[2021-02-13] Love and meaning
Today, I came across notes that I took in 2013 when I read the book Tuesdays with Morrie. Written by journalist Mitch Albom, the book reflects a series of conversations that Albom had every Tuesday over several months with Morrie Schwartz, a former college professor. After being diagnosed with ALS (Lou Gehrig's disease), Morrie dedicated himself to making the most of his time left, choosing to become a "human textbook" of the journey between life and death.
Albom recounts what Morrie said to Ted Koppel, then host of ABC-TV's Nightline, about his new focus:
"Ted," he said, "when all this started, I asked myself, ‘Am I going to withdraw from the world, like most people do, or am I going to live?’ I decided I’m going to live—or at least try to live—the way I want, with dignity, with courage, with humor, with composure."
I was drawn to Morrie's conviction to share his views on life long before I took up a similar practice through this blog some eight years later. I've always found value in the opinions and stories of people who have lived a long life. I suppose that's why I'm enjoying asking my mother stories about her early life.
In my read of the book, the two most important things to Morrie were love and meaning. He told Albom:
"I may be dying, but I am surrounded by loving, caring souls. How many people can say that?"
"In the beginning of life, when we are infants, we need others to survive, right? And at the end of life, when you get like me, you need others to survive, right? ... But here’s the secret: in between, we need others as well."
"The most important thing in life is to learn how to give out love, and to let it come in."
"And love is how you stay alive, even after you are gone."
By continuing to engage with so many people—just as Morrie did—I, too, have found myself surrounded by loving, caring souls. This is one of the biggest benefits of having this blog: I give love through my posts and let it come in through readers' responses.
Morrie appeared to see meaning as inextricably linked to love. He explained:
"The way you get meaning into your life is to devote yourself to loving others, devote yourself to your community around you, and devote yourself to creating something that gives you purpose and meaning."
"You know what really gives you satisfaction? ... Offering others what you have to give…. I mean your time. Your concern. Your storytelling…. You don’t need to have a big talent. There are lonely people in hospitals and shelters who only want some companionship. You play cards with a lonely older man and you find new respect for yourself, because you are needed."
"When I give my time, when I can make someone smile after they were feeling sad, it’s as close to healthy as I ever feel."
We are part of many communities over the course of our lives: our families, our friends, our schools, our workplaces, our neighbourhoods, our social groups. Our contributions to these communities bring meaning to our lives and help us to build and maintain connections. I agree completely with Morrie that we don't need a big talent to make a difference. Time, concern, storytelling—all these have value. And, over the past six months, I have felt best when helping others, even if that was simply lending an ear as they shared their own challenges.
Morrie found meaning in giving, and giving in aging. He told Albom:
"Aging is not just decay, you know. It’s growth. It’s more than the negative that you’re going to die, it’s also the positive that you understand you’re going to die, and that you live a better life because of it."
"Mitch, it is impossible for the old not to envy the young. But the issue is to accept who you are and revel in that. This is your time to be in your thirties. I had my time to be in my thirties, and now is my time to be seventy-eight."
"You have to find what’s good and true and beautiful in your life as it is now. Looking back makes you competitive. And, age is not a competitive issue."
I could probably do an entire blog post about what is good and true and beautiful in my life at 54. Two things that immediately come to mind are my confidence and my comfort with expressing love. The older I've gotten, the more my self-esteem has grown, the more certain I have become that love is key to life and leadership, and the more committed I've become to helping others—especially girls and women—realize their inherent worth.
Aging and impending death convinced Morrie that we need to forgive ourselves as much as other people.
"Yes. For all the things we didn’t do. All the things we should have done. You can’t get stuck on the regrets of what should have happened. That doesn’t help you when you get to where I am."
"I always wished I had done more with my work; I wished I had written more books. I used to beat myself up over it. Now I see that never did any good. Make peace. You need to make peace with yourself and everyone around you."
While my biggest regret has been the amount of time I spent on work, I also recognize that I have always derived tremendous meaning from work. My commitment to my various bosses, colleagues, employees and clients has been an expression of love much more than a reflection of obligation. My regret is also tempered by what a wise person said to me recently; he said that I should be proud of my work ethic, what I have achieved in my career, and the security I have created for my family. I forgive myself.
I don't know what led me to read Tuesdays with Morrie eight years ago. Coincidentally, on the day I finished reading the book, a memorial service was held for a former colleague who had passed away suddenly at the age of 53. Unlike Morrie, my colleague didn't get a chance to say goodbye to his loved ones.
I feel luckier than both my colleague and Morrie: I'm aware of my own mortality, but still getting good news on my progress in fighting ovarian cancer. As Morrie said, I understand that I'm going to die, and I'm using that knowledge to live a better life. That better life includes giving and receiving love, finding meaning through my contributions, appreciating the gifts that come from aging, and forgiving myself.
