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One of my patients, a successful businessman, tells me that before his cancer he would become depressed unless things went a certain way. Happiness was "having the cookie." If you had the cookie, things were good. If you didn't have the cookie, life wasn't worth a damn. Unfortunately, the cookie kept changing. Some of the time it was money, sometimes power, sometimes sex. At other times, it was the new car, the biggest contract, the most prestigious address. A year and a half after his diagnosis of prostate cancer he sits shaking his head ruefully. "It's like I stopped learning how to live after I was a kid. When I give my son a cookie, he is happy. If I take the cookie away or it breaks, he is unhappy. But he is two and a half and I am forty-three. It's taken me this long to understand that the cookie will never make me happy for long. The minute you have the cookie it starts to crumble or you start to worry about it crumbling or about someone trying to take it away from you. You know, you have to give up a lot of things to take care of the cookie, to keep it from crumbling and be sure that no one takes it away from you. You may not even get a chance to eat it because you are so busy just trying not to lose it. Having the cookie is not what life is about."
我有一位病人，他是一个成功的商人，告诉我，在他患癌症之前，凡事如果没有确定下来他就忧心忡忡。对他而言，幸福是“拥有小甜饼”。如果你拥有了小甜饼，一切都一帆风顺。如果你没有小甜饼，生活就一文不值。不幸的是，小甜饼总是不断变换着，有时是金钱，有时是权力，有时是欲望。在其他时候，它是一辆新车、一份数额最大的合同、或者一个享有声望的通讯地址。在他被诊断出患有前列腺癌的一年半之后，他坐在那里，悲天悯人地摇着头，说：“长大以后，我好像就不知道怎样生活了。当我给我儿子一个小甜饼时，他心花怒放。如果我拿走甜饼或者是小甜饼碎了，他就闷闷不乐。不同的是，他只有两岁半，而我已经43了。我花了这么长的时间才明白小甜饼并不能使我长久感到幸福。从你拥有小甜饼的那一刻，它就开始破碎，或者你就开始担心它会破碎，抑或你开始担心别人拿走它。为了守护你的小甜饼，为了防止它破碎或者确定别人不会从你手中夺走它，你不得不放弃许多东西。你忙于不让自己失去它，甚至没有时间享受它。拥有小甜饼并不是生活的全部内容。
