I do not feel my life lacks
meaning, but if you ask for evidence, what can I say? From where I stand,
so much of what I have done is unremarkable. I did not pursue that high-level
corporate job. I did not influence large groups of people through my
service. I did not make things better for women. I just wake up every
morning and I do the things that have become my day.
Yet, against all odds, I
find joy.
The joy I find is no
picnic. It demands that my search for happiness be oriented on my inner nature.
I have to work to become the person I must be - not the person I want to be – the
person I am supposed to be. I have to discover why I even exist. I have to
find my place in relation to others. I have to reach past my own experiences
into the collective and seek to understand the things that drive me. The things
that are outside my individual self and that make me human. Then I have to accept
responsibility to respond and act in accordance with those things. Whether I
want to or not.
When things are not
going well, the demands of this joy require that I start figuring out how I got
myself out of alignment. I start working the puzzle that puts me back in harmony
even if things stay hard or if things are unfair. Even if it means stepping
back and letting someone else take the lead. Even if it means stepping up in
ways I find uncomfortable.
The joy I find does not
reflect the way I know the world. It is increasingly apparent that the image of
life we embrace is one that suggests life and its goods should be accessible to
all. This seems to make inevitable a certain individuality and an excessive
desire for created items and experiences. I believe that the outcome of this
life image – one I chased for so many decades – one that seems based in
marketing for the sole purpose of increasing sales –is why we experience wealth disparity, social injustice, deadening of the senses through
electronic and pharmaceutical means and an increase in atrocities. It leads us to face a reality that we can only live with by drowning
ourselves in the idea that even though others are hurt, we are entitled to this
sort of life.
The joy I find has shown
me a different path. A path where my husband constantly says, “We have a good
life.” He says this repeatedly, and for a long time, I fought him on the
details of that truth. One day, I just submitted to it. I realized that we do have
a good life. I was able to look past my own expectation to see a life that is
not about circumstances and things. It is about how we relate to others, how we
support and help each other. It is about how we become the people we are
supposed to be.
In Confessions, St.
Augustine writes, “[Love] is the goal; that is why we run... and once we reach
it, in it we shall find rest.” When I read these words, I realize that love
is really the only image of life I ever needed. The human experience is about
love. Love of ourselves and beyond that, an intense love for one another. When
we do not contribute to that love, we do not find happiness. We do not find joy.
I am not yet successful
in living out this love, but this week I turn 45. There is time to improve and
there is time to love better. We have a good life and in it, I find joy.
