Читать книгу Tiny Buddha, Simple Wisdom for Life's Hard Questions - Lori Deschene - Страница 15

Leave the world at least a little bit better than you found it. ∼@ealcantara

Serve as an example. ∼@amadeoatthesun

I think the meaning of life is creation. ∼@Auraxx

Life is to live, not just to survive; for the self to express itself; to know the self, the supreme self, and to serve others. ∼@wupendram

Have it matter that you lived. ∼@RAZE502

There's this saying I used to love that doesn't resonate with me anymore: go big or go home.

I understand the allure of doing big things with a massive audience watching. It's kind of like the whole tree-in-the-woods analogy. If you live a beautiful life and no one remembers it, did it even happen at all? It's why we carve our names into trees and bury time capsules. We want a sense that even if our lives are limited by time, the memories of what we contributed to society will far outlast our own drop-in-the-bucket life span. It's an extension of our survival instincts: the drive to live on at all costs, even in spite of our inevitable deaths, and to aid in the progress of future generations, ensuring that they inherit a better world than the one we knew.

If purpose is a gateway to happiness, and happiness is inevitably impermanent, as all feelings are, we can easily ascertain during the unhappy moments that our purpose isn't good enough or else it would provide more lasting positive feelings. Worrying about whether our purpose is big, or worthy, enough can completely strip the joy from living in alignment with our purpose.

As I was searching for different perspectives on the meaning of life, I found a number of books that sought answers from highly public, influential people. There was the Durant book I mentioned before. Next there was The Meaning of Life: Wisdom, Humor, and Damn Good Advice from 64 Extraordinary Lives, compiled by Esquire editor Ryan D'Agostino. Then there was Vanity Fair's Proust Questionnaire: 101 Luminaries Ponder Love, Death, Happiness, and the Meaning of Life. The implication seems to be that extraordinary accomplishment somehow endows someone with a sense of authority as to what matters the most in life.

When I mentioned this to my boyfriend, Ehren, he commented that we also enjoy stories that show good average people finding meaning within their circumstances. As I write this, it's almost Christmas, and I've dreamed of lassoing the moon two nights in a row in anticipation of soon watching It's a Wonderful Life. Still, I can't help noticing that movies based on real events rarely feature truly ordinary people. The Patch Adamses, Erin Brockoviches, and Frank Abagnales of the world make for more compelling stories than do the real-life George Baileys. It's almost like we've decided a life is more valuable if its story somehow sticks out from all the others.

My grandfather spent a great deal of his life working as a maintenance man. Although he died more than fifteen years ago, his name lives on. Grampy coached baseball for both of my uncles’ childhood teams, focusing on fairness above all else. He had forty-four kids under his supervision, so he split them into four teams and rotated through them all in every game. Kids who didn't get to play any innings were the first ones to play next time, regardless of their skill. They rarely ever won, but Grampy didn't care about that. Some coaches bought their kids ice cream only after a victory. My grandfather did it whenever he could afford to, because he didn't think their fun should hinge on how skillfully they played the game. My grandmother still runs into Grampy's former players who to this day appreciate his kindness, thoughtfulness, and generosity.

When Grampy was fifty-five, he lost both of his legs to a staph infection he contracted while in the hospital for bypass surgery. He could easily have gotten bitter about the unfairness of it all, but I don't remember him ever stewing in anger or self-pity—not even after the infection spread from the first to the second leg. He'd already retired at that point and because his legs were now amputated above the knees, he became permanently confined to a wheelchair. Still, he sat center stage at every community theater rehearsal and even helped my group get on the local news by pitching our play to the entertainment reporter. Our director nominated Grampy for the Channel 56 Independent Spirit award, which honors people who have done outstanding work for their communities.

As Grampy sat at the award ceremony, both tiny and massive in his chair, cradling that award, I suspected that what really mattered to him was that he'd lived a life he was proud of. That's what I remember when my efforts seem small—that the biggest reward is sitting peacefully in the knowledge that I'm being the person I want to be. We do humanity a disservice if we believe we all, universally, need to meet some preconceived expectation of big in order to be living meaningful lives. What really fulfills us is a sense that we're using our time in a way that aligns with our own instincts and values—that we're making the difference we want to make in the way we want to make it.

We can live our lives struggling to change the world—we can try to do important things before anyone else or hard things better than everyone else. That's one way to go about it, and it's a perfectly valid approach. We get to choose what's meaningful and impactful and how we go about accomplishing it. There aren't any right or wrong answers as long as we choose the answers for ourselves, based on what we actually believe matters. At the end of it all, what flashes before our eyes won't be all the things we did that were bigger than ourselves; they'll be all the moments when we made a difference by being true to ourselves.

MAKE THE DIFFERENCE YOU WANT TO MAKE TODAY.

If you're not sure you're making a difference in the world:

Identify what makes you feel proud of yourself. Or, put another way: what would you feel good about giving back to the world? This doesn't need to be an all-encompassing purpose that carries you through the rest of your life. Think in terms of what feels right in this moment. If you were to die tomorrow, what would you want people to remember of you? For example, if tomorrow were my last day, I'd want people to remember me as someone who helped people hurt less and enjoy more.

Recognize the percentage of time you spend striving for meaning. If your day is a pie chart, what percentage do you devote to striving, plotting, planning, and struggling toward a point in the future when you feel you'll be able to live your purpose? How much time, exactly, do you spend postponing meaning until some point in the future when you become more successful or impactful?

Choose to balance the equation. Today is all you're guaranteed, which means today is not just one stone along the path to making a big difference someday; it's also the opportunity to make small differences right now. You do that by making tiny choices that align with the lofty goal. You might not be a published self-help writer yet, but you can assist one person today by listening. You may not have made your documentary on families yet, but you can get your own family together tonight and embody the values you want to explore on film. Whatever you want to do on a big scale, shrink it and do it right now. You may not yet have the impact you think you need, but there's a lot you can do within your sphere of influence that still makes a difference.