This summer I read Walter Isaacson’s illuminating biography of Albert Einstein, the man who is widely considered to be the greatest thinker of the 20th Century. In 1905, when he was only 26 years old, he published four groundbreaking papers that forever changed the way people understood space, time, mass, gravity and energy.
By the time Einstein turned 40 in 1919, at a moment when he was struggling to devise a unified theory of matter, he complained to a friend that “Anything truly novel is invented only during one’s youth. Later, one becomes more experienced, more famous – and more blockheaded“.
Einstein’s frustration at his diminished capabilities as he aged is a phenomenon that is considered common with mathematicians and physicists who seem to make their greatest contributions to science before they turn 40. Einstein remarked to a colleague that as he got older he felt his intellect slowly becoming crippled and calcified.
Why does this happen? In Einstein’s case, it was partly because his early successes had come from his rebellious traits. In his youth, there was a link between his creativity and his willingness to defy authority and the universally accepted cosmological laws of his day. He had no sentimental attachment to the old order and was energized at the chance to show that the accepted knowledge was wrong or incomplete. His stubbornness worked to his advantage.
After he turned 40, his youthful rebellious attitudes were softened by the comforts of fame, renown, riches and a comfortable home. He became wedded to the faith of preserving the certainties and determinism of classical science – leading him to reject the uncertainties inherent in the next great scientific breakthrough, quantum mechanics. His stubbornness began working to his disadvantage as he got older.
It was a fate that Einstein began fearing years before it happened. He wrote after finishing his most groundbreaking papers: “Soon I will reach the age of stagnation and sterility when one laments the revolutionary spirit of the young“. In one of his most revealing statements about himself, Einstein complained: “To punish me for my contempt of authority, Fate has made me an authority myself“. He found it even harder as he got older acknowledging “the increasing difficulty a man past fifty always has adapting to new thoughts”.
Einstein brilliance is beyond compare, but I can relate to his observation about doing your best work when you are young. When I look back at my personal life and work career, I recognize that I was at my most ambitious and innovative during the decades of my 20’s and 30’s.
My adult life exploded with big events in 1982, the year that I turned 22. In the timespan of that one year I managed to graduate from college, marry my college sweetheart, start my first professional job as an engineer, buy a new house and a new car, and learn that my wife and I were going to become first-time parents. I remember filling out a survey designed to measure the amount of stress in your life during that eventful year and being surprised when the calculated stress numbers registered so high that they indicated I should be dead!
But all of it was exhilarating to me at that point in my life. I was experiencing new things and accumulating knowledge like a sponge. I knew that my growing family would be counting on me to be a good provider – which gave me the incentive I needed to focus on building a stable career.
I was determined to be successful in my engineering role and threw myself into learning everything I possibly could about the company I worked for as well as the electronic test and measurement equipment that they manufactured.
Many of my co-workers had graduated from more prestigious universities than me and I felt that I had something to prove. I wanted to make a name for myself and grow my reputation and value within the company by making important contributions to the projects to which I was assigned.
I took several continuing education engineering classes at night to improve my knowledge of subject areas that I knew would be helpful to me at work, I sought out brilliant co-workers who could mentor me and give me wise advice on how to approach complex technical projects, and I questioned everything – wondering if there might be a better solution to the problems we were trying to solve.
This drive in my early career to be successful enabled me to do my most innovative and important work for the company during the decades of my 20’s and 30’s. In the span of my first 18 years working for the company, I was awarded two patents, helped develop multiple new test products which generated millions of dollars for the company, created automated software regression tests significantly lowering product development times while improving software quality, and published frequent technical articles for industry conferences and trade journals.
By the time I turned 40, I could point to many important career milestones and had achieved recognition as a top performer and leader within the company. The rewards of my hard work were a comfortable home and financial independence. With this success I began to have feelings of contentment that lessened my drive to take on new projects or solve interesting problems. I became comfortable and happy with life as it was – I no longer felt the need to over-extend myself.
I was satisfied to rest on my past achievements and to take on less tasking roles that would improve the product in evolutionary, rather than revolutionary ways. Over time, I became the wise, experienced, older mentor to younger employees who came to me for advice and direction.
I felt okay with that transition as I considered it my good fortune to be in a situation where I was able to share my knowledge with a new generation of ambitious young people who were ready to make their own marks on the world by inventing novel new solutions that were now beyond me. In some ways, being a part of those collaborative efforts made me feel better than my individual personal accomplishments.
The famous journalist Ed Bradley once interviewed Bob Dylan in 1998 on the television show 60 minutes, at a time when he was approaching 60 years old. During the course of the interview, Bradley asked Bob what the source of inspiration was for his famous early songs, the ones that led to him being recognized as the voice of a generation while he was still only in his 20’s.
Dylan replied that his early songs were almost magically written and that he felt some kind of power, outside of himself, flowing through him while was writing them. When Bradley asked if he could still tap into that penetrating magic now in his songwriting, Dylan paused and said; “No, I don’t know how I got to write those songs“. Bradley followed up and asked if that disappointed him, Dylan replied softly; “Well you can’t do something forever and I did it once… and I can do other things now – but I can’t do that“.
That is a healthy way, I believe, of thinking about what is possible for each of us as we age. My days of endless ambition and innovative thinking are past. But I can do other things now that I couldn’t do then. I can indulge hobbies that interest me, I can find new paths to hike and rivers to fish, I can help care for my mother in her old age and I can share what I have learned through my life experiences and pass it on to my grandchildren and the larger community via this blog.
There will only ever be one Einstein, none of us will ever be as brilliant as him – but if you are under 40, get busy by putting your spry young mind and youthful ambition to work! Maybe you too can come up with novel ideas and ways of doing things that will help change the world or someone’s life for the better.
And if you are over 40, you can be like Einstein in his older years; contributing in a positive way to his community and sharing his wisdom, experience and good fortune with the next generation. In the end, many of our late in life pursuits that we share with others can end up being more rewarding and meaningful to us than any personal accomplishments we achieve along the way.
There is a story I heard once about two relatives who were attending the funeral services of a wealthy family member. One of them, with a greedy glint in his eyes, leans over and whispers; “how much did he leave?“. The other looks back and responds…”All of it“. The point of the story was that when our time comes, we don’t take any of our possessions with us.
St. Francis of Assisi, who was born into a wealthy noble family, left his life of possessions and privileges to start a monastery and live a life of simplicity. His advice to those who wanted to join him was to “Wear the world like a loose garment, which touches us in a few places and there but lightly”.
St Francis Statue
The Alcoholic Anonymous organization adopted this teaching of St Francis and shortened it to the simple phrase: Wear the World Lightly. Their 12-step program for overcoming addiction uses lots of sayings to help people detach and overcome their addictions, phrases like: live and let live, let go and let God, turn it over, easy does it, and one day at a time.
All of these statements of detachment are not intended to send a message that we should be indifferent or dead to the world, or have no feelings at all. Rather their purpose is to teach people to face the world with a kind of mindful disengagement.
It is this “detachment with love” philosophy that can help motivate people to create a peaceful space within themselves, separated from the never-ending incoming arrows of uncertainty, fear, anger, and other painful events that plague our life. Practicing detachment helps people look past the daily shocks that occur, producing a change of attitude in the mind and a physical release in the body.
To wear the world as a loose garment is to acknowledge that the world and our life will always press at us and around us, but that it does not have to touch us but “lightly”. Most things are either outside our control or ultimately unimportant.
We do not need to grasp, manage, dwell on or react to everything that happens to us. We can choose instead to keep the world at an emotional distance so we can stay focused on doing the next right thing. It is an attitude that can relax the body and relieve the mind of the poisonous emotions that overcome us when we are confronted by the people, places or things that beset us.
To be in the world but not of it, is to live and move through life without being emotionally attached to everything that happens. Life can get hard, but those who wear the world lightly learn how to live in the world with their hardships, neither fighting them nor being crushed by them.
St Francis was essentially encouraging us to not sweat the small stuff. To not get annoyed or depressed when life does not go your way or when you do not get what you want. When you have lived long enough you come to understand that most of the things that bother us are small potatoes. Even death apparently, which the Dalai Lama described as a simple change of clothes.
I’ve heard it said that the secret to happiness as we age “is to care less and less about more and more“. The wise elders I have been fortunate to know in my life carried that attitude with them; they tended to let fewer and fewer things bother them as they got older. It’s not because they didn’t care, most likely it was just that they discovered through their life experience that it is possible to walk away, without anger or agitation, from some things they felt passionate about – and still live.
I happened across an on-line sermon about this same topic of wearing the world lightly by Bishop Robert Barron. From a spiritual point of view, Bishop Barron also believes that St Francis’ famous statement was an attempt to teach his followers about the importance of detachment – especially from the goods and achievements of the world.
Not because the world itself is bad – there are all kinds of good, true and beautiful things in the world – but because the things of the world are not the ultimate good and we are not meant to cling to them as though they were.
There are stories throughout the Bible about the futility of clinging on to earthly power, riches and glory. King Solomon is one of the greatest figures in the history of Israel from a standpoint of wealth and power. He was somebody who had it all; nobody was richer, nobody was more famous, nobody had richer palaces or clothes. But, as an old man, looking at all the possessions he has acquired over his lifetime, he says: “Vanity of vanities, all things are vanity!“.
The word vanity in Hebrew signifies something that is insubstantial and momentary, like wind or vapor or bubbles; something that is here for a brief time and then it is gone. Solomon has experienced everything: power, sensual pleasure, wisdom, honor and wealth. He has built up a reserve of wealth through his knowledge and skills and yet when he is gone, he must leave all his property to others who have not labored over it and do not deserve it.
It is not uncommon to hear complaints like this from men as they become old and infirm; “I gave my whole life to my business, I worked hard and I made a fortune. Now I’m an old man and I’m surrounded by ungrateful children and grand-children; and I’ve done all this work and yet these people are going to inherit all my wealth. What’s it all been about“?
If you live to be old enough, at some point, you finally come to realize that everything in this world has a quality of evanescence – it disappears and does not last. It is a good thing if you have been successful and built up a fortune – but it’s not going to last. Because you are going to fade away and it’s all going to go to somebody else.
Should we just be depressed then? Father Barron says no, not depressed, instead we should be detached. Our wealth, power, pleasure and the esteem of other people. It’s good. We should take it in and then let it go. We should enjoy it the way you enjoy a firework going off. Learn to live in the present moment, savoring what we can, but then letting it go.
Why? Because we come to realize that the truly good and beautiful things belong to a higher world. We can sense them in the good things of this world but none of our earthly things last and so if we cling to them, what happens is they disappear, they crumble as we try to grasp at them. Rather see them, appreciate them and then let them go.
We can get caught in an addictive pattern when we cling to the goods of the world. You worry about them so you say to yourself, oh no I better get more. Instead, we would be wise to remember the cautionary parable of the rich fool told by Jesus:
“The ground of a certain rich man brought forth abundantly. He reasoned within himself, saying, ‘What will I do, because I don’t have room to store my crops?’ He said, ‘This is what I will do. I will pull down my barns, and build bigger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. I will tell my soul, “Soul, you have many goods laid up for many years. Take your ease, eat, drink, be merry.”‘ “But God said to him, ‘You fool, this very night your soul is required of you. The things which you have prepared— whose will they be?’
Luke 12:16-21
St Francis asks us to cultivate an attitude of detachment in our life. To stop clinging and hanging on to the things of the world. The more we cling to them, the more we become imprisoned by them. We’ll become bitter, angry , empty if our only focus is on the acquisition of ephemeral things. But if we practice the proper spiritual attitude of detachment and keep our eyes on the true and beautiful things that do not fade away then we will know how to handle the goods of the world as they come to us.
Fr Barron closes his sermon by emphasizing again that wealth in itself is not the problem. He points out that wealthy people can be saintly when they know how to use their wealth, how to wear it lightly and how to become generous with it. The only thing we take with us into the life to come is the quality of our love and what we’ve given away on earth. So, we should forget about trying to fill up our lives with bigger barns; true joy in life comes through building up our treasure in heaven.
The publication of this particular blog represents a milestone for me and the achievement of a goal I set for myself way back in 2013 when I posted my very first Words to Live By blog entry. I have been publishing this monthly blog for almost 10 years now and and have managed to author 100 different blog entries in that time.
I have attempted in this collection of postings to communicate ideas and philosophies that have helped me along the way and given my life direction and meaning. It has been a wonderful mental exercise for me and a labor of love that has helped me recognize things that make life interesting and wonderful. I hope my readers have discovered some of their own words to live by that will be of specific value to them in their own life.
In the spirit of “wearing the world lightly”, I plan to cut back on my blogging activities moving forward so that I am can devote more time focusing on doing the next right things in my life that will increase the quality of my love. I don’t plan to walk away from blogging completely though, as there are always more words to live by to be discovered and examined.
So, keep an eye out for the occasional future posting from me; and until then, may the blessings abound in your life.
One of the things my wife and I like to do together is attend performances at the Merrimack Repertory Theatre. We consider attending plays one of our better date activities because it provides us with an opportunity to break out of our normal routines and have engaging conversations together about the moments in the performances that stirred our emotions or stimulated our minds.
Recently we attended a two-man play called Best Summer Ever that was written and performed by Kevin Kling – an accomplished playwright, storyteller, and contributor to NPR’s All Things Considered. Kling is an ebullient personality and there is something childlike, mischievous, and endearing about him that works to win over his audiences from the start.
One of Kevin’s most admirable qualities is his attitude towards overcoming the physical disabilities that are a part of his life. He was born with a congenital birth defect that shriveled his left arm and left it without a wrist or thumb. Then, at the age of 44, Kevin was in a motorcycle accident that completely paralyzed his right arm and disfigured his face.
Kling is open about his disabilities and tries to explain, with humor, the blessings he has derived from his misfortunes and the benefits that can come from tackling life’s obstacles with faith and a positive attitude. His family and friends stood by him while he recovered from his motorcycle accident and years of rehab.
“It’s hard to deny the power of prayer when you’re on the receiving end of it. I know it helped me heal. At times it was like skiing behind a power boat — all I had to do was hang on… As terrible [as my injuries were] and as scared as I am sometimes, I still feel blessed. And when I get discouraged I just look at my two wiener dogs because they are the best example of a ‘can do’ attitude in a ‘can’t do’ body.
Kevin Kling
Kling separates the disabilities that we are born with from those disabilities we acquire later in life and he points out that being so-called “able-bodied” is always just a temporary condition – sooner or later we are all likely to suffer from life’s frailties. He feels that when you are born with a disability, you grow from it, but when you experience a loss later in life, you have to grow toward it; you need time to grow into the new person you haven’t yet become.
Kevin wrote “The Best Summer Ever” as a way of growing toward the new person he was becoming after his accident. He does this by going back and telling the heartwarming story of his 9 year childhood journey growing up as the son of Norwegian immigrants in rural Minnesota. Exploring his childhood from this perspective became a kind of therapy; helping him to find pieces from his past to fit, not the person he was, but the new person he was becoming.
There were two moments from the play that stood out in my mind as reflections of the kind of positive wisdom Kevin had to share about life with his audience:
We all have a deep desire to feel connected, no matter what age
There is a scene in the play where 9 year old Kevin tries his best to comfort his aging grandfather who is grieving the death of his brother. Kevin is trying to understand why his grandfather is so sad and comes to the realization that his grandfather must feel like an orphan now because his mother, father and all his siblings are now gone. He is the last one of his family left.
How must it feel when the people you had the strongest connection to throughout your life are no longer here? I wonder about my 93 year old mother. After living through the deaths of her mother, father and seven siblings, does she feel like an orphan in some way? Despite her many children and grandchildren, is she happily looking forward to re-establishing connections again with her family on the other side?
Kevin talks fondly about his grandparents and the role they played in his life, saying his relationship with them was one of his strongest connections and one that most shaped who he became:
“I connected with my grandparents. And I think we were in the same light. I mean, I was in the dawn, and they were in the twilight, but we were in the same light. And because of that, they were heading to the creator, and I was coming from the creator. And it seemed, because of that, we spoke a very similar language.“
Live so that your Light outlives you
At the conclusion of the play, Kevin is looking at a nighttime sky full of shining stars and marvels that since the stars are so far away it takes hundreds or thousands of years for their light to reach the earth. This means that those of us left on on earth will continue to receive light from the stars even after they are long dead.
Kevin believes that the light from people can live on after they die too. The good that we do, and the light we share will outlive us if we act to make a positive difference in the lives of the people we love and take meaningful action against the injustice we see in the world.
When Kevin looks up at those stars at night he is happy to feel the presence and memories of his grandparents and parents shining down on him. I hope when you look up at the stars, you too can take comfort and feel gratitude for the connections you had with your loved ones. But more important I hope you are living the kind of life that will continue to shine light long after you are gone. When you think about it, being a light for someone else is one way for us to become immortal.
Michel de Montaigne (1533-1592) has been recognized as one of the most significant philosophers of the 16th century. Born into a privileged family and raised during the period of the French Renaissance, he was educated in a private boarding school where all his lessons were taught in Latin. Because of his family’s great wealth, he was free to devote the first half of his life to jobs serving the public sector; including volunteering as a legal counselor, advisor to King Charles IX and mayor of the town of Bordeaux.
In 1571, at the age of 38, he retired from public life to his estate, where he isolated himself from all social and family affairs so that he could dedicate his time to reading, meditating, and writing. It was in his castle’s round library room – which contained more than 1,500 books – where Montaigne probed his mind and produced two highly influential books titled simply Essays; which he published in 1580. Montaigne wrote that “I am myself the matter of my book“, and his stated goal was to describe humans, and especially himself, with utter frankness.
Some of the key topics Montaigne explored in his various essays include:
Mankind’s dangerously inflated claims to knowledge and certainty
The assertion that there is no greater achievement than the ability to accept one’s limitations
The problem of trying to locate truth in commonly accepted ideas that are false or unexamined – especially since many things we held yesterday as articles of faith today we know as fables.
The importance of freeing ourselves from outside influences, customs and opinions
His belief that the best path to understanding truth is by a careful exploration of one’s own body-and-mind.
Montaigne believed that the self, even with all its imperfections, was the best possible place to begin the search for truth, even though our identities can’t be defined as a stable thing because it is always changing. The most obvious example to him was the struggle of living with the infirmities of a human body. “Our bodies smell, ache, sag, pulse, throb and age regardless of the best desires of our mind“. It is only in acceptance of these traits that we can remain faithful to the truth of one’s being.
Montaigne isolated himself while writing his Essays but maintained the importance of maintaining contact with the outside world of other people and events because one can learn much that is useful from others. He described human beings as having a front room, facing the exterior street, where they meet and interact with others, but also with a back room where they are able to retreat back into their interior private self to reflect upon the vagaries of human experience and consider how it impacts their intimate identity.
Montaigne was refreshingly different from other philosophers and academics of his day who believed that their advanced powers of reason were a divine gift that gave them mastery over the world and a happiness that was denied to lesser educated creatures. He mocked those philosophers who were proud of their big brains and his writings come across as wise and intelligent – but also as modest and eager to debunk the pretensions of learning.
He wrote of his fellow academics and philosophers: “On our highest thrones in the world we are seated, still, on our arses” and, “…in practice, thousands of little women in their villages have lived more gentle, more equable and more constant lives than us.
He mocked books that were difficult to read. He found Plato boring and just wanted to have fun with books. “I’m not prepared to bash my brains out for anything, not even for learning’s sake – however precious it may be. If one book tires me, I just take up another“.
[note: I must admit that this sentiment makes me feel somewhat better about my decision to hold off reading the notorious difficult novel Ulysses by Irish writer James Joyce].
Montaigne was honest about the limitations and usefulness of his own intellect and attacked his prestigious academic friends for studying difficult things that were not useful to our lives.
“Difficulty is a coin which the learned conjure with so as not to reveal the vanity of their studies. Intellectuals would prefer you to study other people’s books way before we study our own minds. If man were wise, he would gauge the true worth of anything by its usefulness and appropriateness to his life”
I can’t help but wonder if Montaigne’s admiration for the working class – and life’s simple things – stemmed from the decision his humanist father made to leave him for three years when he was a small boy in the sole care of a peasant family in their town, in order to “draw the boy close to the people, and to the life conditions of the people, who need our help“.
Whatever the reason for his modest and humble personality, Montaigne comes across as one of the world’s first examples of a tolerant mind; a breath of fresh air in the cloistered and snobbish corridors of 16th century academia. He became an inspiration and encouragement to all those who felt put-upon and patronized by the arrogance of self-proclaimed clever people.
Montaigne tells us that each one of us is richer than we think. We may all arrive at wise ideas if we cease to think of ourselves as unsuited to the task just because we haven’t been classically trained or happen to lead an ordinary life.
The inscription Montagne had placed on the crown of the book shelf in his library was “I do not understand; I pause; I examine“. He had the inscription placed there to remind him of the limitations of his own knowledge and to caution him about the dangers that can result when one hastily forms opinions without careful consideration of all the facts.
Too many people today, especially since the advent of social media – which allows anybody to pass themselves off as experts – form their beliefs by adopting commonly accepted ideas or by making broad generalizations. Outside influences and political talking points trigger knee-jerk reactions from those who fail to take the time to study all sides of a topic – or to consider what is the truth and what is morally just.
It would be refreshing if more of us today, before forming our opinions, would like Montaigne, acknowledge the limitations of our knowledge, admit that we don’t fully understand a topic and then take time to examine all aspects of the issues in question using qualified experts in the field as our guides.
The danger of operating a society with uninformed or half-informed subjects was identified as early as the 2nd century by the Roman writer Publilius Syrus who said that it is “Better to be ignorant of a matter than to half know it“.
Today there are so many competing sources of information, where anyone with a computer can offer their uninformed opinions. Few people check the credentials of writers or the authenticity of the facts, and foreign actors can easily spread misinformation along via unregulated social networks.
The next time we are asked to form an opinion or make a decision about subjects we do not fully understand, we would do well to follow the sage advice of Montaigne: Do not let somebody else speak for you and do not fall prey to the pressures of biased outside influences. Instead take a moment to pause, study all sides of the issue, consult qualified experts and sources, and endeavor to reach true understanding.
If you can summon the conviction and discipline to do this, then you will be able to take solace knowing that even though you can not govern external events, you at least govern yourself.
Bob Dylan recently celebrated his 80th birthday by releasing a film noir streaming art movie of him singing songs from his early career. The movie was filmed entirely in black & white and was appropriately named Shadow Kingdom because throughout the film dark shadows obscure the musicians and most of the surroundings.
Screenshot from Bob Dylan’s Shadow Kingdom Film
The set reminded me of something right out of an old twilight zone episode, a 1940’s style dark and smoky nightclub where the dozen or so people in the barroom sit at tables with their drinks and cigarettes, or mingle out on the dance floor slowly grooving to the music of Bob’s four piece band.
I realized while watching that Bob was clearly the oldest person in the film – there doesn’t appear to be a person in the band or in the audience who is older than 40 – most appear to be in their 20’s and 30’s. I’m not sure if it was his intention, but it would not surprise me to learn that Bob specifically wanted to surround himself with young people. After all, he is the man who wrote Forever Young and the one who made famous the observation that “He not busy being born is busy dying“.
For Bob it seems as if age is not a number but an attitude, and throughout his career he has refused to become a nostalgia act or to live on his past glories. Instead he has continuously changed and reinvented himself; and along the way he has succeeded in making music that is relevant and appealing to every generation. One look at the mix of young and old faces at his concerts demonstrates his ability to speak to all ages.
Which is difficult to do because in today’s society the elderly are often overlooked by the young. As people get older, they often get the feeling that they are being ignored and that they are becoming invisible within their communities. A couple lyrics from Bob Dylan’s later songs indicate that even someone as famous as him is not immune from this feeling.
Walking through the leaves, falling from the trees Feeling like a stranger nobody sees
Lyrics from song Mississippi by Bob Dylan
I see people in the park forgetting their troubles and woes They’re drinking and dancing, wearing bright-colored clothes All the young men with their young women looking so good Well, I’d trade places with any of them In a minute, if I could
Lyrics from song Highlands by Bob Dylan
In these lyrics, Bob ponders the predicament which many old people find themselves in. Just when they should start feeling fortunate for reaching their seventh or eighth decade of life, their bodies become old and frail and they find themselves becoming unvalued outsiders. It seems as if the world speeds up and they just become spectators to life happening around them.
Strangers who once smiled and acknowledged them as they walked past begin passing by without even a glance. They become self-conscious about their appearance and failing senses and withdraw further into isolation, sadly contributing towards their own “invisibility”.
The author Helen Garner, in her 2015 essay The Insults of Age, writes that women especially have always had an acute awareness of growing old. Her essay explores all the cruel ways in which getting older means being erased from a culture that equates youth and beauty with value. “Your face is lined, and your hair is grey, so they think you are weak, deaf, helpless, ignorant and stupid. It is assumed that you have no opinions and no standards of behavior and that nothing that happens in your vicinity is any of your business.”
My father as he got older suffered from COPD (which made it a struggle for him to breathe) and hearing decline (which made it hard for him to follow group conversations). Despite this, he was beloved by his eight children for his wisdom, good nature, and the code of honor with which he lived his life.
But I remember my mother telling me about an incident that occurred that was very hurtful to my father when he was older. There were a group of people sitting around the table having a discussion about a specific topic. My father ventured to offer his opinion on the subject when one of the young people interrupted and told him that “Nobody really cares what you think“.
Those words were a shock for my father to hear. He was a man of integrity who was used to being treated with respect and dignity throughout his life and whose opinion was always highly valued. To bluntly be told that nobody cared what he thought was like a slap in the face. With incidences like this happening to the elderly is it any wonder why they become confused and retreat into isolation?
There was a time in the past when the elderly were revered, cared for, and sought out for their wisdom. It seems that today they are instead viewed as a burden and out of touch with the way the world operates. There is a generation of people that are overlooked every day.
Age should not define a person or diminish respect from others. According to the American Psychological Association, people who do not feel connected are at increased risk of depression, dementia, and poor self-esteem – all factors that can affect physical and mental health and overall life satisfaction.
And this problem between the generations is only likely to get worse as aging adults shuffle themselves off into sterile retirement communities that bill themselves as “God’s Waiting Room” while young adults flock to the vibrancy and vitality of urban cities. Both sides lose in this segregation of the generations as it becomes difficult for the young to imagine what their life might look like when they are older and the old forget what it is like to see the world for the first time through new eyes.
In a society that idolizes youth and youth culture, it can be difficult to understand and address the challenges older adults face. Changing society’s perception of the elderly is beyond me, but I can try to go out of my way to fully engage with the older adults I encounter in my day-to-day activities – to show them that I see them and that they are not invisible!
If each of us made a small effort to be friendly with the older adults we encounter, to listen to what they have to say and to treat them with dignity, then we would all be richer for the experience. Old folks have a lifetime of experiences to share and many interesting stories to tell – if we only give them the chance.
Perhaps there is a selfish motivation behind my efforts to fight the stigma of aging. After all, pretty soon I will be considered an old timer (my ten year old grandson already calls me an oldster); and I hope people will still see me and treat me with dignity as my body runs down. Invisibility is a good Superpower to have in the movies but, I imagine it must get pretty lonely in real life when nobody ever really sees you.
One of the things I enjoy about my blogging hobby is that it leads me to discover authors who are writing thoughtful blogs on interesting subjects. I recently came across one such blog entry written by Maria Popova who was reviewing a book by Katherine May titled Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times.
In her book, May writes about her experience living through a deep and disquieting period that she describes as one of the “winters of her life”. The thing about the blog that caught my attention was the author’s perspective that life is like the seasons, constantly changing throughout our lifetimes.
We are in the habit of imagining our lives to be linear, a long march from birth to death in which we mass our powers, only to surrender them again, all the while slowly losing our youthful beauty. This is a brutal untruth. Life meanders like a path through the woods. We have seasons when we flourish and seasons when the leaves fall from us, revealing our bare bones. Given time, they grow again.
Excerpts from Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times by Katherine May
Our culture leads us to believe that life progresses along a linear scale from helplessness towards ever-increasing flourishing, but in reality life is like the seasons, operating in a cyclical fashion, with many periods of ups and downs. Imagining life to operate only in a linear fashion can be harmful when people start to falsely believe that something is wrong with their life if it does not get progressively better as they get older or when they need to take detours along the way.
If we accept that our lives are more cyclical, with periods containing many Spring, Summer, Fall and Winter seasons of the spirit, then we can become better equipped to understand that there will periods of happiness and sadness throughout our life – as well as periods of strength and fragility.
When you start thinking about periods of your life as seasons, you come to realize that people live through many winters in their lifetime – some mild, some severe – and that it is possible, like the trees, to emerge from those winters not only undiminished but ready for new growth.
It is reassuring to think that our winter seasons do not need to be fallow and unproductive and that they can be a productive period when we are given the time and space we need to go on growing. Albert Camus wrote “In the depths of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer”. If we garden the winters of the soul with care, we can set in place seeds that will bloom into future summers of strength.
Katherine May makes the observation that trees enter a waiting phase during winter where the tree has everything it needs to make it through severe weather:
“Its fallen leaves are mulching the forest floor, and its roots are drawing up the extra winter moisture, providing a firm anchor against seasonal storms. Its ripe cones and nuts are providing essential food in this scarce time for mice and squirrels, and its bark is hosting hibernating insects and providing a source of nourishment for hungry deer. It is far from dead. It is in fact the life and soul of the wood. It’s just getting on with it quietly. It will not burst into life in the spring. It will just put on a new coat and face the world again.“
We all need to take an example from the trees and approach the winter seasons of our life in a similar way. Retreat, face our our sadness, let go of the things in our life that are no longer bearing fruit, be nourished by the strong roots of our personal friends and communities and get ready to face the world again.
The winter seasons of our life are usually characterized by sadness that is triggered when we experience loss of one kind or another. Those of us who have lived through winters know that there are self-punishing ways to be sad, and self-healing ways to be sad. The key to skillful wintering is to learn the difference between the two so that we are stronger when the season begins to turn – just like the branches of a tree during the depths of winter are covered in tiny dormant buds that will spring to life when the weather turns.
Since we are all certain to encounter winter seasons during our life, May concludes with a warning against judging people when they are down on their luck and experiencing misfortune. It is better she writes to encourage empathy, compassion and understanding for those that we find suffering:
Here is another truth about wintering: you’ll find wisdom in your winter, and once it’s over, it’s your responsibility to pass it on. And in return, it’s our responsibility to listen to those who have wintered before us. It’s an exchange of gifts in which nobody loses out.
This may involve the breaking of a lifelong habit, one passed down carefully through generations: that of looking at other people’s misfortunes and feeling certain that they brought them upon themselves in a way that you never would. This isn’t just an unkind attitude. It does us harm, because it keeps us from learning that disasters do indeed happen and how we can adapt when they do. It stops us from reaching out to those who are suffering. And when our own disaster comes, it forces us into a humiliated retreat, as we try to hunt down mistakes that we never made in the first place or wrongheaded attitudes that we never held. Either that, or we become certain that there must be someone out there we can blame.
Watching winter and really listening to its messages, we learn that effect is often disproportionate to cause; that tiny mistakes can lead to huge disasters; that life is often bloody unfair, but it carries on happening with or without our consent. We learn to look more kindly on other people’s crises, because they are so often portents of our own future.
This is good advice for the next time you find the seasons changing in your life. Do not despair – remember that every season can be profitable for our growth and survival. I have lived long enough to know that we can experience winter seasons during the blush of our youth and that it is possible for spring and summer seasons to joyfully populate the twilight of our years.
There is no telling when good things or terrible things will happen to us and we cannot know the entire meaning of it all, but we can know that life can be beautiful even in the darkest of seasons. So rejoice during all your seasons under the sun and remember that all our emotions and actions, both negative and positive, have important meaning and we become more majestic when we learn from them all.
When the American poet and essayist Louise Glück was awarded the 2020 Nobel Prize in Literature “for her unmistakable poetic voice that with austere beauty makes individual existence universal“; I was intrigued to learn more about her.
I was not familiar with Glück or her work even though she had published 13 books of well-received poetry over a 52 year span, served as Poet Laureate of the United States in 2003 and was the recipient of numerous literary awards – including the the Pulitzer Prize, the National Humanities Medal, the National Book Critics Circle Award, the Los Angeles Times Book Prize and the Bollingen Prize.
While looking into Glück’s background, I learned that she was born in New York City in 1943 and raised on Long Island. Glück’s mother was of Russian Jewish descent and her father’s parents were Hungarian Jews who emigrated to the United States and ran a grocery store in New York.
Glück’s father had an ambition to become a writer, but went into business with his brother-in-law and achieved success when they invented the X-Acto knife. Glück’s mother was a graduate of Wellesley College. In her childhood, her parents taught Louise Greek Mythology and classic stories such as the life of Joan of Arc – themes of which she would mine in many of her later poems.
She began to write poetry at an early age, but as a teenager and young adult Glück struggled with anorexia. She described the illness as the result of an effort to assert her independence from her mother and as a way for her to come to terms with the illness and death of an of an elder sister.
During the fall of her senior year she was taken out of high school to focus on her rehabilitation. She spent the next seven years in psychoanalytic therapy which she credited with helping her learn how to think and overcome her anorexia. During this time period she attended classes at Sarah Lawrence College and Columbia University and worked part time as a secretary – which she said did not suit her temperamentally.
Glück has been married twice, both marriages ending in divorce, and has one son. She currently lives in Cambridge Massachusetts and is an adjunct professor at Yale University.
While the subjects of Glück’s poems are wide and varied, scholars have identified the most common themes in her work as trauma, death, loss, suffering, failed relationships, and attempts at healing and renewal.
The scholar Daniel Morris observed that even a Glück poem that uses traditionally happy imagery still “suggests the author’s awareness of mortality, of the loss of innocence“. The writer Linda Rodriguez noted that “Her poetry explores the intimate drama of family tragedies resonating through the generations and the relationship between human beings and their creator.”
Glück utilizes her focus on trauma as a gateway to a greater appreciation of life says Carol Malone, writing for the Best American Poetry 2020 book, and uses her acceptance of mortality as a way to become a more fully realized human being.
I listened to a 2012 Academy of Achievementinterview with Louise Glück that I found very thoughtful. When asked why she still writes, Gluck responded:
“Because I feel alive when I’m doing it and much less alive when I’m not doing it. I write to discover meaning… It’s much less about who I am than the idea that nothing should be wasted. Also, writing is a kind of revenge against circumstance too. Bad luck, loss, pain; if you make something out of it then you are no longer bested by the events.”
It’s that kind of thinking, I believe, that allows Glück to be brutally honest in her poetry. She is not writing for her audience per se, but for herself. To make herself feel more alive, to make sense of her experiences and to wrestle even the negative circumstances of her life into something positive.
Later in the interview, when she is asked how she feels about the accolades and awards she has received for her work, she responds:
“They are nice and make life more comfortable. But what I want is not capable of being had in my lifetime. I want to live after I die, in that ancient way, and there will be no knowing until that happens – no matter how many blue ribbons I have attached to my corpse.”
There is a maturity and wisdom in her recognition of the vanity of earthly awards, and of their ultimate meaningless in the face of eternity. It will remain a mystery what the afterlife has in store for Louise Glück, but, I like to think that it is certain she will continue to live on through the striking poems she leaves behind.
One such striking poem I came across while browsing through her Collected Works 1962-2012 is titled New World:
New World Poem by Elizabeth Gluck
This poem made me think about my general reluctance to wander far from home – and how my preference to focus more on the interior life than the exterior life may have contributed to “holding down” my more exuberant life companions.
Because my engineering and marketing career necessitated frequent travel, I came to realize early on that travel is overrated. It seemed to me the best part of most journeys is that moment when you finally return to the comforts of home.
I am not alone in this sentiment. It was Blaise Pascal’s opinion that all human evil comes from man’s inability to sit still in his room; and Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote in his book Self-Reliance: “Travelling is a fool’s paradise, our first journey’s discover to us the indifference of places… Our minds travel when our bodies are forced to stay at home”.
Reading this poem reminded me that it is important for me to temper my preference for the quiet and contemplative life with a spirit of adventure as well – because I don’t want to be the lead strapped to the ankles of my beloved family or the wet blanket that prevents them from experiencing adventures that contribute to making life memorable and interesting.
Life is a balance and being a recluse can blind you to all that the world has to offer. Also, what good does it do to be floating free if there is no one to share it with?
Today, Louise Gluck lives in Cambridge MA but she has spoken in the past about falling in love with the state of Vermont when she first moved there in 1971 to begin teaching at Goddard College. She credits the move as being instrumental in helping her get past her writer’s block.
Tragically, a fire destroyed her Vermont house in 1980 resulting in the loss of all her possessions. After the fire, Louise reluctantly moved from the state where she felt so much at home.
When the reporters asked her what she intended to do with the $1.1 million dollar award money that came with winning the Nobel Prize, it made me smile when she said she was thinking of buying a house in Vermont.
Enjoy Vermont Ms Gluck – I hope you feel very alive there and maybe I will be lucky enough to bump into you someday during my New World travels to that magical Green Mountain state to visit with my beloved family connections.
An ailing 93 year old man struggling with terminal health issues was recently talking with my wife about his care preferences and how he would like to spend his remaining days.
The man was a highly-respected member of his community as well as the dignified face of a successful family business whose duties often required him to interact with people during times of great stress in their life. He seemed to have a gift for knowing what to say to people when they needed a kind word or affirmation.
While struggling to explain his wishes for his end of life care, he paused in frustration and said “Why can’t I find my words?“; then in resignation he simply acknowledged “I can feel death coming for me“.
It is sad to see a man who always knew just what to say to suddenly find himself bereft of the one gift he felt he could always count on. Here he was, a lover of language, eloquent no more and unable to transform the thoughts in his mind to words on his lips.
It is only natural that he would become discouraged by his loss of language skills, but his simple statement questioning why he can no longer find his words was profound in itself and carries a lesson that we should all consider.
For me it is a reminder of the importance of having meaningful conversations with the ones we love while we still have our full faculties and can still find the words that express what we want to say. I hope that man did not die with regrets because of words he left unsaid.
As far back as I can remember I have been a lover of language, books and reading. That is probably the reason why I have such a deep connection to the poetic nature of Bob Dylan’s music and why the blog I have been writing since 2013 is called “Words to Live By“.
It has been gratifying for me to see that my two intelligent daughters have also inherited a joyful connection to language and history and to watch them as they pursue rewarding careers that benefit from the skillful way they use their words.
Those skills were on display in these heartwarming excerpts from a sixtieth birthday letter they wrote to me.
I inherited a lot of what makes me myself from you . My cowlick, my reflective manner, my intelligence; with language, ability to think critically, tendency to reflect on what’s important in life, love of music and even the disappointed face I show my children when they’ve misbehaved. I am so grateful.
After Mom’s death, we both did a great deal of growing on our own and figuring out our new places in the world. I am so lucky you gave me the space to explore the world on my own and yet you were still there to catch me every time I made a not so great decision. You supported me every step of the way even if you didn’t understand where I was coming from, and you still do to this day.
Ultimately, it was language that always connected us. It’s no surprise to me that your blog posts are prompted by quotes and phrases that inspire you, but it’s ironic because your own words have always been the ones I’ve lived by. From the time I was old enough to read, you’ve written in my birthday cards, “remember who you are”. Little did you know how important the concepts of memory and identity would become in my life, or that my career would be centered on them.
I can’t tell you how many times throughout our relationship I was terrified to tell you about a new life development or decision I made — thinking, surely, THIS will be the thing that pushes my peace-loving and tolerant father over the edge — only to be met by a sweet and reassuring phrase like, “You don’t have to live your life the way that I did — live your life for you.” Or a well timed reference like, “Bob Dylan says this is America. You can be whoever you want to be”.
Letter excerpts from my daughters
It means the world to me that they took time out of their busy lives to “find their words” and communicate them to me so tenderly. So often we look back over our life with regret, second-guessing our actions and wondering if we should have done some things differently. To hear directly from the people we love that overall they think we did a good job is a priceless gift.
The lesson I take from this dying man is that while I still have power over my words, I should use them to nourish all the important relationships in my life – before it is too late. Finding the right words to say about someone who was, or is, meaningful in your life is like a superpower that you can use to enrich somebody else’s life for the better.
A powerful example of the great power and joy words can bring to life can be found between the covers of John Bartlett’s famous book of Familiar Quotations. My daughter gifted me a used copy of this reference book which I have found to be quite mind expanding.
I liken it to drinking from a fire hose of the world’s collected wisdom from the beginning of mankind’s recorded memory. Imagine the curated and condensed wisdom of the world’s best minds (including Solomon, Homer, Confucius, Sophocles, Plato, Cicero, Virgil, Dante, Chaucer, Cervantes, Shakespeare, Milton, Hugo, Dickens, Melville, Whitman, Dostoevsky, Dickinson, Twain, Kipling, Yeats, Proust, Frost and too many other to mention) – all packaged in a single 1100 page volume!
As much as this blog entry advocates for speaking out in a positive way, it was a quote by Publius in 35AD that I read in Familiar Quotations that reminded me that sometimes wisdom is best born in silence – especially when speaking out could hurt people:
“I have often regretted my speech, but never my silence“.
May you always know when it is time for you to speak up and when it is best to keep silent.
In keeping with the spirit of the Holiday Season, at this time of year I look to post uplifting topics about hope and redemption. This year I would like to write a few words in praise of Bill Buckner.
For those of you unfamiliar with Bill Buckner, he was an All-Star Major League Baseball player and one of the game’s great underrated hitters. He finished seven seasons of a 22 year career with better than a .300 average, compiled 2715 hits (more than either Joe DiMaggio or Ted Williams) and won the 1980 American League batting title.
I happened to be at a Red Sox baseball game this summer with my wife when the Public Address announcer informed the crowd that Bill Buckner had passed away. The fans respectfully cheered while the team played a montage video of Bill on the center field scoreboard, but I was thinking how unfortunate it was that Bill would probably not be remembered for his career of excellent play, but instead for the one notable error he was unlucky enough to make on the world’s biggest stage.
The stage was Game 6 of the 1986 World Series, the Boston Red Sox against the New York Mets. The Red Sox were 1 out away from clinching the title when the Mets rallied from a two run deficit.
The 36 year old Buckner – hobbled by bum ankles and knees – was playing first base for Boston when Mookie Wilson hit a weak ground ball to him – a ball he would normally field successfully 99 times out of a 100. But in this instance the ball somehow eluded Buckner’s glove and bounced past him into the outfield. The Mets scored the winning run completing a stunning come from behind victory.
The Fateful Error
The deflated Red Sox went on to lose game 7 and frustrated Sox fans everywhere – who had been suffering from a championship drought since 1918 – made Buckner the scapegoat for the team’s failure. They focused on the error; forgetting all about Buckner’s key contributions to the team during Boston’s crucial September playoff run when he carried the team, batting a stellar .340 and hitting eight home runs.
Buckner’s error became one of the most infamous plays in baseball history. Replays of the error with announcer Vin Scully shouting “It gets through Buckner!” were played constantly on the television. The headlines in the Boston newspaper screamed “Buckner Boots Big Grounder“. He was the scourge of Boston sports for a lengthy period of time.
Buckner’s career and life changed in an instant. The fans and media piled on – branding him as the guy who missed the ground ball. Buckner received death threats and one reporter allegedly called Buckner’s wife to ask her if he was contemplating suicide. In the immediate aftermath of the heartbreaking error and painful loss, I too became part of the mob cursing the name of Bill Buckner.
The taunting reminders of that muffed grounder battered Buckner so relentlessly that he eventually chose to relocate away from the rage in New England to an isolated ranch in Idaho where he could find some peace. His family, he said, “didn’t like to see how people were treating me.“
The magazine editor William Falk met Buckner ten years after the 1986 series and he remembers Buckner stiffening when he introduced himself as a reporter from New York. He could still glimpse the old hurt in Buckner’s eyes which quickly became hard and challenging. He was glad to see the reporter go.
Why was Buckner alone assigned the blame when so many others contributed as much or more to the Red Sox defeat? Buckner’s miscue marked the unkindest bounce of fate, a most improbable error sustained by a good and admired man at the worst possible moment.
As a man of faith Bill must have wondered what God had wrought – to have to live out his life being defined by the worst five seconds he ever experienced. His wife said a lesser man would have crumbled under the things that he had to endure.
Gradually Buckner learned to live with his mistake and even come to laugh at it. He wondered if it was part of some mysterious plan that could somehow be used as a life lesson for others experiencing misfortune in their life. Buckner said, “I was a little bitter over it for a long time, because I didn’t think I deserved it, … but then I’ve had a lot of people call me and thank me for giving them directions to make it through — and that’s a good thing.”
I read recently that there are at least three things it is good to forget. First is past accomplishments because out of success too often comes complacency and contentment that lull the mind. Second, it is good to forget our hurts because if we just dwell on our bitterness we will accomplish little. Finally, it is good to forget our failures because all of us make mistakes and sometimes we do not succeed even when we’ve worked hard and given something our best shot.
With time comes wisdom, compassion and perspective. Many Red Sox fans eventually came to realize how unfairly they had treated Bill Buckner. In recent years sportswriters began publishing articles about how the Boston fans had finally come to forgive him – especially after the team finally broke the 86 year championship drought by capturing World Series titles in 2004 and 2007.
In my opinion Bill Buckner never needed to seek forgiveness. He didn’t do anything wrong. He didn’t purposely miss the ball. He was trying his very best. Errors like that happen every day in baseball… and in life. It is those of us who treated Bill so uncharitably for so many years who should ask for forgiveness.
In 2008, 22 years after the fateful error, the Red Sox invited Bill Buckner back to Fenway Park for the celebration of the 2007 Championship. When he walked out to the mound to throw out the game’s ceremonial first pitch, the players and fans gave him a moving two minute standing ovation. Buckner’s eyes grew wet with tears. I remember watching the scene with tears in my eyes too – hoping that Bill had found it in his heart to forgive us.
Red Sox Fans Cheer Buckner’s Return, 2008
“Glad I came“, said Buckner after the game, “I really had to forgive, not the fans of Boston, per se, but I would have to say in my heart I had to forgive the media. For what they put me and my family through. So, you know, I’ve done that and I’m over that.”
Terry Francona, former Red Sox manager who was visiting the park that day said “I thought it was kind of a healing moment, it seemed, for a lot of people and for him, I hope”.
Bill Buckner died at the age of 69 after a long battle with Lewy body dementia – another cruel twist of fate that crippled the once great athlete with cognitive and movement problems. But he accepted it with grace.
On learning the news of Bill Buckner’s death Red Sox principal owner John Henry said: “We are proud that Bill Buckner wore a Red Sox jersey during the course of a terrific career that spanned more than two decades. His life was defined by perseverance, resilience, and an insatiable will to win. Those are the traits for which he will be most remembered.”
Mookie Wilson, the Mets baseball player who hit the fateful ground ball back in 1986, wrote: “I was saddened to hear about Bill’s death. He was a good teammate and a solid family man. We had developed a friendship that lasted well over 30 years. I felt badly for some of the things he went through. Bill was a great great baseball player whose legacy should not be defined by one play.”
Here’s wishing you all the generosity and goodwill of the Christmas season – may we all have the strength, resilience and perseverence of Bill Buckner when things in life don’t go our way and may we never forget that heavenly maxim “To err is human; to forgive, Divine“.
On a snowy January day this past winter, while minding the fireplace in my living room, I found myself watching the movie/musical The Fiddler on the Roof.
1971 Movie Poster of Fiddler on the Roof
For those of you unfamiliar with the movie, it is set in 1905 Imperial Russia, during a time when the Jews were being persecuted and evicted from their homes and villages by pogroms enacted by the reigning Tsars.
In the story, Tevye, a poor milkman and patriarch of a family with five daughters struggles to maintain his Jewish religious traditions in the face of outside cultural influences that threaten to disrupt and break apart his family.
The first time I watched the movie I was in my 20’s, too young and inexperienced in the ways of life to appreciate the wisdom and insights that were subtly portrayed – especially by the character Tevye.
Tevye is poor and uneducated, but he dreams every day of becoming rich and respected. While doing chores in his barn, he breaks into a song fantasizing about how good his life would be if only he was a wealthy man.
He imagines he would have the best house in town, his wife and children would strut like peacocks around town in the finest of clothes and servants would prepare rich foods for them to feast on every night.
But what Tevye craves most is not money – it is knowledge, wisdom and the respect of his close knit Jewish faith community:
“The most important men in town will come to fawn on me. They will ask me to advise them like Solomon The Wise – posing problems that would cross a rabbi’s eyes. And it won’t make one bit of difference if I answer right or wrong – when you’re rich, they think you really know. If I were rich I’d have that time that I lack to sit in the synagogue and pray and maybe have a seat by the eastern wall, and I’d discuss the Holy Books with the learned men seven hours every day… and that would be the sweetest thing of all.”
Song lyrics from “If I were a Rich Man”
Tevye concludes the song with an appeal to God – one that is universally recognizable to many people who wonder about their lot in life: “Lord, who made the lion and the lamb. You decreed I should be what I am. Would it spoil some vast eternal plan if I were a wealthy man?”.
Despite Tevye’s frustration with his lowly station in life, the townspeople and movie viewers eventually come to respect him because of the authentic and intimate relationship he has with his God and because of the love, mercy and compassion he shows to his daughters.
Those qualities come into sharp focus as Tevye struggles with the fallout from a marriage agreement he has arranged for his oldest daughter Tzeitel. In Jewish tradition of the time it was customary for a father to choose a husband for their daughters. Tevye is pleased with himself because he has made a profitable agreement for his daughter to marry the rich, widowed village butcher.
When he goes to share this good news with his daughter, he is dismayed to learn that she is horrified at the thought of marrying the butcher and she begs her father not to force her into the marriage. He further discovers, that she has secretly pledged herself to marry Motel, the poor town tailor, who comes rushing in at the last moment to ask Tevye for his blessing to marry Tzeitel.
Tevye immediately refuses to give his permission. It is absurd for a couple to arrange a match for themselves. It goes against all tradition! Marriages must be arranged by the Papa! This should never be changed! Motel cannot support his daughter! He is only a poor tailor!
But Tevye begins to reconsider and soften after Motel shouts out “Even a poor Tailor is entitled to some happiness“. He stares into the eyes of his hopeful daughter and the poor tailor and sees the unmistakable love they have for each other, he tells himself that Adam and Eve had no matchmaker except God and he reasons that even though the tailor has absolutely nothing; things could never get worse for him, only better.
Tevye finally relents and gives the couple his blessing, accepting that his daughter is not ordained to have all the comforts in life. His willingness to forsake the rigid strictures of his community traditions and instead see the young couple through eyes of mercy and compassion becomes a grace-filled moment in the movie and a lesson for all of us that stubbornly cling to beliefs that are not based on love.
Two yeas later, we see Tevye delivering milk to his community while talking to God and updating him on the status of his daughter’s marriage.
“Motel and Tzeitel have been married for some time now. They work very hard and they’re as poor as squirrels in winter. But they’re so happy, they don’t know how miserable they are.”
This moment exposes the close personal relationship Tevye has with his God and the comfortable way in which they converse – as though God were just a friendly companion walking with him. Tevye never walks alone because God always walks beside him. It also reveals Tevye’s joy at the success of his daughter’s marriage and his belief that he made the right decision in giving them his blessing.
Tevye’s observation that the couple is so happy, they don’t know how miserable they are struck a chord of recognition with me. When I married my wife Elaine in the Summer of 1982, I was no more than a boy of 22 years old and still in College. We had no idea what was ahead of us. We had only part time jobs, a beat-up car, no savings and I had never been on a plane or traveled anywhere outside of New England.
We were poor as Church mice but we thought life was grand because we had each other and the bright prospect of our whole life in front of us. We saw everything in our life with new eyes and each milestone we shared was a thrill that made the bond between us stronger.
We started with nothing, but we didn’t mind because we loved each other and we had the support of our families who had shown us the blueprint for a successful life and given us the strong foundation we needed to succeed. The good things we had blinded us to the material deficiencies in our life.
Life changed fast for us – within a couple short years we had good jobs, a brand new home, a new car and a beautiful baby daughter. We gradually began to acquire all the trappings of material wealth that are associated with middle class families in America.
There is a challenge for couples as they grow older and more established to still remain grateful for the simple things. Once you begin to take for granted all the little things that first made you happy – and start thinking instead about all the things you don’t have – there exists a danger of developing a miserable attitude because you don’t recognize how good you have it.
The lessons I learned from watching the Fiddler on the Roof is to always look at each day with new eyes, to break away from past traditions that are preventing me from growing in grace and to seek out a more intimate relationship with my higher power – one that will support and comfort me as I navigate through the trials and tribulations of my life.
Whatever stage in life you find yourself in, may you too learn to find happiness in the simple things and always maintain that youthful wonder at the magic of being alive.
When I was 10 years old (in 1970), I was part of a play group of six boys that spent their days roaming about the small Massachusetts town where I grew up. We would hang out together after school, on weekends and during school vacations doing the things that interest most boys of that age – building tree houses, camping out, riding bikes, playing sports and pulling pranks on one another.
I remember the TV networks began broadcasting a weekly television show in 1972 that quickly became the favorite topic of conversation among my group of friends and an endless source of inspiration for our role playing activities.
The show was called Kung Fu and it followed the adventures of a Shaolin monk named Kwai Chang Caine. He was born to an American man and a Chinese woman in mid-19th century China, but was orphaned as a young boy. The Shaolin Monastery took him in and trained him to become a priest and martial arts expert.
In the show Caine is seen traveling from town to town throughout the American Old West in search of his half brother. Each episode shows him dealing with difficult people and situations armed only with his spiritual training and his skill in martial arts. Flashback scenes specific to the moral dilemmas he faces in each episode are employed to recall specific lessons that were learned by Caine during his childhood training at the monastery.
There inevitably comes a point during each episode when he is forced to call upon his martial arts training to defend himself or others, even though he was taught to avoid violence whenever possible, and to use it only as a means of self-defense – or as a last resort to protect the weak and vulnerable,
Those fight scenes were what my group of friends enjoyed the most. We would watch each episode religiously and then spend the following week looking ridiculous trying to re-enact the fight scenes with one another while mimicking the martial arts moves that were displayed.
Over time I began to see there was something else beyond those superficial fight scenes, that made me to start to question the way that I looked at life and how a man should conduct himself. It was the first show that exposed me to the wisdom of other cultures, the ugliness of racism, the practice of non-violence and the value of all life.
The admirable qualities of the man that was portrayed in this show were polar opposite to the qualities that were being promoted by other shows of the time. The American heroes like John Wayne and Clint Eastwood were depicted as loud, prideful, violent and self-destructive. Kwai Chang Caine on the other hand was a different kind of protagonist; one who is strong but quiet, humble, peaceful and harmonious.
Those childhood memories came flooding back to me because I happened to be scrolling through my Netflix movie options and noticed that the Kung Fu TV series had recently been added to their roster of streaming options. I thought it might be enlightening for me to watch the shows again, 46 years later, to see what further insight I could gain.
I am finding that each episode imparts some bit of new wisdom or truth that speaks to me. In the most recent episode I watched it was a flashback scene at the monastery in which Caine is found to be showing off his fighting prowess to the younger students. He is blindfolded, yet adroitly fends off three attackers.
While he is in the midst of the battle, his Teacher comes upon the scene and when the fight is over questions Caine’s motives for the martial arts demonstration. Caine explains that he was simply seeking to test himself, but after further questioning admits what he was really trying to do was impress the group of young students. His master rebukes Caine by saying:
Is it not better to see yourself truly, than care about how others see you?
That question jumped out at me as one that we all should ponder given the ubiquitous nature of social media in our lives today and the seeming competition among friends and acquaintances to relentlessly craft a social media narrative that depicts lives filled with perfection and happiness.
My wife and I have acquaintances who seem to be miserable, because whenever we see them we hear them speak about their troubles or lament the injustices they have had to endure. Yet if we happen to go online and read their Facebook postings we see only positive images of an idyllic life alongside messages about how good their life is. There is a disconnect – they are obviously not happy, yet they want the world to believe they are.
It seems to me that our lives would be better served if we took all the effort we spend trying to perfect how others see us and spent that energy instead on trying to see ourselves truly. Seeing yourself truly requires focusing on the inner life – not on the relentless demands that are imposed on us by the outer life.
The outer life is all about managing how the world looks at me (my body, my home, my possessions, my intelligence, my job, my family, my followers) – we try to impress a whole universe of people who only judge us based on what they see with their senses. The inner life on the other hand, is about how I look at myself – my private thoughts and values, emotions, fantasies, spiritual beliefs, my capacity to love and my sense of purpose.
The outer life is visible and public while the inner life is invisible and private. As human beings we are naturally “show-offs” and tend to focus on things that will improve our outer life; things like studies, degrees, job positions, fame and money. We believe that if we are successful in our outer life then we will be happy and content.
Today’s culture does little to value or nurture our inner lives. We keep much of our inner life hidden from others, even those to whom we are closest. Some people don’t even acknowledge their inner life because it can be difficult to answer internal questions like who am I, what do I believe, what is my purpose, how should I change, what do I regret, what do I want my future to look like?
But if we become absorbed by our outer life and fail to cultivate our inner life, we risk becoming blind to the the things that give life ultimate satisfaction and meaning. Spending time on the inner life can refresh us and make us feel more balanced so that we will make wise outer life decisions that are in harmony with our inner life thoughts and beliefs.
I am often guilty of focusing too much on my outer life at the expense of my inner life. I give too much thought to the materialistic demands of my outer life and care more than I should about how others see me. I do not spend enough energy trying to see myself truly.
But I do make a concerted effort to include activities in my schedule every week that help me focus on my inner life and take my mind off of the outer life distractions that drive most of our days. That is why I take time to write this blog on the life examined and why prayer, meditation, church, contemplative walks, reading poetry, listening to music and being out in nature are important contributors to my well-being.
It is those activities that refresh me and I recognize that when I fail to do them, my life becomes unbalanced. I hope you find a way to be your true self always so that you will, as the Shaolin monks say, “…never fear thus to be naked to the eyes of others.”
Words to Live By... 
