All three of our sons have us mostly laughing or thinking. The boys often lead our family in this game they call “Would you rather…?”
Because they’re young boys (ages 12, 10 and five), this game usually goes something like this: “Would you rather eat a fresh cow eyeball, the middle of a warm rattlesnake or the back half of a dead mouse?” It’s gross and funny — and entertaining.
Last Friday, on the way to school, Finis (Fin), our 5-year-old son, took a more serious stand, when he asked the question that is the topic of this blog post: “Would you rather have your life, or the life of someone else?”
I am thankful that each of our boys responded that they would prefer to have their own life. The question provided quite an interesting conversation over dinner that evening, and provided a good teaching moment for their parents.
It is a good question, though, right? Because although we have the freedom and ability to design and create the life we want, it is easy to sometimes get sucked into making choices and experiencing a life that is largely based on what others will think, or expect us to do. The result can be that for a day, several days, weeks, months, or even years at a time, we live a life that meets everyone’s expectations but our own.
First off, a quick reminder: Epic does not mean perfect. It does mean exhilarating, but the exhilaration and epic nature of it only come following effort and struggle that are experienced in pursuit of it. Even the birth of a child, which definitely qualifies as an epic experience, is not handed to anyone. There are many struggles that occur en route, and I’m not just talking about the “labor.”
I think the best indication that something is epic, is that upon hearing about it, or having an idea, you “sign up” for it immediately, or very seriously consider committing to it. It nags at you. It has the effect of you saying, “I have do this. I need to do this. I need this. I must do this.” And then, very importantly, committing to it is often followed by, an (excuse my language) “Oh shit.” Or, “What have I gotten myself into?”
In my humble opinion and experience, these are good indications that you’ve committed to something that is, and will be, important and worthwhile to you and your life.
What is pulling at you right now that you need to commit to? I thank you in advance for sharing.
“Being in the wild gathers me. It astonishes me. It quiets the negative voices inside of me and allows the more constructive ones to talk. It humbles me. It reminds me of how small I am, which has the reverse effect of making me feel gigantic inside.”
—Cheryl Strayed, author of Torch, Wild, and Tiny Beautiful Things, two books I highly recommend.
Please take a little hike with me as I explain, in my words, why we hike:
About a month ago, our 5-year-old son, Fin, asked me: “When a man is old, is that his last age?”
His question was so profound I didn’t immediately know how to answer it.
Of course all of our lives are of different lengths. Unfortunately, I’ve lost friends and loved ones of all ages.
Howdy.
I love books. I read and read and read. Lately, my favorite author is Cheryl Strayed, author of one of my now-all-time favorite books, Wild. Strayed is a wonderful writer, and I feel a kinship to her when reading her words and experiences.
Recently, I finished (more like devoured!) her latest book, Tiny Beautiful Things. In a chapter called “The Obliterated Place,” a 58-year-old man writes to Strayed (“Sugar”) about the loss of his 22-year-old son, his only child, who was killed four years earlier by a drunk driver. He asks how to go on, and how to be human again.
In her response to the man, Strayed (“Sugar”) mentions a remark her own young son made that is, coincidentally, similar to the aforementioned question Fin asked me. (“We don’t know how many years we have for our lives…”)
Strayed, when she was just 22, lost her mother. She writes how deeply sorry she is for the man’s loss, and among other things, writes: “It has been healing to me to accept in a very simple way that my mother’s life was forty-five years long, that there was nothing beyond that. There was only my expectation that there would be — my mother at eighty-nine, my mother at sixty-three, my mother at forty-six. Those things don’t exist. They never did.”
“Sugar” continues by encouraging the man to think: “My son’s life was twenty-two years long… There is no twenty-three.”
The words and sharing, both the man’s letter, and Strayed’s (Sugar’s) response, are poignant. Reading it broke me open, and has caused me to think, often, of Strayed’s wisdom reminding us that any thought we have about the length of our lives is an expectation, not a certainty.
So, to the point of this blog post… Imagine, for a moment, that your life has only one more year in it.
What changes would you make? Who would you choose to experience your time with? How would you be? What would you say?
A busy life describes a life that feels as if our life is at or over capacity. When we’re busy, we are often overwhelmed and over-scheduled. It doesn’t feel like we own our time. Our days are full of things we “have” to do. We feel like a victim of our circumstances.
Hi there.
A full life is rich. It may or may not be “full,” but it feels full. It is a fulfilling life, one in which we choose many of the things that are in it.
A busy life is a life where we spend our time.
A full life — our epic life — is a life where we experience, or invest, our time.
I think this is a good challenge — to create, and live, a full life rather than a busy life. I am glad we are at choice and have the power to say yes, and to say no, and to create boundaries.
These abilities are necessary when it comes to creating our best life. After all, we cannot “get back” time that has passed.
Today, as you do things, and time passes, check in with yourself by asking, “Am I spending this time, experiencing this time, or investing this time?”
A book that I revisit often is Seneca’s On The Shortness of Life. Seneca writes: “It is not that we have a short time to live, but that we waste a lot of it. Life is long enough, and a sufficiently generous amount has been given to us for the highest achievements if it were all well invested. But when it is wasted in heedless luxury and spent on no good activity, we are forced at last by death’s final constraint to realize that it has passed away before we knew it was passing. So it is: we are not given a short life but we make it short, and we are not ill-supplied but wasteful of it… Life is long if you know how to use it.
One strategy I try hard not just to say to myself several times throughout each day but to actually try to believe is “I will live today as if I will die tomorrow.” As long you’re serious about the intention, it is a sound strategy for not wasting time, and for being more present.
I have clients — and friends — who often are overextended. They find it difficult to say no. I’m no different. I also have this problem.
Most of the time we find ourselves overextended and saying yes too often because others need us, or can benefit by what we have to contribute so we say yes so we can be of assistance, or to avoid the guilt we conjure up if we were to say no. We’re “pulled” into things by our desire to help and to make a difference in some way.
Eventually this takes a toll. At some point, you need you, as much or more, than all those other people and things need you. What then?
Imagine this scenario — we’ve all probably been there: At the grocery store, a woman has a cart full of groceries. Several other shoppers are gathering in line who have fewer items. (Unfortunately the “fewer than 15 items” aisle is closed)
One woman approaches and gets in line behind her who has only a gallon of milk and a box of fudgesicles in her arms. The woman with the full cart offers, “Go ahead; you have only two items.”
Next, a man appears and he has just a candybar. She lets him go ahead, too. Then, a woman with three items. Same thing. This happens several more times, when finally there is a break in the action as far as people with fewer groceries approaching goes and the woman with the full cart is able to pay for her things and be on her way.
Her generosity and putting others first costs her time. Is it worth it? Probably. After all, it felt good, and right, for her to be generous to others. She valued their time by letting them go ahead rather than have them endure the time it would take to ring up her full cart. The time it took for the five people she let go ahead probably exceeded the amount of time it took to ring up her full cart when it was all over. Maybe she’s very generous and didn’t have much planned for the day so all this doesn’t phase her. Then again, maybe it took time that she didn’t have to give.
Another example of this was on a flight I took to San Francisco last March. A man with two children boarded and their assigned seats were not together. A twenty-something woman traveling alone offered to give up her seat so the man could be seated with his small children, and moved about 5 rows back to take his assigned seat. Soon after, a woman and her daughter appear and her daughter’s assigned seat is next to the aforementioned woman’s “new” seat. Again, the twenty-something woman offers it up so the mother can sit by her daughter, and moves back another 3 rows to take the mother’s assigned seat.
You can see where this is going, right? Unbelievably, this happened one more time and the twenty-something woman moved farther back, this time ending up in a seat next to me.
I was struck by her generosity. This woman is my hero, I thought to myself. But by the time she moved a third time and ended up by me, she was worn out, and a little frustrated — not to mention her seat was so far in the back that it would take her much longer to get out of the plane when it landed. Was her generosity worth it? Probably. And yet, what if her next connection is so tight that taking five more minutes to get off the plane means she’ll miss her flight?
Another example might be the executive who works 80 hours a week and his/her health begins to fail. As a result of the work load, he/she has high blood pressure, poor eating habits and doesn’t get adequate rest. Add to that he/she has no time to spare for his/her family, or for his/her passions. His/her company is thriving; his/her life is not.
I’m not arguing against generosity. I encourage it. What I’m suggesting is that from time to time, we might be generous to ourselves, and say no to something or someone in the interest of saying yes to ourselves.
I like to say that when climbing a mountain, the bottom, middle and top are the hardest parts. I mean: It’s all uphill.
I'm going to the top of that mountain.
But I also like to say, the best views come to those willing to do the work to get to the top of mountains. One very good way to become actually what we are potentially — is to climb a mountain, to endure a struggle from which we expand and grow.
Whether in the wilderness literally climbing a mountain, such as the mountain my husband and I climbed yesterday in Wyoming’s Wind River Range, or metaphorically in one’s personal or work life, the payoff is worth it.
In the former, one gains a health benefit, increased confidence, and views that inspire for a long time, possibly forever. In the latter, there will be struggle that will generate personal discovery, growth and fulfillment.
In other words, even though it’s a bunch of hard work, it’s all upside.
Climbing a mountain is hard. It's all uphill.
Of course, my friend, Phil Powers, the first person from Wyoming to summit K2 without oxygen (maybe the only Wyoming person ever do this?) told me years ago, “The summit is only the half way point. Once you make it to the top, you still have to get down.”
But we’ll address that matter in another post.
In the meantime, and more importantly, what mountains are you gearing up to climb?
I want to make a clarification. Epic does not simply mean majestic and awesome. An epic life is not a perfect life. It’s not all awesome, all the time.
By epic, I mean something that is beyond scale — something so big you cannot exactly imagine it.
By epic, I mean difficult. So difficult that it will require skills you don’t already have. So difficult that at times it will require a heroic effort. So difficult that it cannot be done alone — you need a team, and or/significant support. So difficult that the outcome is not certain.
And, because of the scale and difficulty, it will be full of discovery and fulfillment.
An epic life is full of peak experiences. Living an epic life is about becoming actually what we are potentially. These peak experiences don’t happen without struggle. An epic life is a hard-earned celebration. It is epic not despite struggle, but because of it.
An epic life is a life that’s lived on purpose. By living on purpose I do not mean maximizing your time. I mean experiencing your time, rather than spending it. An epic life is a full life. (A full life and a busy life are not the same things.)
Why does it matter that we create and live our most epic life? Because we only have this one life. An epic life is your best life –– a life that we love so much we view it as the gift that it is.
To borrow the wonderful words of poet Mary Oliver: “Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?”
I love this Ted Talk by Buddhist roshi Joan Halifax. Halifax works with people at the last stage of life (in hospice and on death row). Here, she shares what she’s learned about compassion in the face of death and dying, and a deep insight into the nature of empathy.
Particularly, listen to Halifax at 1.55. It frames the talk. But the message is one about the importance of compassion. As Halifax so beautifully states, compassion is to recognize we are not separate from the suffering around us.
