Tag: fear

Agency

I believe in Agency.

Letting every person make as many decisions about their life as possible.

I draw the line at full Agency when a choice or decision hurts another person, but until then I want us all to have discretion about what we do with our time and our energies. Let us each create the life we want.

Agency is just a fancier word for choice. I use it a lot, maybe to sound smarter than I am, but it really is the foundational value on which everything else I believe is hung. It’s like freedom, but less static. Freedom to me is lack of controls, whereas Agency implies action. Freedom allows choice but doesn’t demand it. Agency requires action, the act of choosing.

I talk to my children about intention too. Choosing with intention. To me, that’s even more what what Agency is about: choosing consciously and with intent for an outcome. You may not get what you hope, but you increase your chances, and that ups the odds of living a satisfying life.

I’ve not always used my Agency. In fact, I’ve been pretty negligent until recently about taking action to achieve a specific goal. Most of that is because I haven’t set intentions, but it’s also true that I haven’t had the courage to try for the ones I did set. I trusted the universe to take care of me, and that is a sure path to an underwhelming life. The universe is ambivalent to each of us; it’s not malevolent, it doesn’t want to screw us to the floor, but it’s not going to care if we’re unhappy with our lots either. It will march on in step with that taskmaster Time, blissfully ignorant of our frustrations.

No, it’s up to each of us to choose the life we want to live and then work to create it. Not one of us will get everything on which we set our sights – the universe seems petulant that way – but those who work most diligently and with clear eyes on their own prize will reap more of it than those of us who coast. 80-10-10 after all (80% of the time we get what we earn, 10% we get hosed, and 10% we get away with something).

We win at life when we don’t begrudge what we sacrifice for our choices, because instead what we gain with those very same choices fulfills us. We win when we make the benefit worth the cost, including the opportunity cost of foregoing other choices in favor of those that bring us the biggest returns.

My experiment in Agency is still in its nascent stages, and I am overwhelmed with doubts from time to time. But I have also experienced the exhilaration and excitement when I have a small success on the road to my larger intentions. Because I know that I made that little success happen.

I look forward to the rush I’ll get when I achieve one of my big goals.

New Year, New Home

2023 will be one of significant change for me (I hope).

Change in how I spend the bulk of my working day. How I earn a living. Where I earn that living. With whom I share my time. Yet as we turn the page into the new year my thoughts are with my parents, who will make just one significant change (I hope).

They are leaving their 4-bedroom home with its huge patio and multi-terraced garden in favor of a 2-bedroom apartment in a senior independent-living complex. I’ve been staying with my parents while waiting for my post-divorce life to begin, and though I was initially opposed to their move – they love their house, and my father is an enthusiastic gardener – I’ve come to see the wisdom of the move. They just don’t have the stamina they once did. My father is 87, my mother 82, and keeping up with the house and garden takes more energy than they want to give them. The reason for the move makes eminent sense. And I get it.

So they are not leaving their house kicking and screaming.

And yet it’s still not without stress.

Odds are that this new apartment will be the last place they live together. If – really, when – their health fails, it’s unlikely it will afflict them at the same time and in the same way, so even if they are in the same facility they may not be in the exact same place. And while we don’t talk about it, I think it’s clearly on their minds. How could it not be?

Mortality is the tie that binds us all. We all come face-to-face with it eventually, with varying degrees of grace. And this move for my parents is the most tangible evidence to date that they are approaching that point of their lives when their deaths are real possibilities. Not likely, but definitely possible, and more possible than it’s been before.

My father faced prostate cancer a few years ago and kidney cancer last year. He had moments of fear during each scare, but the information he got from his doctors in both cases was encouraging, and there were other options for treatment if the procedures didn’t succeed. We are eternally grateful that they did succeed. He was also in a small-plane crash in Tanzania 28 years ago, but that happened so fast he didn’t have time to reflect on his risk.

My mother has age-related macular degeneration, high blood pressure, and diabetes. Those illnesses erode her quality of life and hint of struggles to come, but none of them are currently life-threatening.

But moving into a smaller apartment with no yard to maintain is a tangible admission from them both that the scope of their remaining time is narrowing. My friend Jim’s parents lived in a retirement community that talked about the go-go years (where people were able to do anything they wanted), the slow-go years (where they could still do some of the things they wanted to do), and the no-go years (where they were limited to things in their residence). My parents are still enjoying their go-go years, but the end of that freedom is in sight, and the implications for what’s ahead are sobering to them.

And they are feeling it.

They’ll still make the move, but settling into a new community will include living with a new awareness, that, after a lifetime of moving about in the world, they might finally be in the last home they will see.

Aspirations

It seems we’ve ended this year’s third quarter with another decline in broad stock-market indices. Safe to say it hasn’t been a stellar year for equity investment returns.

I saw my friend Dave last weekend. He recently retired, and he’s a little freaked out by the market decline. He is in good shape money-wise, despite his anxieties. He has plenty of assets from his lifetime of work, and he’s worked with a financial advisor pretty extensively, so his asset allocation should allow him to weather this storm.

But he’s unusual.

First, he has assets. The median retirement savings for Americans 60-64 is about $225,000, which can reliably generate a bit over $10,000 per year in income. That’s not very much. Dave has a lot more, so he doesn’t need to eat into his principal. Eating your seed corn is only a good idea if you have no other choice.

Second, by working with a financial advisor, he’s balanced his investment risk tolerance with his desired returns. So he has investments that will provide him returns that might vary, but during times like this he should have enough cash-type assets to keep him from having to sell other assets at depressed prices.

Third, he is a frugal man. While he has hobbies, and he has an appetite for the whimsical purchase, none of that is particularly expensive. He doesn’t travel much, and when he eats out he’s content with good-quality fast food and local taquerias. He doesn’t drink to excess, his gambling is restricted to nickel poker with friends, and I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t even know where to source drugs outside a cannabis dispensary.

So he’ll be more than fine financially.

I’ve often felt that we are directed to oversave for retirement. It’s obviously not working if the median 60+ year-old has only $225,000, but I contend that’s because of low earnings rather than profligacy. Professionals suggest we save enough to allow us to live to 95 years old. Yet life expectancy is in the mid-80s for those of us already in middle age. Some of us will make it to 95, but most of us won’t. So we will have oversaved by several years, depriving us of those resources we could have used during our lives.

I get the moral hazard argument, but I’m not sure data supports the idea that people shirk their responsibilities. There are anecdotes, of course, because someone somewhere has done anything you can possibly imagine, but I think people are generally honest and have good intentions. Yes, we are lazy, and yes, we often take the path of least resistance, but I think we also see ourselves as team members, and we usually want to do our part for the greater good, especially when we think others are doing so too.

So perhaps we need to rethink our savings targets and enhance social security or some other public income program for those who live beyond their projected lifespans. It would free up resources, so people wouldn’t have to sacrifice as much, and it would help that $225,000 nest egg the average person has to use.

It won’t stop my man Dave from worrying, but it could let a lot of others sleep better at night.

Essential Me

There is always someone better than I am.

I’ve believed it for as long as I can remember. It is an – perhaps even the – essential part of me. It’s the thought that has shaped every single part of my life.

Sometimes it’s for better. I’m humble. Obviously. It’s hard to be arrogant when there’s always someone better. I’m other-aware, which makes me a great community member. Resilient, since why wouldn’t I get a little grit in the gears from time to time? I often take one for the team, and usually don’t stop at one.

Sometimes, though, it’s for worse.

During our marriage, my wife threatened me with divorce more than once. Of course she did. There’s someone better out there. She might have said it to spark a reaction from me, to inspire me to fight for our marriage. But I accept my fate easily. I’m not deserving of good things, not because I’m a terrible person or lacking in something specific, but simply because there’s always a better option somewhere. Why shouldn’t she get that good thing instead of settling for me? In fact, it was really just a matter of time before she realizes she can do better, so I spent plenty of time waiting for that other shoe to dropkick my ass to the curb.

I do go gently into that good night. I only rarely make much of a fuss, because I understand that I’m second best. I may deserve something, but I don’t deserve the best. So I settle, and I’m content in doing so. It is what I expect. It is my lot in life.

There are many worse things than to expect less from life. Every day people go to bed hungry, or beaten bloody, or with the knowledge they are sick and will never get better. The cross I bear is much lighter than the pain borne by parents who bury a child or the drunk driver with blood on his hands. I don’t crave sympathy, because I don’t deserve it. There are, after all, people who have it much worse than I do. I don’t even get the best of the worst.

But it’s still a waste. I am often lonely when I don’t have to be. I defer when there’s no need to do so. I self-impose decisions about my worthiness that others never make.

“To give anything less than your best is to sacrifice the gift.” So said the fully-confident Steve Prefontaine. I give my best, but I’m not convinced it’s the best that can be given. And that may be true at times, most of the time even. But sometimes – and in one specific instance at least – it’s not true.

I hope to prove that by writing. The thing about art – really anything creative – is that only I can make the art that I make. And maybe that will show me that I can be the best at something. There’s no one else who can do this particular thing better, because there’s no one else who can do it at all. I am a population of one, as is every other artist out there.

So in this at least – this art, this written word – I am guaranteed to finish first. When you’re the only one on the course the only thing that can keep you from being first is not finishing at all. And I generally do give my best, so finishing is within my grasp. And maybe that will lead to more confidence, more belief that I can hold my own when I’m not the only one in the ring.

Or so I hope.

My Niece

I saw my niece yesterday.

She’s had a rough go so far. She calls herself the “Queen of Bad Decisions.” Failed by adults during her formative years, she doesn’t feel worthy even now in her early-thirties. She doesn’t deserve to be happy, to find purpose, to be loved. So she punishes herself with drugs and sex and booze and people who steal from her and, recently, beat her. Badly.

After all, she’s not worthy of care, compassion, and love.

And yet, despite all of her self-flagellation, something at her core, an indomitable spirit, won’t let her succumb to desolation, won’t surrender to the voices that tell her she doesn’t deserve happiness. It insists that she matters and that she must persevere, no matter how much pain she feels.

She is extraordinarily brave. She is also often self-centered, regularly manipulative, and less-than-honest at times. I suspect much of that is survival response, but her behavior still raises questions among her family and friends, and she’s been abandoned by more than one of the people she cares about. Mostly because she treats them badly. It’s hard to think of others, to empathize with them when you feel shitty about yourself.

But no matter how much abuse she heaps on herself she always pulls back from the brink of complete self-destruction. She does cut it close sometimes. She’s been hospitalized for alcohol poisoning, and she regularly chooses people who have problems with impulse control and suffer a great deal of pain themselves. I guess those folks are plentiful when you’re living on the margins of society, but everyone needs friends, so like the rest of us you take what the universe provides. They don’t always prove to be reliable.

And she can’t catch a break. She’d worked very hard for about three years to bring herself from homelessness to a sober, employed, independently-functioning member of our community. And four months later a global COVID-19 pandemic closed the retail store where she worked, and without a job she was soon without a place to live again. The pandemic has challenged us all, but it’s one more thing on top of a staggering pile of challenges for those people like my niece.

She’s a hard worker. She likes to do things. She’s got a great sense of humor, and she laughs and jokes with people regardless of how well she knows them. But she has just a high-school diploma, and ADHD makes traditional school hard for her. And her history with adults has left her with a towering distrust of authority figures. So building skills, which requires learning from either books or from people who know how to do things, goes against her talents and life experience.

I don’t know how her story will develop. I worry that the mountain of crap into which she was born that also encouraged her dodgy decision-making will ultimately be too much for her to surmount. But I am heartened by her absolute refusal to take herself beyond salvation. I am hopeful she will find enough people to trust, enough resource to give her the knowledge, skills, and experience that will enable her to function on her own, enable her to find a tribe that values her for who and what she is.

It’s the same hope I have for all the people I love.

Adulting

My daughters are going through the change.

Not menopause. (At least I hope not – I don’t have grandchildren yet!)

Their change is from learning to doing, from studying and practicing to working and producing. My oldest graduated college a couple years ago, my youngest will graduate in a few months. Their transition to full-time contributors to our society is going about as well as expected. Which is to say they are confused, anxious, and highly stressed.

Like most of us who have gone through it.

I don’t know that we’re failing our young people as they move from school into working, but I do think we’ve not been able to articulate a path that illuminates what will be different and how they will be able to successfully manage it. Which is weird, because the answer(s) seem simple.

First, find work that fills a deeply-felt purpose. If the goals of your work align with your values, then you can stand doing the boring stuff you’re going to have to do as the noob, because you know it moves the ball forward on things that are super important to you. And you don’t have to make a lot of money, because A) you don’t have a lot of expenses, and B) you’re not going to make a ton more money in another entry-level position this side of Wall Street. So embrace your ideals and find work that results in something that feels important to you.

Second, tend to your health. That’s health writ large. Get daily exercise. Pray. Journal your feelings. Meditate. Do puzzles. Eat regularly. And for God sakes, get enough sleep every night. When you keep your physical, intellectual, emotional and spiritual selves in balance, you can manage the ebbs and flows of your life much more capably.

Third, tend to your relationships. Your partner. Your family. Your friends. Your colleagues. Text them. Go to lunch and dinner. Have coffee or beers. Invite them over for game night. Go for a hike or a run together. Call them on their birthdays. Share what’s happening with you, and take interest in what they’re experiencing. The more vibrant your network of people is, the more enriching your life will be, and the more support you can pull from it in your times of need. And there is always times of need. When you are present for them, they will be there when you need help too.

And that’s really it.

If we helped our young people – and ourselves – concentrate on these three ubertasks, then this whole adulting thing wouldn’t be so intimidating. There’s plenty of distractions out there to dull our focus – our phones, TVs and streaming services, booze and pot and other consciousness-altering temptations – and those are among the reasons we struggle with this transtion, but I think if we could present these simple steps in a way that resonates as truth, perhaps my daughters and their peers would heed them and save themselves a lot of agony. And just maybe this transition wouldn’t feel so daunting.

Thunder Road

Thunder Road has been the source of my favorite line in all of music since I’ve had a favorite line in all of music: You ain’t a beauty, but, hey, you’re all right.

But as I’ve been listening to it lately as a middle-aged guy, I’ve been thinking more about the whole song. Not as a part of an album (which is a remarkable whole). And I know next to nothing about music, so my reflection is mainly just about what it says in words.

I find it insightful. It articulates emotions specific to a particular time of life, emotions that feel urgent at that time, but perhaps deceptively so when observed from the distance of middle age, when you know there’s almost always another chance, another opportunity coming. Patience, in other words, is usually rewarded. But I suppose that makes for less compelling lyrics. . . .

The screen door slams, Mary’s dress waves
Like a vision she dances across the porch as the radio plays
Roy Orbison singing for the lonely
Hey, that’s me and I want you only
Don’t turn me home again, I just can’t face myself alone again
Don’t run back inside, darling, you know just what I’m here for
So you’re scared and you’re thinking that maybe we ain’t that young anymore
Show a little faith, there’s magic in the night
You ain’t a beauty but, hey, you’re alright
Oh, and that’s alright with me

The song starts with a start, a door slamming, but immediately makes it clear that our narrator is in love. Soft language follows – “Mary’s dress waves” – with an image that rivals any description of any lover anywhere: “Like a vision she dances across the porch as the radio plays.” What listener can’t superimpose an image of his own love as he hears that line? And then Springsteen invokes one of the great classic plaintive songs of the rock era – Roy Orbison’s Only the Lonely – and begs to be heard: “Don’t turn me home again.”

But then he shifts his tone, challenges his love to confront their future: “Don’t run back inside,” and “So you’re scared and you’re thinking that maybe we ain’t that young anymore.” And then he encourages, cajoles even: “Show a little faith, there’s magic in the night.” And then he professes his love in the most Springsteenian way ever: “You ain’t a beauty but, hey, you’re all right, Oh, and that’s all right with me.” He tells her that he sees her as she is, and that her flawed self is still perfect for him. It’s the most brilliant “I love you” ever, because it acknowledges the puzzle of love, that imperfect beings can be perfect in the context of the right relationship.

You can hide ‘neath your covers and study your pain
Make crosses from your lovers, throw roses in the rain
Waste your summer praying in vain
For a savior to rise from these streets
Well now, I ain’t no hero, that’s understood
All the redemption I can offer, girl, is beneath this dirty hood
With a chance to make it good somehow
Hey, what else can we do now?
Except roll down the window and let the wind blow back your hair
Well, the night’s busting open, these two lanes will take us anywhere
We got one last chance to make it real
To trade in these wings on some wheels
Climb in back, heaven’s waiting on down the tracks

The song gains momentum in the second verse, as Springsteen makes his case for change. First he paints the futility of the status quo: “You can. . . Waste your summer praying in vain for a savior to rise from these streets.” He points out his love’s passivity, waiting for someone else to change her circumstance, which becomes perhaps a little ironic when he subsequently presents himself as a non-heroic savior of sorts. And he frames his question as a both a gamble – “With a chance to make it good somehow” – and no choice at all – “what else can we do now?”

His pitch then is for escape, for throwing off the frustration of their current situation for the uncertainty of leaving it behind, betting that “heaven’s waiting” somewhere down the road. And without a particular destination to offer, at least not yet, he focuses on the feeling of the journey: “roll down the window and let the wind blow back your hair.”

This is youth speaking, impatient for change, believing anything is better than this current situation, willing to chuck it all because he hasn’t built up enough of an investment to consider keeping it. He’s a have-not-wants-more. And now he’s selling his solution to the woman he loves, a woman who seems to be hesitant to embrace it.

Oh oh, come take my hand
We’re riding out tonight to case the promised land
Oh oh oh oh, Thunder Road
Oh, Thunder Road, oh, Thunder Road
Lying out there like a killer in the sun
Hey, I know it’s late, we can make it if we run
Oh oh oh oh, Thunder Road
Sit tight, take hold, Thunder Road

The chorus distills all the relevant pieces into a few lines. It’s a stirring argument to be sure, especially when paired with the music, ratcheting up the intensity, building energy beneath the words. He won’t go alone: “come take my hand.” His urgency grows – “Hey, I know it’s late, we can make it if we run” (yet another great, great line!) – and the non-specific destination shimmers in the distance: “. . . the promised land.”

Well, I got this guitar and I learned how to make it talk
And my car’s out back if you’re ready to take that long walk
From your front porch to my front seat
The door’s open but the ride ain’t free
And I know you’re lonely for words that I ain’t spoken
But tonight we’ll be free, all the promises’ll be broken

He finally gets to the one line in the song that’s forward looking and specific, the promise of what the future will look like once they’ve made their escape: “I got this guitar and I learned how to make it talk.” And he follows it up with his hard close: “my car’s out back if you’re ready to take that long walk.” He recognizes that it’s a long walk – a tough decision – for her, and he’s a full-discloser too: “The door’s open but the ride ain’t free.” If she joins him, he sees it as a commitment, to him, to his escape, to the future he sees. He acknowledges that he hasn’t made an explicit commitment to her – “I know you’re lonely for words that I ain’t spoken” – and he still doesn’t, telling her instead that this act of escape will be a paradigm breaker, a self-evident act of commitment so that no explicit promise of love is needed.

There were ghosts in the eyes of all the boys you sent away
They haunt this dusty beach road in the skeleton frames of burned-out Chevrolets
They scream your name at night in the street
Your graduation gown lies in rags at their feet
And in the lonely cool before dawn
You hear their engines rolling on
But when you get to the porch, they’re gone on the wind
So Mary, climb in
It’s a town full of losers, I’m pulling out of here to win

Curiously, he continues selling past the close, digging into Mary’s psyche, recounting her history. She’s had other opportunities: “. . . ghosts in the eyes of all the boys you sent away,” and those lost opportunities haunt her, those suitors screaming her name “at night in the street.” She hasn’t gone, perhaps because they didn’t treat her well – her “graduation gown lies in rags at their feet” – but by morning she regrets it, only to find it’s too late: “But when you get to the porch, they’re gone on the wind.” The message is laid bare: “So Mary, climb in.” Don’t face more regret in the morning. “It’s a town full of losers” – there’s nothing for you here. Come with me, because “I’m pulling out of here to win.”

What I’ve missed for the many years I’ve been listening to this song is that it’s not really about Springsteen and his act of escape. Rather, it’s a sensitive portrayal of Mary, the tension between her fears and hopes, the story of a soul caught between wanting more but not sure how to get it. It’s Springsteen talking, but throughout he is not just aware of Mary, she is the protagonist of the song. He is merely the vehicle of her potential happiness. And, interestingly, we don’t know how her story ends by the end of the song – I like to think she left with him, but who knows? After all, her history suggests otherwise. Still, it’s Springsteen, and with a song that builds so relentlessly and irresistibly to its crescendo, I can’t imagine she deflates that energy by denying it.

Differences

I am a product of my environment.

My family. Its genes and its values. My community. Its norms and expectations. My nation. Its identity and its archetypes.

My cousin isn’t.

I sometimes wonder if she might have a better answer than me. Not more or less right, but perhaps more effective at addressing the questions at hand: what’s the best way to secure yourself? Now, and for the future.

I am biased to independence. It seems the most secure path. And it feels like the most responsible path. The most moral path.

Of course, that’s because it aligns with my environmental expectations. Be self-sufficient. Avoid risk. Don’t put yourself at the mercy of other people – they are likely to choose themselves over you. And then where are you?

I think most people, at least in this country, feel the same.

But should we?

I heard some weeks ago that we are severely overinvested in personal transportation. 92% of cars at any given moment are parked. Sitting idle. So our desire for individual convenience has created an incredible automobile glut. Nine out of 10 cars are not in use, but waiting to be used. There are significant consequences for that decision as well: we are polluting our environment, we lose time in traffic congestion, we are more isolated from each other. The waste and damage is huge compared to other, more communal solutions to moving ourselves around.

Could we be making the same mistake in securing our futures?

My cousin has found a community that seems to be highly committed to each other. Their emotional connections seem to be deep, and they seem to value each other for what they are rather than for what they can give directly in return. What my cousin gives to the older members of that community is not expected to be repaid to her by those older people. I believe her expectation is that when she is older there will be a younger person willing to give the necessary time and energy to her care.

That feels like a very risky bet to me. And probably to most people who read this. But isn’t it wasteful for us all to prepare for a future independently?

Just as all those cars sit idle, a lot of the assets we accumulate to safeguard our future won’t be used by us. We accumulate them for security, just in case we need them. Like any good actuary would tell us though, some of us will live long lives and some of us won’t. If we all prepare to live to 90 or 95, then the person who dies at 75 or at 70 or at 65 is wasting resources, saving assets he or she will never use. If we had a communal pool of assets that we all contribute to – and an actuary would be very helpful to determine what that level would be – then those excess resources being invested could be put to use for other purposes.

This isn’t an original thought. It is, of course, the foundation of our social security system – we all pay in, and we all benefit, though not in the same proportion. For this to work, for people to feel good about it, we have to accept that some of us will be lucky with our lives’ duration and some of us will be unlucky. So be it.

It requires a profound shift in our communal values and expectations, a reordering of our communal priorities, and, perhaps hardest of all, a ceding of control. I am very reluctant to trust my fellow people to take care of me when I am vulnerable. I want to control that part of my life.

Understandably, perhaps. But necessarily? I wonder.

Timidity

Ah, cursed timidity! It has been my bane for the whole of my life.

I am smart. Maybe even very smart. I believe I’m generous. Kind. I don’t take myself seriously even as I am serious about my thoughts and ideas. I believe in the importance of living life for our own individual prosperity (broadly defined, to include emotional and intellectual satisfaction along with material wealth) as well as for our collective benefit, not sacrificing one for the other. My instincts are usually spot on, and, despite the current evidence of this paragraph to the contrary, I am humble enough to know that my strengths make me no more worthy of preference than any other person out there.

My faults are many too.

I spend most of my time between my own ears, often oblivious to what’s happening around me. I can be short-tempered, even irascible to those closest to me. I’m indifferent about keeping a clean house and yard, and it can take me a very long time to tackle important tasks that don’t inspire me. And, worst of all, I sometimes use my perceptive powers to wound people where they feel most vulnerable.

The scales may balance in favor of the good me, but the outcome is not overwhelming. What might make it more definitive is if I marshaled my not insignificant capabilities and did something impactful with them. Something that would make the world a better place. And not just marginally either.

Like found a company that would help people all over improve their health by exercising and eating better diets.

Or advocate about how we might find common ground and collectively manage our communities so they serve the needs of more people in more depth.

Or develop a curriculum that teaches us life skills that can prepare us to handle our own affairs more effectively.

Or create a resource that helps teenagers and twenty-somethings manage their transitions to independent, fully-functioning participants in our communities.

You see, ambition isn’t my limiting factor. Nor is capability. I believe I have everything it takes to create something significant. Vision. Ability to build a roadmap to success. Building a strong team. Communicating value to customers, employees, investors. Making decisions to benefit all stakeholders.

Everything, that is, except the willingness to take the risks to actually try.

Maybe one day I will find the courage to make the attempt and sustain it. My history warns against it, but I haven’t lost all hope.

I’m usually not one to quote beer commercials, but sometimes we find eternal truths in unexpected places, so: One life. Don’t blow it.

Validation

We need to be the center of our universe.

Or, said better, we need to be centered in our universe. We need to know ourselves, what matters to us, what our priorities are. We need to know these things to make decisions, both important and not, that allow us to live the life we want to live. If we want to live consistently with our values we need to know what they are.

Without that center, we are likely to be buffeted about. We can never know someone else as well as we know ourselves, and so if we look to others to validate our decisions, we will be constantly shifting, never quite sure which choice brings us closer to expectations. And we will be at a greater risk of making a choice that brings tremendous regret.

It embarrasses me to admit that I have developed a center much later in life than I wish I had. And I am fortunate (perhaps!) that my major regrets are nearly all on the side of missed opportunities rather than life-altering mistakes. I didn’t compromise most of my latent principles or contradict significant inherent values while I was unconscious of them. My worst blemish came when I deceived my parents into believing that I was continuing with graduate school after I had dropped out. It ate me up, but I made a complete confession a few years later, and they forgave me, as parents do. My worst was done to family, who give way more leeway and consider way more positive interactions to balance our sins than people who know us less well. And eventually I accepted that one major lie doesn’t invalidate me completely.

What I have learned from my better-late-than-never experience of finding what’s important to me is that no job, no money, no friendship is worth compromising my values.  I can find other work, I can get by on less money (for a short time at least), and I don’t need friends who encourage me to do things I really don’t want to do.  I have other friends I can impose on in a pinch.  But I will have to face myself every day.  I can make peace with honest mistakes.  But mistakes that I made because I outsourced decisions will haunt me. They have a long tail of recrimination and disappointment.

So know what matters to you. Think about the person you want to be. Ask yourself if you’ll be proud to tell your partner or your parents about the decision you make. Polonius has had it right all along: to thine own self be true.

We’ll have many fewer regrets if we follow his advice.