The road not taken

Not surprisingly, there have been a flurry of tributes to C. S. Lewis on the 50th anniversary of his death. I'm going to quote from part of one:

Clive Staples Lewis (“Jack” to his friends) was born on 29 November 1898 in Belfast, Northern Ireland, the second son of Albert Lewis, a promising attorney and his wife, Florence (“Flora”), daughter of an Anglican clergyman and one of the earliest female graduates (in Mathematics and Logic) from what is now Queen’s University, Belfast. She was probably the sharper of the parents, although “Jack” did not inherit her mathematical gifts.  

Flora died of abdominal cancer in 1908. Lewis was a motherless son. Sent off to boarding school, his teenage years were generally miserable.  

The two women whose lives were intertwined with Lewis’ were very different indeed. The first was Jane Moore, the mother of “Paddy” Moore, a young cadet with whom Lewis had trained for the army. They apparently promised to look after each other’s parent in the event of the other’s death. Moore was killed. 

http://www.ligonier.org/blog/who-was-cs-lewis/

This is like the domino effect. Imagine how differently his life might well have turned out with a few crucial changes early on. Suppose his mother hadn't died when he was about 10. Suppose he hadn't been sent off to boarding school. Suppose his best friend hadn't died in battle? One thing leads to another. 

Suppose, instead, he had a normal home-life with a loving mother. Suppose he didn't leave home until he was college age. Suppose he didn't volunteer for the army. Suppose he didn't have an alcoholic brother. 

Under those circumstances, it's likely that he would have married at a normal age, had kids, had a normal family life. Had a happy childhood. Had a happy marriage. Been a fulfilled father and husband. In all likelihood, he would have lived and died in pleasant obscurity. A man of unsuspected promise and mediocre attainments. 

Instead, because of his blighted boyhood and other traumas, he threw himself into his work. He devoted himself to the life of the mind. He cultivated his abilities and pursued his interests. 

So there's a tradeoff. His deprivations spurred him to greatness, but at the cost of happiness. And the bitterness of his early years undoubted predisposed him to atheism. 

A fork in the road with two divergent paths: a happy, but ordinary life–or a lonely, but extraordinary life. Forgettable or famous. A contented underachiever or a discontented genius.   

Which path would you take?