Legacy

As good parents, we want to leave something of lasting value behind for our children. I used to keep a regular running journal during my most insecure, yet thoughtful, periods in my youth. I wrote about my frustrations, mainly. But every now and then, something of wisdom would come to the surface to help guide me. More than likely, those kernels of wisdom came from all the stuff I had read and digested over the years. I've always been such an avid reader of miscellany but things of real substance, too.

Lately, among the many thoughts that have been rummaging and ruminating in my head are those that seem to matter most regarding the meaning of life-- or at least of my life and those I care about.

In particular, I feel the need to leave behind something of real substance to guide my daughter Hannah: lessons that I've learned along the way. Obviously, maybe for my sake, I really have to tell her about what I know on an empirical level. Of course, what she reads into it is completely up to her.

There's an order to achieving just about any level of success. First of all, you've got to have a dream, but it can't be unrealistic. That, of course, you have to determine very carefully. Next, you have to pursue that dream by making it an obtainable goal. And finally, perhaps most importantly, you have to be passionate in order to make that dream a reality. At the same time you can't be unbridled in that passion that it blinds you to everything else. That's when tempering your passion comes into play.

Now, about passion, I want to make it absolutely clear that following your passion is often risky and sometimes dumb. Don't get me wrong. Passion is vital to whatever it is you plan to do for a living. It's how you direct it that matters. You have to be careful not to make it purely self-serving / non-inclusive. In general, however, I think this notion of "following" your passion is the worst kind of advice anyone can give or take.

For one thing, suppose you're not any good at what you're passionate about. You'd be wasting time pursuing it. (Sorry, folks, practice doesn't make perfect.) But suppose you are good, nay great, at doing the acting, singing, or dancing gig. You're actually incredibly talented, beautiful, smart, articulate, etc., etc. Well, you've just picked a field full of intense competition, high stakes, and low yield. It's gonna be a tough road for you. But say you're sensible and you've situated yourself in a field that's very promising with high salary and great benefits. Will your passion be sustained or turn lukewarm? In my short time on this earth, I learned that it really doesn't matter what you do as long as you give of yourself willingly, preferably to a morally upright cause (or doing just plain 'honest' work). Because in being kind and generous, your return on investment-- though it may be intangible and may not bring much wealth, if any --it's always worth it.

In this world, in this existence, many things worthwhile require discipline, patience, and perseverance. Because our youthful selves don't like to hear that, we often rebel against "the system," to our great detriment. The truth is, most of the time we have to operate within existing parameters. Breaking out of that box, so to speak, requires wisdom of thought and action.

One of the many lessons I've shared with Hannah is the one about rules. I planted this notion that "rules are meant to be broken." Admittedly, I went about it the wrong way. I should've given her some context here rather than oversimplifying a difficult concept. It was Thoreau's fault, his essay on civil disobedience.

The proper advice, for good guidance, is to consider whether or not a certain rule should be broken in the first place. Most rules are, after all, established for good reasons. The context for breaking rules is what matters. That's when wisdom comes in. Without it we make poor decisions.

I think Hannah is learning this process through her own empirical study of the world. As yet it's fairly limited. But as her world expands, she'll come to better understand what she can do. Once you get a handle on constructs, you find it easier to break out of them and make your own rules and boundaries. That's when you really learn how to fly. And that's when we can truly be free to go where we want to go and be what we want to be.

Let's insert a little wisdom from Richard Bach's Jonathan Livingston Seagull: “We can lift ourselves out of ignorance, we can find ourselves as creatures of excellence and intelligence and skill. We can be free! We can learn to fly!”

Granted that books are great for forming and developing ideas about oneself, other people, and the surrounding world. But there's no better teacher than experience.