In my ’80s

August 24, 2018

“Pop Pop, you are 80 years old. What is your purpose in life? Over your span of years did your purpose change? How did the change in purpose affect other things?”

———

Grandson, please accept what I write as an assemblage of thoughts and feelings, not a coherent intellectual exposition that will answer your profound questions. Nor am I able to say much about myself and my purpose(s). Perhaps later. Again, what follows is a humble rumination on your questions.

A wee baby, just born. What is its purpose? Nothing other than to be. An old man, quite beyond retirement age — what is his purpose? The same as the newborn — to be.

To be.

Now, as an 80 year old, I ponder what it means to be. 

• to be peace
• to be hope
• to be kindness
• to be joy
• to be generosity
• to be thoughtfulness
• to be compassion

Not adjectives but nowns. The list is encyclopedic, extending to the outer reaches of being in human form. 

The Old Testament includes a story in which a bush represents the voice of God: “I am that I am.”  That sentence may be useful for all of us in defining who we are and what our purpose is.  I am that I am.

A crucial distinction must be made. To be is quite different from to do.  People typically purpose to live moral lives, to do what is right, to live responsibly, to work diligently, to be creative, to be meaningfully occupied. But all of these items remain apart from to be.

A personal story. I was what most teachers would say diligent, motivated, a good student. I went to elementary school and high school and college and university and then several additional universities. I earned diplomas and degrees. And then I was hired to be a professor in a liberal arts college. Upon arriving on campus, it didn’t take long to sense who were the top-notch profs. That’s just the way college campuses are. Profs and their reputations aren’t private. So as a new prof I studied the aces and for a period of time tried to imitate them. Then one day — I remember it clearly — I was about to enter a classroom when a great big thought came to me. Not a thought, really, but a grace sent from beyond the heavens. “Dan, don’t try to mimic the others. Don’t even try to do a perfect job. Just be you.” That moment changed my life as a prof. 

To be.

I wish that I could report that I have successfully balanced the will to be and the temptation to do. I haven’t. For much of my life the motivating purpose writ big on my brain’s screen pertained to productivity — professionally to teaching, to speaking, to writing, to consulting; domestically to raising a family, paying the bills, doing house chores, etc. Only in better moments — often through meditation and significant spiritual experience — could I remember the priority to be.

To be sure, we carry the responsibility to use our talents which typically require years of training. We carry the obligation to develop discipline in thought and action. We carry the duties of citizenship and the common weal. But any alert and sensitive person of accomplishment can tell you which of their gifted colleagues lives with the overriding purpose to be.

Now my so-called productive years are over. Quite often people, well-meaning people, ask “So what do you do?” Honestly, it’s an unfortunate questions that I hope to wean myself from asking. The question implies that the happy senior is busy doing things. This evening, after posting this blog, I want simply to be. To extend this day of being. I will go to bed before long. If I awaken to a new morning, then again I am that I am.