Читать книгу How to Ikigai - Tim Tamashiro - Страница 13

If you’re like most people, you’ve wondered at some point in time, “What is my life’s purpose?” It’s a question that people have been considering for a millennium, but it’s one most people will not answer in their lifetime. This book is meant to put your life’s purpose within reach.

When it comes to solving a mystery, it’s often said that the simplest answer is the best answer. This answer is Ikigai. It has just four directions for follow.

If you’re searching for your life’s purpose, consider this: Your soul has an issue that it needs to resolve. What steps can you take to get the answers you need? My own steps have taken me on adventures that might seem wild to some people. But the search for life’s meaning starts at a time when we are fresh and young; when we are full of piss and vinegar. For most people it started on the first day after high school graduation. But then what happened?

No kid fresh out of high school knows what the hell they are going to do with their life. At best, they are guessing, but aren’t we all? An eighteen-year-old’s job is to be beautiful and to parade around seeking companionship. Their job is to do what their hormones command. They must be seen. They must also experiment with as many grown-up life experiences as possible. Carl Jung called them “athletes.” Nature is doing its job. Their job is to parade their young bodies around in search of a mate.

I often share the immortal words of a fake Buddha quote with fresh graduates. I hold my finger in the air in a professorial manner and state, “Your work is to discover your work and then with all your heart give yourself to it.” Buddha didn’t really say that, but it’s still profound because when it comes right down to it, fake Buddha was talking about Ikigai.

In 1987, I was a twenty-year-old young man with long hair, a feeble moustache, and an eager smile. They were my only assets. As far as I knew, my life ahead was meant to be a series of well-paying jobs to earn a living. There was no such thing as having a life purpose. But there was something in my gut that insisted there was more. It whispered to me.

Every day I would wake up in the morning and dutifully grab a quick breakfast and a coffee before heading out the door to go to my job. I was employed on the highways as a survey crew member. My job was to go where the crew chief asked me to go. He’d send me up the road a hundred meters at a time. Then, I’d turn to face him while holding a red-and-white striped pole straight up and down on the road for him to guide through his scope. I would move it incrementally left or right, as he directed me, with his hand movements. If he held his arm out to his left, I moved the pole to my right. If he quickly moved his arm to the right, I moved the pole a little to the left. When the pole was bang on where he needed it, he lifted both arms above his head and formed an X. I dug the pole’s steel tip into the road and marked it with a piece of chalk. Ultimately, what I did was help to make straight lines.

This job helped me to realize that life was so different; life is not a straight line. It’s a meandering, drunken stumble that goes forward and left and right and backward. And there is no one directing you where to go. We go through life like we are barefoot in a monstrous pitch-black room, with a few random pieces of Lego scattered sparingly throughout. Our task is to find our way through the room by learning a little more about the room every day. With age and wisdom, we learn to avoid stepping on the pieces of Lego. The Legos are the painful parts of life. The rest of the room is everyday life.

But what if a dimly lit red-and-white traffic pylon suddenly appeared in that room? It would catch your attention. It might glow just bright enough for you to see in the distance. Would you pay attention to it? Would you walk toward it?

In June of 1987, I lay in my narrow single bed on a Saturday morning, staring at the ceiling. I looked forward to every weekend, so I could have some time to enjoy myself. My job as a survey assistant was a well-paying job but wasn’t fulfilling for me. It was a job, but it wasn’t my passion.

As I lay flat on my back, I wondered what my future had in store for me. Is my current situation what life is supposed to be? Do I work from Monday to Friday doing something that pays well? And then enjoy Saturdays and Sundays, dreading the Mondays, repeating ad nauseam, until I retire? It didn’t seem possible that this is all that life was intended to be.

My dad’s life was like this, though. He was a hard worker. He worked on the highways too. During the summers, he would be gone for months at a time, paving long stretches of black asphalt roadways. He’d start his days at five in the morning. He worked twelve to fourteen hours a day. At the end of the day, he’d grab a quick bite to eat, then head to his bunkhouse to crumple in exhaustion onto his bed. His generation did life that way.

It was depressing to think about my life going forward in the same way his did. I was conflicted. Surveying is a good and respectful line of work that I wanted to be thankful for. But why was I so miserable? What could I do with my life that would be interesting and fun? Was that even possible?

I took a deep breath. Think.

An idea exploded in my head like a firework. I sat straight up in my bed and exclaimed out loud, “I am going to music school.” At that moment I made a thousand decisions about my life going forward. The main decision was that I would focus on aspects of music for my upcoming jobs. I’d look into music business and sound engineering. I’d work at record stores and volunteer at music festivals. I’d study music management and music copyright. Any and all roads seemed possible to me. Music would be my thing.

Even though I didn’t fully understand the impact of that morning, I realized later in life that music has been a guide for me. It’s been a glowing red-and-white-striped pylon that I can see up the road. It has given me direction. Whether or not I chose to walk toward it was up to me. When I committed to approaching it, I was delighted to learn that I could trust in the gift of clear direction.

I made a trip to my local college to gather information. Red Deer College offered a music program that seemed like it was right up my alley. I didn’t have much experience in music. I had taken a few piano lessons when I was around ten. Surprisingly, after only a few months of lessons, my mom and music teacher saw a pattern. I would take my music lessons each week. I wouldn’t practice, but instead would play songs by ear all week. When I showed up at piano lessons, I hadn’t progressed at all in theory or playing scales. I could play the heck out of songs by ear, though. Mom and the teacher decided, that since I wasn’t learning anything in the lesson, I might as well stop. More importantly, they recognized that I enjoyed music. So, why not just let me do my thing on the piano and enjoy playing it? This might have been the most important decision they made in my life.

According to the info I picked up at Red Deer College, I would have to pass a two-stage process to get accepted into the music program. First, I would need to prepare two pieces of music to perform in a live audition. No problem. I’d just play and sing along to some tunes I had learned by ear. The second part I needed to pass was basic music theory. I hadn’t ever learned theory. I thought I was doomed.

My audition at Red Deer College took place in a small, windowless, hard-to-find room located in an impossible-to-find basement. The air was old and musty. The brown piano was scuffed and scraped on every corner. Its keys were as chipped and jagged as a prizefighter’s smile. It sounded good, however. It had been freshly tuned.

I liked the gentlemen who auditioned me right away. Ken Mallet and Keith Mann had firm handshakes and eager smiles. They showed authority and confidence. I respected and wanted to impress them. I played two songs. One was a cover of a pop song (probably “Hello” by Lionel Richie), and the other tune was one I made up as a joke.

The audition went over extremely well. Both Keith and Ken had grins on their faces throughout our time together. They accepted me to the music program on the spot… with one condition. I needed to pass a basic theory test. We shook hands on it. It was as if another pylon had popped up in front of me. I knew what my next step needed to be. Pass that theory exam.

As luck would have it, there was a young woman on one of the surveying crews that was already in the school of music at Red Deer College. She was a guitar player named Nancy Laberge. I asked Nancy if she would be kind enough to help me learn basic theory so that I could come and be part of the music program. Thankfully, Nancy was happy to help out. Over the next few weeks, Nancy taught me what the lines and the spaces on a sheet of music meant. She showed me what the circles, dots, and tails were. I learned about time signatures and note values. Nancy was instrumental in getting me through my theory exam. When it was time for me to take the test, I scored a mark just high enough to be fully accepted to RDC. My excitement swelled in my heart for what my life was about to become. I believed that music was my life’s calling.

Music: The Irrational Career

When I told my parents that I was going to attend music school, they were surprisingly supportive of me and my decision. They saw how I lit up with joy when I plunked the black and white keys and belted out songs on the old downstairs piano. If music was going to be my post-secondary-education path, then they were on board 100 percent. I’m thankful that they were so cool about it. There was just one small concern though.

My sweet dad found time one day to lovingly offer some advice to me. As we sat having a coffee one morning at the kitchen table, he said, “Tim, music is a great hobby, but you might want to learn welding or something to fall back on.” That was entire extent of his wise advice. He made his suggestion, and then accepted that the cards would fall where they would. I’ll never forget his loving gesture to show his concern for my future. I understood that his worry was for my financial stability and well-being. He was doing what parents of the day were expected to do: give practical wisdom. I could never fault him for that. He also trusted that my life would mean more than financial security.

Most people think that a career in music seems irrational. The first thought is, “How will you make money?” What they are really wondering is, “How will you pay rent, feed yourself, get ahead in life, thrive, be successful, make babies, pay taxes, etc.?” How is a music career a rational path? It’s not. It’s a path of fulfillment.

A rational path is the way most of the industrialized world approaches life and career. It’s rational to go to school and get good grades. Grade one leads to grade two. Grade eleven leads to grade twelve. After high school, the world is your oyster. You can do anything you dream of. At eighteen years old, it’s “rational” to know what you want to do for the rest of your life. If you are rational about school and you get good grades, you can go to any college or university you want to. You can learn any skill on the planet. Just apply to the school that offers the classes you need and get “accepted.” When you’ve been “accepted,” then you’ll just pay the necessary fees to attend your classes. Eventually, you will get a diploma or a degree. When you’ve completed all your courses, you’ll be handed your degree and that’s when the money starts rolling in.

It’s rational to believe that, sometime between eighteen and twenty-five years old, you will have your whole life all figured out. You will have a path that will give you a roof over your head, put food in your belly, and ensure your long-term financial success. The rest of your life will focus on your career success and financial goals. Then one day you’ll retire. You’ll finally get to do whatever you want with your time and money.

Is it rational to believe that your life’s purpose is apparent when you graduate high school? Is it rational to believe that good grades will ensure that you will be a good employee and climb the ladder of success, just like in school? Is it rational to believe that your adult life between eighteen and sixty-five is to be spent on building finances and impressive titles on a business card? Where does life’s purpose fit in?

A music career is far from rational.

I chose an irrational path in life. My plan was to immerse myself into the world of music, to learn lessons as they presented themselves, to use my skills and gifts to inch forward. As I learned more and more about music, I began to see the many career paths music has to offer.

In college, I began to hang around a group of young dudes who were fun and talented. We decided to start a four-piece cover band called The Mile High Club. It was easy to get a gig at the college because we knew the decision-makers in the student union. The band played regularly at the college lounge and at special events when headliners would come through. The Mile High Club earned money. In 1980s terms, we could easily make a couple of hundred dollars each a night. It was well worth our while to rehearse new fun music to play for our friends at college. Starting a band was rational.

When I wrapped up at Red Deer College, I started to work at the local branch of HMV Records. HMV was the “hip” record store in town. The staff acted as taste makers for the local music aficionados. My specialty was new hit music. Even though the majority of my time at the store was spent doing inventory to replenish stock, the perks and prestige of working at HMV were worth it. I spent my days hanging out with cool people and sold music to anyone who wanted it. Working at HMV was rational. Plus, I was still playing with The Mile High Club. I was enjoying a career in music with two income sources. Each day was fulfilling and exciting. I loved what I did, and I was good at it, too.

Around a year and a half later, I moved to Edmonton, Alberta. I eagerly began to look for the next steps in my career in music. I still worked for HMV, but now I was in a bigger store. It was fast-paced, and it moved twice the volume. One day, I heard that one of the major record labels was hiring a new rep for the Edmonton region. This made perfect sense as a next step for my career. A regular salary, an expense account, and a chance to sell music to ALL of the record stores seemed rational and, more importantly, fun. I applied for the position.

The branch manager for MCA was a man named Terry McArthur. I wrote out my thin résumé and added a handwritten cover letter that reflected who I thought I was at the time. I wrote, “I’m severely underqualified for this job, but I’m applying for it anyway. If you’re looking for someone who wants to learn, has a gleaming toothy smile and has personality to burn, invite me for an interview.” My cover letter was cocky but riveting; it was a desperate attempt to use charm to get my foot in the door.

Terry had never heard of me. He had a list of candidates already compiled when he was on his way from Calgary to Edmonton to conduct interviews. He rode in the passenger seat during the three-hour drive, so he could look over some notes and contact the people he wanted to interview. As a lark, and at the last minute, he decided to look at my application. My irreverent cover letter served its purpose. It grabbed his attention. He was intrigued. In a last-minute decision, he took out his mobile phone and dialed my number at home. Terry asked me to come for an interview.

The next day, I arrived at Terry’s hotel suite late in the afternoon. We shook hands at the door and Terry invited me to take a seat at the small round conference table in the suite’s common area. Terry was upfront about the fact that he didn’t have any intention of interviewing me. We chatted about music and the Edmonton scene. He quizzed me about business matters. I improvised the whole interview. At the end of the interview, he asked me, “Where do you see yourself in five years?” I answered, “I’ll have your job.” We laughed out loud.

The interview went well. In fact, the interview was fun. I shook Terry’s hand one last time as I left, and thanked him for taking the chance to interview me. I was happy I made it as far as I did.

An hour later, my phone at home rang again. I picked it up to discover that it was Terry on the phone. He wanted to know if I would like to go grab a beer with him. He offered me the job.

At twenty-four years old, I had a job with an expense account, a car allowance, and an endless supply of any music I could ever want. I had concert tickets, T-shirts, posters, and access to the biggest music stars of the day. I had landed a dream job. On top of it all, I was also singing in a local eight-piece jazz band called The Jump Orchestra. My irrational music career was starting to be more rational.

I started to notice that a trend had begun: I was doing what I loved, and I was doing what I was good at. Focusing on those two inspiring aspects of my life made every day more fulfilling than the days on the survey crew. Every time I was ready for something new, all I needed to do was to find something that I loved to do and that I was good at. Music was my red-and-white-striped traffic pylon. It signaled me to follow in a meaningful direction. I focused on it. Each new experience in music felt worthwhile.

If you experience life as a meandering, drunken stumble that leads you forward, left and right, then backward, remain vigilant and keep a lookout for the signals in your life. They will provide you with direction.

They are easier to see if you know these two things: what do you love to do and what you are good at? Your answers are the first steps you’ll need to take to find your Ikigai.

Everybody Has Gifts

Everyone has special gifts. Your gifts are the actions that feel easiest for you to do. For some, that might be mathematics and problem solving. To others, it could mean arts and crafts. Are you good at sports but not at cooking? Focus on sports. Cooking is probably not your thing.

Your gifts are innate talents unique to you, but they might also seem irrational to explore. After all, if something is easy for you to do, then why would you choose to do it all the time? Society tells us that it’s better to fix our weaknesses instead of focusing on our strengths. Society is wrong.

According to studies conducted by Gallup through their CliftonStrengths service, your strengths can be amplified. When you put energy into developing your strengths, your growth is exponential. When you focus on trying to fix your weaknesses, your growth is slow, uninspired, and only modestly incremental. In other words, when you work on your strengths, you kick ass. When you focus on your weaknesses, you kick rocks.

The Clifton in CliftonStrengths is Don Clifton. When Don was a young man, he fought in the Second World War as a pilot. Don earned a Distinguished Flying Cross for heroism in the face of the enemy. In addition to being a brave hero, Don had heart. After the war, he focused on the unexplored psychology of “what is right with people.” Up to then, psychology had been primarily focused on dealing with psychological problems, or what is wrong with people. Don saw the potential for psychology to be a more positive science, one that could be applicable to the general public.

Don began to study what people did to become successful in life. His goal was to learn whether successful people shared similarities in their approaches to life. Don and his colleagues developed rigorous studies to interview people and study the new science of success. Over time, Don saw patterns start to emerge. He arranged the patterns into themes and referred to them as strengths. In all, Don found that people have thirty-four strengths. Each person has a specific order in which the strengths fall. Your top strengths are the ones you will kick ass with.

Don Clifton is known today as a pioneer in helping others see the best in themselves. His strengths helped us see ours. The benefit of his groundbreaking research is that, when it’s applied, people have the ability to wake up each morning and live life with a focus on their strengths. Imagine doing what you’re good at every day.

When it comes to kicking ass, CliftonStrengths is in a category of its own. The CliftonStrengths StrengthsFinder 2.0 book is one of the best-selling nonfiction books in history. It’s helped over nineteen million people find and focus on their strengths. It’s helped millions discover one part of the Ikigai map: do what are good at.