One of my life’s mantras is No Regrets. Sure, it’s
cliché, but I never wanted to look back on missed opportunities and wonder What
If. But when I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, that mantra collided with
an incurable disease and it made me pause. Maybe I should take a pass more
often for my health. Maybe I should live more conservatively. Maybe I should take
fewer risks. So in that first year, when the enormity of coping with MS mentally
was at its crescendo, I did. And I passed up a once-in-a-lifetime experience
that haunts me to this day.
Now I could point to the missed opportunity to
ride horses with Laura on a Mexican beach that year … when I was certain the
headline in the following day’s paper was going to read Founder of ActiveMSers
Dies in Freak Horse Accident. Or I could point to the missed opportunity that
year to try surfing for the first time (similarly, Founder of ActiveMSers
Perishes in Freak Surfing Accident). At the time, freak accidents seemed almost
a given if I strayed from the safety of curling into a ball feeling sorry for
myself. But no, these regrets pale to what happened in Las Vegas on November 1,
2006.
The location: SEMA, the invitation-only, over-the-top
aftermarket car show that the Fast and the Furious movie franchise was
essentially built around. The scene: the high-performance drifting track hazy
with tire smoke and an unfortunate engine fire. The situation: As
editor-in-chief of a Nissan magazine, I was being introduced to owners of
souped up sports cars. But one owner had his own personal tractor beam and fan
base: supermodel Tyson Beckford, at the time Ralph Lauren’s leading man.
I’ll admit my man crush was instantaneous. I
remember the moment—the clothes, the handshake, the frighteningly good looks,
piercing eyes, and epic jaw—as though it had happened yesterday. We talked
cars. We talked drifting. I admired his modified 350Z. Tyson then handed me a
small leather box (and I can say Tyson because by then we were basically on a
first-name basis, at least in my head). Inside, on a bed of felt, was a gold
access card. He had just invited me to his exclusive private party that he was
hosting that night. Me.
How could I possibly go to a party that started
well after my bedtime? How could I possibly go to such a party when I exuded
about as much coolness as a pair of used lime-green Crocs. How? But there was a
bigger problem, or so I thought: I had multiple sclerosis. I was disabled. I
should play it safe, get my eight hours of sleep, and floss to prevent tooth
decay.
So I never showed up.
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| Tyson Beckford. Photo by Jesse Gross. |
More than two thirds of those diagnosed with MS
are women, and I would hope right now that all of you are yelling at your
computer screen calling me an idiot. For that matter, the guys, too. You all
would be right. That party, I imagine, would have been epic, like the Hangover
without the drunk wedding, naked Chinese dude, and Mike Tyson. Check that, Mike
might have been there. And there might have been a tiger in the bathroom. The
point is, I’ll never know.
