand my horizons.

  Now, truthfully, I have never intentionally set out to risk my life—that just happened. But the exhilaration of being in a life-threatening situation, that feeling of total immersion in life, is overwhelming and unforgettable. Especially when I am safely back on the ground.

  It is those experiences that make life so worth living. For example, I have long enjoyed paramotoring. Essentially, this is our version of Icarus: It involves simply a small motor attached to a large kite. I learned how to do it on the beaches of Ventura, where there generally are sufficient winds. I literally would fly with the birds. It is a wondrous experience, made even more exciting by the fact that it can be dangerous. We all have seen power mowers fail; this is essentially a power mower. But when you are in the air you are totally in control; you are the master of your fate.

  I have an array of normal fears in my life, and among them is a fear of heights. Maybe it is because of the man I saw standing on the wing when … oh, wait, that was The Twilight Zone. It is ironic, though, that even though I became best known as a Starfleet captain, heights have always made me uncomfortable. But I haven’t allowed that fear to stop me. When I had the opportunity to try paramotoring I did and loved it immediately. I found myself a hundred feet in the air, looking down on the beach, bouncing along the rising thermals as if they were invisible waves. The only sound was the dull chugging of the engine behind me. I took advantage of every opportunity to fly.

  So when I was asked to participate in the historic paintball war I had a great idea to generate publicity: I would paramotor to the site. Yeah! Yeah! Everybody thought it was a great idea. A paramotoring club made plans to fly with me.

  It was approximately three miles from the takeoff point to the designated landing site, but the route took us over the Ohio River. I was a little concerned about it; I didn’t know anything about the landing site. For all I knew there might be large rocks there that had to be avoided. I also knew nothing about the prevailing winds. I was experienced, but I certainly wasn’t an expert. The club members assured me it was quite safe: “We mapped it out.” At least no one said those four fateful words: “What could go wrong?”

  The day was warm and beautiful. I pu
t on my five-point harness, grasped the controls, and took off. You control this device with a dead-man’s throttle, which is similar to riding a motorcycle. When you hold tight, gas flows into the engine keeping you aloft; when you cut back on gas flow, the propeller slows and you begin to fall slowly. If you let go entirely, the engine will stop. While you’re pressing this throttle you also are holding on to the kite, which you can guide left, right, up, or down. So I was holding two controls in my right hand, both of which will keep me in the air or cause me to fall.

  We took off and for the first few minutes the flight was perfect. I followed several men over a beautiful landscape. And then in the distance I saw we were approaching the Ohio River. The very broad Ohio River. The really wide Ohio River. As we reached the river I saw the electrical power lines along its banks. It occurred to me that this was a dangerous situation. If I should get caught in a wind gust it could take me right into those electrical wires. I could feel the palm of my right hand beginning to sweat.

  Well, that wasn’t helpful. My hand began slipping. By the time I crossed over the wires I was really sweating. I was over the river, flying directly into a strong wind, so my speed was reduced from about 25 mph to probably 10 mph. My hand really started sweating and I started dropping slowly. The problem was that I was wearing a heavy rig, and if I landed in the water I was going under. My fingers were slipping.

  At moments like that you don’t think, Boy, this is a great adventure. I can’t wait to share this with my family. In fact, this was when I thought, What the hell am I doing here? And then I thought, How did I get into this? And most important, How am I going to get out of this? My hand was barely holding on to the throttle. If I’d had the guts I would have let go and regrasped it before the motor cut out.

  I didn’t have the guts. I was literally holding down the handle with my little finger. Until that moment I never realized how much strength I had in that finger. It took approximately forever to get across the Ohio frigging River. Finally I saw the landing area. I was looking for smoke or flags to see which way the wind was blowing, but I saw no indication. I also didn’t see any power lines or river, so I knew I could figure it out. I watched as the other members of the team made smooth landings and followed their lead.

  As soon as my feet were safely on the ground, this terrifying experience suddenly became a great adventure.

  I don’t know why I put myself in these positions, but I have been doing it throughout my life. I know I am an intelligent man, but I don’t necessarily think things through. I just go. I do know people who go through life in a completely different fashion. When facing a decision they begin by going to the end and guessing what the worst possible outcome might be—and then they make decisions based on that. If the forecast is heavy rain they don’t leave the house because they are afraid the roads might be dangerous. They hesitate to make a plane reservation several months in advance because it might be snowing that day. There are people who lead a cautious life. But to me, that’s like going through life with the emergency brake on.

  When nature calls, these people respond by explaining it must have been the wrong number. When nature calls me, I answer. It isn’t always the smartest thing to do, but it is who I am.

  I can’t put myself in their shoes. We all have the opportunity to make that decision: Do I stay in this comfortable situation or do I emerge into the sunlight where I am vulnerable? How much risk am I willing to take? That really is the question. It has been my experience that most human beings would say, “I can’t take the risk because I don’t know how it is going to turn out, so I am going to stay with what I know.” For those people, that is the right decision. Ironically, they may well be more comfortable in their own skin than I am in mine. I have gone through life questing after change and adventure. I still do. Comfort and predictability have never been sufficient for me. At the conclusion of the wonderful movie Tender Mercies, Robert Duval is tending a garden, settled with the woman he loves, when she asks him why he seems so unhappy. He looks at her and explains, “I don’t trust happiness.”

  It’s not that I don’t trust happiness; it just has always been so difficult for me to find. I am as happy as any human being for short periods of time. I revel in good company and great food, in stimulation of many kinds, but then I need more. It revitalizes me, renews me, keeps me going.

  I have traveled extensively throughout the world. I am duomoed out. If I never see another reliquary I will be satisfied. I think to myself, You know what, I would be quite content just sitting at home by the pool with Liz, reading a book, watching television, working on my various projects, eating the best Thai food in the universe, and playing with my dogs. That would make me happy. But then the phone rings and someone asks if I would like to fly thirty hours to Cape Town, South Africa. My whole spirit lights up with joy. Weeks later, I am sixteen hours into a flight asking myself how I got there.

  One reason for that, I’m certain, is that I am aware of the passage of time and so I push myself and, sometimes, push others, too. I know I have a limited schedule ahead of me, so I don’t want to miss anything. So I push, I go, I do. One night in Africa I was sleeping in a hut and I heard sounds outside. Several elephants were passing through. Although we had been warned not to leave the safety of our huts I followed them in the night. They went to the river. I stood there in the brush watching them. I did not think, I’m William Shatner; nothing can happen to me. I didn’t sense danger. It was a joyous moment, watching these strange and beautiful creatures; it was that feeling of being completely alive.

  Alive, as I was told the next day, at least temporarily. Following wild animals in the jungle at night is very dangerous. Now who could have figured that out? Elephants especially are very protective animals and they will attack. But I couldn’t help myself.

  I can’t stop pushing myself to the edges of my life. I once drove cross-country, from Philadelphia to L.A., stopping in Indianapolis to pick up Liz, who was with her mother. I was driving my Porsche. When you are in a car built for speed there really is only one thing you want to know: How fast will this thing go? I have driven a car 190 mph, but that was on a NASCAR track in a car built for that situation. As I was driving my Porsche through the Allegheny Mountains on my way to Indiana, I began pushing down on the accelerator. And down. I got the car up to 140 mph. Why did I do it? Because I could. There is no other reasonable explanation. It was a silly thing to do. I didn’t know much about the car; would a tire explode at that speed? What if I got stopped? That much speeding is a felony, and in many places you will go to jail for it. After picking up Liz, I told her about it. “It was an incredible experience,” I said. “You won’t believe it.”

  Talking about it wasn’t sufficient, I needed to share that feeling with her. I found the right place on Highway 40 in Oklahoma. There was nobody around and I pushed the car again. This time I got it up to 145 mph.

  Liz knows me well enough not to ask, “Is that the best you can do?” We settled for 145 mph. There are people who ask, “How could you have done that? Don’t you know your life is at stake?” And my response was always, “How could I have not done it? My life was at stake.”

  As I’ve learned, my sense of adventure isn’t limited to purely physical experimentation. It’s difficult for me to discuss drugs in a society in which addiction is a widespread and serious issue. And let me make it clear that I am not advocating drug use in any way. I have seen the damage that addiction can do. I watched it destroy my marriage and cause Nerine’s death. But my curiosity has extended into drugs. It’s nearly impossible to be in the entertainment world and not be around drugs. I was born before marijuana was made an illegal drug. I didn’t know anything about it until after the United States had passed a law making it illegal—and did so after making alcohol legal once again. The irony is that I have seen alcohol responsible for the death of someone I dearly loved, but I’ve never seen marijuana hurt anyone—yet marijuana is illegal and alcohol is a huge and profitable busine
ss.

  I used to smoke pot or grass or weed or whatever it is currently called. I enjoyed it. A friend of mine had a party every Saturday night and there was always pot there. I would go to those parties and get stoned. One Saturday night, as we were sitting there being stoned, someone brought up a news story we had all read: A Korean fisherman had been in the ocean when his boat capsized. He was treading water, preparing himself to die, when he felt something under his feet. It was a porpoise, who literally took him to land and saved his life. Then someone asked, “If you were in the middle of the ocean and you were treading water, and you stepped on something—would you stay there or would you be screaming?”

  At that moment that was funniest thing I had ever heard. I could not stop laughing. I was laughing so hard I could barely catch my breath. And the next morning I remembered laughing as hard as I have ever laughed, but I couldn’t remember why I was laughing. The following Saturday night I asked, “What was that story again?” And then I start laughing again. That went on for several weeks; each time I got hysterical. But the next morning I couldn’t remember the story.

  So I’ve had some good moments with marijuana. I haven’t smoked it in a long time. Several years ago I was asked to host a show on the benefits of marijuana and I was hesitant to do it. After a lot of thought, I turned it down. But subsequent to that I did my own research on its benefits, marijuana with THC, marijuana without THC, the oils, all the different variations. I didn’t find anything negative. I believe that as we become better educated about it, it will become a useful medical tool. Personally, I liked the feeling.