A Walking Eulogy

Goodbye is a useless word.

As we drift apart, by choice or by fate, reflexive sadness drifts in. The ears cry out for remembered voices, the eyes beg to behold familiar forms. The senses fool us into focusing on sights and sounds, hiding the blinding and deafening truth:

Nobody is ever gone.

It is impossible to leave someone you love. A relationship of any depth leaves traces of each individual in the other, small parcels joyfully–if unwittingly–carried through the remainder of their journeys in the safe deposit boxes in their hearts.

The chemistry of human interaction forever transforms both parties without fail. Even the slightest connections etch the looking glass of who we are and what we do.

A penetrating gaze into the mirror of action can reveal anyone from the past.

When I exemplify unbending honesty, I am Winifred.

When I show fierce loyalty, I am Patricia.

When I display unceasing compassion, I am Rosemary.

When I tell a sweeping story, I am Howard.

When I get an ornery smirk before making a joke, I am Carol.

When I open a door or extend a hand for a woman, I am Jerry.

Though they have passed through the veil of this life or disappeared into the fog of dementia, their lives cast large shadows into mine

As long as I breathe, they ripple through generation upon generation across oceans of time.

I am, in part, a walking eulogy.

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Some people don’t get what they deserve.

As we pile through year after year, most of us are lucky enough to build an army of family and friends.  Through good times and bad, the support we offer and receive fosters strong bonds between similar hearts. The laughs we share lift our spirits together.

What is left behind weighs only on the living.

Old grudges, past disagreements and lost money are a tasty poison in quiet hours of mourning. The collection of things said and unsaid, done and undone can stop a heart or destroy a mind. This sadness is a burden for those bearing the yoke of tear-stained memories.

A long life provides a bounty of opportunities for blessings of all kinds, save one: full pews.

When decades stack up, friends pass away.

It seems unfair those who have blessed so many are celebrated by so few.

Or is it preferable to have affected more people and created a larger legacy?

My brain thinks the latter, my soul aches for the former. Bearing witness to swollen eyes and running noses confirms the impact of an individual, it a tangible reflection my mind can measure. Somehow I find comfort in the evidence of another’s love for the same person, selfish as the motives are.

The thought may be misguided, but I think it justice all the same:

Tremendous people earn sobbing hearts in overflowing churches.

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Pen Your Movie

What are the elements of your story?

I finished reading Donald Miller’s latest book, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, yesterday evening. Having been approached to turn one of his works into a movie, the author takes an unexpected and winding journey through his own life. Miller’s trademark self-examination revolves around the central theme of a screenplay, a medium he must understand in order to effectively contribute to making the film.

Conflict, it turns out, is the driving force behind movement. Moviegoers crave a sense of resolution and feel cheated if they are unable to identify the progression a character makes from one scene to the next. On some level, their brains recognize a threat in each act and are therefore able to rejoice in the protagonist’s triumph at the end.

Life imitates art.

Day by day, we are faced with choices about everything–what to wear and where to go to lunch and who to talk to. The decisions we make shape a narrative woven into the fabric of time. Each of us plays a role in the larger history being written, as our actions affect people outside ourselves.

All that we accomplish and leave unfinished is observed by an audience we take for granted.

Our family and friends and coworkers see what we do and say, assimilating our example into their own tales. Just like visitors to the local theater, they notice what we’re up against and the manner in which we handle things.

How you treat people?

What motivates you?

Do you decide to quit?

Your legend is the accumulation of what is seen by everyone you know.

We are given the opportunity to compose our own eulogy.

At the end of your life, what will people say?

Grab a pen and write it for them.

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The Tao of John Wooden

I have a deep admiration for John Wooden.

The legendary UCLA basketball coach, “The Wizard of Westwood,” passed away Friday at the age of 99.

Having retired from the game 35 years ago, he moved on to share his philosophy on leadership and trademark “Pyramid of Success” with others through books and speaking engagements.

Wooden built a legacy of winning matched by very few in all of sport on a reputation for tremendous character and hard-nosed attention to detail. Having a mild obsession with organization myself, I write out my nightly lesson plans on 3×5 index cards with specific intervals for each subject as an homage to his down-to-the-minute practice regiments.

His expectations centered on peak performance. Results were secondary.

Drilling his players to fulfill talent instead of counting victories and defeats  led to ten national championships and a host of “Wooden-isms” which can be applied in all arenas.

Here are a few of my favorites:

Things turn out best for the people who make the best of the way things turn out.

Proper attitude is central to achievement. On the long road from “concept” to “success,” you encounter many opportunities to become discouraged and give up.

Be resilient in the face of disappointment. It will get you far.

Failure is not fatal, but failure to change might be.

Everyone knows a person that repeats the same mistake over and over. Part of maturity is realizing what keeps us from becoming better and deciding to go in a different direction to avoid the same results.

Don’t let what you cannot do interfere with what you can do.

When you’re making a drastic change or tackling a major challenge, it is easy to notice what’s beyond your reach. Suddenly, you’ve fallen into a hole believing your powers are unequal to the task.

Focus instead on what you are able influence.

The rest will come.

If you don’t have time to do it right, when will you have time to do it over?

A classic line, it pairs well with another: “Be quick, but don’t hurry.”

Haste leads to errant thinking and decreased quality. Be patient. Emphasize precision first, then concern yourself with speed.

There has to be a definite purpose and goal if you are to progress. If you are not intent about what you are doing, you aren’t able to resist the temptation to do something else that might be more fun at the moment.

A peculiar concentration is necessary to reach the summit of your personal mountain. The climb is littered with distractions and chances to settle. Without single-minded determination to see the journey through, you will fall short.

It’s clear how Wooden’s simple, uncompromising system produced high-caliber execution.

The fundamental ideals he espoused created an environment and culture in which individuals could thrive in pursuit of team objectives.

Glory naturally followed.

Most important of all, however, is the guiding principle of his extraordinary life:

Success is peace of mind which is a direct result of self-satisfaction in knowing you did your best to become the best you are capable of becoming.

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“Real life” resumes in the midst of grief.

Whether it’s the loss of a family member or the dissolution of a relationship, there comes a time when “normal” interferes with emotional processing. The moment sweeps your legs from beneath you just when you were getting to your feet.

It’s natural to be offended by this intrusion.

Your mending heart demands the courtesy of rest before beating on. Time yanks you back into routine coldly, expecting you at your station on time to perform your duty. The first instinct is to point a finger and call it unfair.

Realize the alternative is death itself.

Growth invariably includes loss. Measuring how far you’ve come requires mileposts.

Heartache is a powerful marker.

To have shed the chains of suffering is to have completed your days.

You can be locked up as long as you like.  Burden yourself as you choose, whether weeks or months or until your end.

The path will be walked regardless.

You must go on.

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The soul is caged in the body.

What is timeless and boundless gets stuffed into a form far beneath its grandeur.

Robbed of its essence, it learns pain and endures suffering.

It remembers bliss, though.

It shares kindness and warmth, spreads humor and loyalty.

It loves.

It raises children and spoils grandchildren. It blossoms again as great-grandchildren sprout on the family tree.

It leaves.

Form fails and spirit is released.

It breathes freely again, feeling joyous peace and walking unencumbered in the sunshine of eternal Spring.

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A human life is a whisper in the winds of history.

Legacies are shaped by moments imprinted on the minds of others.

Shared experiences will bring laughter and tears to those you leave behind.

Your days will be brief.

What of them will be memorable?

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Looking Back at My Future Self

I saw myself fifteen years from now last week.

No, a man with a disheveled white mane didn’t show up in a DeLorean. I approached a customer at the office supply store I work at and struck up a conversation to help him “kill some time” while waiting for a nearby restaurant to open.

Almost from the get-go, he unleashed volley after volley of slings and arrows against our hometown.

In his late-40s, awaiting the graduation of his youngest daughter and a career move to Omaha, Nebraska, he laid bare all his frustrations with the life he’d chosen and the place he’d moved back to some six years ago.

Over time, I realized he held the deepest disdain for his own decisions, for the 20+ years he’d spent making considering financial return instead of psychic value. He shook his head in disgust at his inability to convince potential employers he was shifting his priorities instead of looking for a “layover job” before the next six-figure opening became available.

My blood ran cold as he lamented “chasing the money” on his way out the door.

Suddenly, I recognized the future I was on track for in his salt-and-pepper hair.

Tired and embittered at mid-life, I might have run into a 30-year-0ld sometime in 2025 and said the same things. I’d bemoan the lost youth and missing verve, wondering if long-gone days had any meaning beyond earning a paycheck.

The bills would have been paid, but would I have washed away grander talent and lasting work in the process?

Maybe I’m strange compared to the average person that’s said goodbye to their 20s.

I’m focused on making a legacy.

Does that require fame and fortune?

Certainly not…though I’m capable of both.

I refuse to die asking myself what more I could have given.

Who would my words benefit?

What am I to share?

When could my heart provide aid?

Where must I go?

Why should I do anything else?

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The Legacy of Second Best

Americans are obsessed with being the best.

Sometimes, believing we must be perfect, we avoid making a first effort. Instead of simply squeezing out the extent of our capabilities and being content with the results, we let a dream die and live with regret.

Eratosthenes was different.

He was a third-century BC mathematician, philosopher, astronomer and, well, a lot of things. To put it lightly, he was a tinkerer. He pursued whatever caught his fancy from moment to moment, quenching his ravenous curiosity and contributing to a variety of fields.

As the third head of the infamous Library of Alexandria, Eratosthenes developed a reputation among his peers which earned him the nickname “Beta.”

His contemporaries considered it humorous he was second best in a lot of things instead of truly great at one.

One of the many things he set out to do was estimate the circumference of the Earth.  Knowing of a well in a town relatively close by where the sun’s rays shined straight down on a specific day every year, Eratosthenes decided to measure the angle of the sun’s rays in Alexandria and see how many times it could be divided into 360, the number of degrees in a circle, as we all know.

He reasoned that, if he could accurately determine the distance between Swenet (modern-day Aswan) and Alexandria, then multiply it by the answer to his aforementioned division equation, he could estimate the distance around the planet.

He hired a pacer—someone trained to take steps so precisely the difference between them was exact—to walk the distance. He used the final number to calculate an estimate of 24,700 miles.  (He was off by around 200 miles, a mere 0.8%.)

Having determined the length, and thinking most of the land mass had been mapped already, he speculated the rest was an ocean.

With this in mind, he theorized if one were to sail west, he would eventually find the edge of the easternmost lands. Some 1600 years later, when the Renaissance reignited the flame of interest in Ancient Greece, an Italian by the name of Christopher Columbus used this idea as the basis for a voyage from Spain in search of a route to India.

By following his own ideals, Eratosthenes paved the way for Western Europe to settle the Americas.

Sure, there are greater writers (Archimedes) and philosophers (Epicurus) from the same period, but none of them can be said to have influenced the movement of millions across the vast Atlantic Ocean.

What could your legacy be if you’d accept being second best?

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We’re all going to die.

Day by day, we move through our tasks focused on what must be done more often than the larger context of what we’re doing. We trade a sense of meaning for a myopic view of crunching numbers or approaching deadlines.

Periodically we are given shocks to our mortality. Tragedy befalls someone publicly or, more frequently, the time comes for a person we are connected to. In the latter case, the stains of sadness linger in our lives longer.

My phone lit up with it’s characteristic “brrrring” signaling the arrival of a text message around 7am Monday. I learned through half-opened eyes that a family friend had passed away at the age of 94 after battling multiple ailments over the last few years, particularly prostate cancer.

I last saw him briefly on Christmas Eve, the first time in quite a while. Gone was the characteristic energy in his voice, clouded by the fog of a mind that’s edge had been dulled. We each wrapped an arm around the other, as always, and exchanged affectionate words for a minute before I headed out into the cold air to pull my car up to the door to pick up my mother.

His kindness and encouragement will remain fond memories, particularly the way he said “How you doin’, guy?” as he shook my hand at holiday gatherings…which inevitably led to us sitting together for a few minutes discussing all the happenings since our last meeting.

I wrote my cousin a brief email to express my condolences. This was not our shared grandfather, though I count the man as part of my extended family. My cousin replied:

“He seemed to have a positive influence on everyone he met and I’m glad that you had the opportunity to be around him.”

We should all live that our eulogies may be written so.

I’m glad, too.

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