In addition to gratitude, the practice that offers the best chance of relief from our frustrations and anxieties is humility. The complete relinquishing of our ego. That is to say, living as if the ego does not exist. With practice, a person can achieve a humbleness that eases the strain of life by elevating our acceptance of what is to a level of sacredness.
Of course, humility goes hand in hand with gratitude. And it has to begin, I believe, the moment one wakes up each morning. At our first recognition of consciousness. Perhaps with the repeating of an oath. A dedication. A prayer. An accounting of one’s good fortunes, beginning with breath, shelter, the accessibility of food and water. Can we see, stand from our bed, walk? Yes, these things are a miracle. Who is around us? These lives, too, are miracles.
To be successful, or at least to improve our overall well-being, this practice must continue throughout the day, every day, until it becomes instinct. We must acknowledge that the minutes which make up each day are not our own. The minutes are simply time, a measurement, universal and shared. Or maybe not even time at all. This moment before us, it’s simply what is. What we have accomplished or need to accomplish is of no bearing on the true desire and purpose of our soul, which is to be humble, and to love.
I’m not sure we need concern ourselves with anything more.
On the first page of his book, The World As I See It, Albert Einstein wrote that one hundred times a day he “gave gratitude for all, living and dead, whose labors had contributed in some way to his inner and outer life.” I think what he was saying was that it is important to recognize and appreciate everyone who has impacted our lives in some way, from the most significant contribution right down to the smallest. From those strangers who smile at us on the street to those who established and help maintain a society of relative stability and comfort, in which we currently exist. I can’t think of many ideas I like more than that of showing the exuberant level of daily gratitude Einstein suggests. Trace any number of things we should be grateful for back far enough and we will likely find that we owe thanks to nearly all of humanity. This is a life changing practice, that if adopted widely enough, could also change the world.
Lest you one day forget, as I am certain to, I want to record a few of my favorite fatherly sayings:
“Change your attitude to one of gratitude.”
“There are two ways to handle a situation: The calm way, and the wrong way.”
“The first and last thing you should do each day is to give thanks.”
Today, these comments are typically regarded with an eye roll. Likely because I don’t always model the advice myself. That said, I do repeat them frequently, and what I’ve found is that the more often I do, the more often I succeed in practicing what I preach.
In life, avoid the trivial and the superficial. Anchor your life to the things that are good and timeless. Kindness and compassion for others, for instance. Showing love to your friends and family in your regular interactions. Showing love to strangers by way of simple acts. Make these things the foundation of who you are. Love, I believe, is the answer to most of our troubles. Notice that when actual, true love radiates from your heart, all feels right in the world.
In his book The World As I See It, Einstein writes, “We exist for our fellow men—in the first place for those on whose smiles and welfare all our happiness depends, and next for all those unknown to us personally with whose destinies we are bound up by the tie of sympathy.” He goes on, “A hundred times every day I remind myself that my inner and outer life depend on the labors of other men, living and dead, and that I must exert myself in order to five in the same measure as I have received and am still receiving.” This all on the first page. When I read this for the first time, I closed the book and put it down. Not because I did not want to read more, but because I wanted to sit with what I had just read. We are here for each other. Our purpose is to serve our fellow man. A hundred times I day I am thankful to all those who have contributed to make my life what it is today…Here, we are talking about all of human kind. We are all one. Those that may appear to be as different from you and I as one could be still have very in common. We all have many similar desires, many similar dreams. The desires and dreams that are universal the world over. We all want a good home, a safe place to exist with our family, free of threat from other human beings. We all want the opportunity to live with dignity, to be given opportunities to provide, to nourish our bodies sufficiently and without worry to the contrary. We all want friends and loved ones to laugh with and confide in and to support us when we are in need. We all want peace and love in our daily lives. These are the most basic, yet most profound and deeply yearned for desires of the human soul.
To observe you all in the kitchen making cupcakes today brought me such joy. For each of you to make your own flavors, each with a unique theme—Nature, Love and Smoothies—was impressive. My joy came not from the actual process itself, which was very messy, but from seeing each of you completely focused, energized and passionate about what you were doing. Taking pride in the activity. Fully invested in the outcome. The best was your giddiness and smiles. My joy came from your joy. As a parent, I realized that when you are happy, I am happiest.
Time, no matter your age, is too precious to let pass without intention. You are the judge of how best to spend your days. Opinions of outside parties needn’t be of much concern. Your accomplishments — the love you share, the friendships you form, the work you do — will make the case for how well you have spent your time. No one else knows what touches your soul, what ignites your emotion. Sitting on a porch, in silence, gazing in wonder at your surroundings, may seem like unnecessary idleness or even laziness to others. However, if this sort of endeavor lifts your spirits, focuses your mind, brings perspective, as it does mine, then do it often, and without remorse. If walking is your thing, or running marathons, or climbing mountains, or making art or starting businesses, then do these things. No one is in complete control of their ultimate destiny. There are far too many variables that come into play. What we can control is how we spend the time afforded us.
Each day brings at least one special moment. A moment that call fill you up if you don’t rush past it. Today it was the first ever email sent to me by B_. It read, “Hey, Dad. This is my email.” Something about this is so extraordinarily special.
Last week I had a dream that replayed vividly in my mind the moment I awoke. What I remembered of this dream was a scene that took place in a doctor’s office. The very doctor’s office I visit when I am sick, with my actual doctor, Dr. M__, looking just as she did the last time I saw her, more than five years ago. My memory of the dream picks up at the very moment a diagnosis was being delivered. Dr. M__ stated, very matter of factly, that I had two years to live. I reacted to this final verdict with the calmness and practicality of one who had long been prepared for such news. Somehow, I was okay with it. The comfort, I believe, was due in part to the knowledge that I would have time to finish this book. I had two full years. My focus was now singular. Complete this book. All else fell away. What a gift!
The decision to retreat daily to a remote mountain cabin came after a stream of news so consistently maddening I felt on the brink of a nervous breakdown. I had become addicted to the news feed and spent a good portion of the day agonizing over what I could do as a writer to allay the precipitous divide in our country. A division I worried might lead to civil unrest. The tumultuous state of our nation had me questioning whether the strides we had made toward becoming a more civilized society had been little more than blissful illusions.
I committed to drive up to the cabin each day, a 25 or so minute commute from town, and spend my time working in solitude without distraction. The cabin, I should clarify, was in fact a beautiful old home perched on a ridge overlooking Wildcat Valley, entrusted to us when vacant by the home’s kind and generous owners. You will remember it as you grow older, I hope, from occasional weekends spent exploring the property, playing board games, reading by the fire, and watching movies in the basement.
Aside from swearing off news in order to maintain my sanity, I set to focus only on the things that truly mattered. I would not waste time on issues that were superficial or beyond my control. My attention would be dedicated to those things people reflect upon at the end of lives – the rich and important stuff — you being at the top of that list. I desired more undisturbed time with you and would work to approach each engagement with the same mindset from which you, a child, would approach it. My work, obviously, remained important. I would spend the better part of each day fulfilling obligations the best I could. Obligations, mind you, I was fortunate to have. Beyond that there was need for something else. A project of larger significance.
I asked myself several questions. They were self-centered questions. Questions purely of the ego. What would I like to leave when I am gone? What sort of contribution do I wish to make to the world? How would I like to shape my legacy?
At this point in my life, what I had to leave for you would have been of little consequence. Even today, well into this project, I do not know whether the end product will ever be read, much less have any real value. With that awareness, I suppose my only comfort is that an effort is being made.
Over the years, I spent many days at the house in the mountains working in a spacious office above the garage. Every time I was there I would leave feeling that this was the only place for me to do good work. Every other option – coffee shops, the library, a ranch office where I work on the adventure book series, even my home office/library/playroom, which happens to be my favorite room in our home – had far too many distractions to undertake concentrated work.
During a long day at the house I would get the urge to move and change scenery. The remedy was a short walk through a cluster of Aspen trees to the gently sloping hill behind the house. Often I would take a seat on a low, flat rock that stuck out of the grass, as this rock had, over geological time, developed comfortable contours for sitting. From the rock I could overlook the valley and enjoy the warmth of the sun.
This became the spot where on days of good weather I would sit and read or think or repeat quietly The Prayer of Jabez. “Oh Lord, that you will bless me indeed and enlarge my territory. That your hand will be with me to guide me, to keep me from evil so that I may not cause pain.” This is a prayer I had learned of by way of a book our friend had given your mom and I to read after I had admitted to her that I had never been able to pray for myself.
My interpretation of the prayer is that it is a request to God to expand our influence and keep us on a righteous path so that we might do some good for the world. In such as setting, overlooking the valley that ran to the high peaks of the Elk Mountains, prayers were often drawn from me as if summoned by nature. The rock where I sit is fully exposed, and on sunny days in the winter it attracts enough heat to keep me warm. In the summer the rocks warmth is soothing for a time, but will eventually grow uncomfortable, so after fifteen or so minutes I simply change locations, moving up the hill where I can sit in the shade of a pine tree and resume whatever I am doing — reading, thinking, praying, usually a combination of the three.
The first snow of this year came on October 1. Aspens and cottonwoods stood like golden torches, setting the mountainside ablaze, while the sagebrush on the arid slopes looked like it had been painted garnet and amber. The cabin was built at an elevation of approximately 8,150 feet and the temperature this day hovered right around freezing, so the snow was wet and heavy. The snow collected on limbs, bending them like arches. Two large limbs had already snapped by the time I had arrived at the house. More were sure to succumb to the weight. As anxious as I was to sit at the desk and get to work, I was unable to ignore the trees. I had a responsibility to care for this space that had been loaned to me, and that responsibility extended to the trees, as they added much value to this sanctuary.
Pulling my hood over my head and securing it tightly around my face, I ventured out, gloveless, to shake the accumulating snow from the bending branches. One by one I grabbed the limbs and shook, creating a micro-blizzard each time. Every second or third limb I would have to stop and tend to my hands, which burned from the cold. Then I would begin again. I did this until every tree and shrub around the home had been relieved of its weight. It was a particularly rewarding start to the day.
That afternoon, as I packed up to leave for home, I realized that had I not taken the time to shake the trees free of snow that morning, I would have accomplished absolutely nothing of any value the entire day.
Notes From A Father 