The End…

What do you want to be remembered for when your life is over?

This was a weekly essay assignment in a Psychology of Adulthood and Aging class I took a little while ago. The topic intrigued me. I thought I might want to save it for my children. This is the way it was turned in. Hopefully, I will revise this later. But we all know how good intentions usually go.

Of the billions of people who have lived on the planet, very few are remembered past the immediate couple generations that succeed them. For most of us, the concern is more about what's coming than about what has been. That changes as we get old. There is a paradox in preparing for death. We get ready for the next step by looking at our past journeys. For the most part, it is almost universally common for older people to stop and reflect on their past. They search for meaning to their lives. They struggle with the quality and the quantity of contributions they have made to the world. In psychological terms they wrestle with life reflection issues raised in the appraisal of generativity versus stagnation. It is a hard audit to analyze.

In 1994, America was introduced to Morrie Schwartz when Ted Koppel interviewed him for a Nightline feature. Morrie, a Brandeis University professor of sociology, was suffering with Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS), better known as Lou Gehrig's disease. Morrie was going to die soon. And he knew it. Koppel asked Morrie several times about death. Did he fear it? Did he think much about it? Was it peaceful acceptance or was it raging against the dying of the light? One time Morrie responded by telling a fable:

"Okay. The story is about a little wave, bobbing along in the ocean, having a grand old time. He's enjoying the wind and the fresh air-until he notices the other waves in front of him, crashing against the shore. "My God, this is terrible," the wave says. "Look what's going to happen to me!"
Then along comes another wave. It sees the first wave, looking grim, and it says to him, "Why do you look so sad?"
The first wave says, "You don't understand! We're all going to crash! All of us waves are going to be nothing! Isn't it terrible?"
The second wave says, "No, you don't understand. You're not a wave; you're part of the ocean."

I don't exactly know why, but the telling caught me off-guard, and I found it to be very profound and thought provoking on several levels. A little wave, frantic and desperate, about to be dashed on the shore rings true for me. On one level we can fret and worry because the ride will soon be over or we can enjoy it while it lasts. On another, the little wave sees the big broad shoreline and wonders if anything will be accomplished or changed for it having broken on the beach. Except for the tsunamis that roll in and unforgettably change the landscape most of us end up as just another in a countless series that is forgotten as soon as next group hits the beach. We crash and roll and dissipate across the sands and quietly roll back beneath the next wave as it spends itself in the same dance. For some people that may be a depressing way to think of it. But like Morrie said, we never really go away; we are part of the ocean forever. Maybe that's too Zen for a nihilistic minded generation to embrace. Maybe it is just consolation for the soul who doesn't want to leave the party.

In what feels like a lifetime ago, an assignment was given in my freshman college writing course for us to write our own epitaphs. I remember struggling to think of what good things I could do to be remembered for. Would I give to the needy, would I help feed the hungry? Would I write great literature or practice compassionate medicine? Would I be politically active and help solve the world's ills? I already knew that sports record books would be free from my encroachment. Would I be a great family man and a good neighbor? How would I be remembered? I listed all generalities without specifics. Life was full of too many possibilities to even attempt a sane stab at prophecy.

My answer in my 40s is different from the one I would have given in my 20s. And I'm sure that it will be different with each passing mile marker on this life journey. Life is finite and we are the waves breaking on the shore. It is hard to create statues or monuments to ourselves in the sand. Even if we manage it, they will crumble and rust to nothing in the passing of time. Even mighty Ozymandias lies as decay, boundless and bare.

What I want to leave is a legacy in my children much more than a legacy of stuff left to them. I want them to have good things from their father even if they don't realize how they acquired them. I'm still going to school in my 40s. Education is important. Keep learning. Don't be discouraged if you start after most people are finished; it is never too late. Be fair to people, give them the benefit of the doubt. At times, people will disappoint you but the alternative is to live a life without joy and trust. Find what you love and give it your best effort. Don't live in the shadows of what could have been. You can only fly if you decide to leap.

Every contestant in the arena is booed and cheered, usually simultaneously. It's the love of the game that makes it worthwhile. Recently, the great tennis player André Agassi admitted that he didn't really enjoy playing tennis. He wrote in his autobiography, "I play tennis for a living even though I hate tennis, hate it with a dark and secret passion and always have." How sad. What would it be like to continuously do something you had come to hate just for money? But André isn't the only one who spent years in misery simply because he could get rich from it. These people are all around us. And they have lost their joy in life. Sometimes there is no choice and we do what we have to. But never let superficial things take precedence over what is important to you. Follow your passion and work will never be a thing you hate. Don't be like André Agassi doing something you dread for decades of your life just because it gets you fame or wealth or anything else that is simply sand running through your fingers.

Never forget that no matter how lonely you are someone loves you. It is never as dark as it seems when our eyes are clouded by life's tragedies. We don't always get to choose what happens to us but we get to choose who we are. I think this is life's greatest secret. It is true, genetics, environment, politics, luck; it may all seem to gang up against you, but you decide how you will respond. You get to make the choice, in any situation, of who you will be. Remember Tom in Uncle Tom's Cabin. Simon Legree could put him in chains, beat him with whips and take away all that Tom had. But Legree couldn't break his spirit or make Tom into being something he didn't consent to being. Our choice, no matter what happens, is what we are at any moment. It is what makes us accountable. And it is the property of the human soul that allows us to be noble.

This is the legacy I want to leave. And if I can leave this behind then I'm not afraid to subordinate beneath the waves that crash on top of me and melt into the ocean of humanity of what was and what will soon follow.

Finally, I don't really care that much concerning what is said about me at my funeral. I've been to enough of them to know that the remarks don't always follow reality. Sometimes the one doing the eulogy doesn't even know the deceased that well. I would rather have my remembrances on my death-bed, to look back on life and have a minimum of regrets. We are such wonderfully complex creatures. Who can know us but God, and, possibly, ourselves? I want to judge my life for myself and decide if it was well-lived or foolishly wasted. As long as I am square with myself and my Maker, I want to breathe my last knowing that in all things important I didn't let go too soon, nor did I hold on too long.