For years, I've
been taking a personal survey. I've been asking people I know
very well, and those I barely know at all, "What gives your life
meaning?" But during my journey of composing this story, a
surprisingly vital ingredient emerged.
Last month, while
placing a phone order for my husband Bob's birthday, I asked,
"Do you like what you do?" I ask that a lot. It changes things,
like money transactions, to meaningful encounters.
The fellow said,
"I dream of starting a dog-walking business."
"What are you
waiting for?"
"Finding the
time."
"Please don't wait
for time to come to you," I said. "That won't happen. You have
to MAKE it happen." He was so receptive it was beautiful. He
took my e-mail address, not for the order, but to announce his
new business. He said, "Usually I just take orders. This was
great!"
This "happens" to
me all the time. Why? Because I want it to. I don't mean to
sound boastful, but during that order process, someone's life
was profoundly changed.
So, we can change
an ordinary experience into an extraordinary one. And that, I
discovered, gives my life meaning. Hence, the ingredient that
emerged? Connection.
Last week, at a
convenience store, I saw my friend Marcy. We've both had
astonishing physically disabling incidents. After a long talk,
we hugged tightly – a hard thing for us. But even if it's
painful, hugs matter.
Regarding meaning,
she said, "Life is our creator's gift to us. What we do with
that life is our gift to the world. Integrating those beliefs in
my work to alleviate human suffering gives my life meaning and
purpose."
I call myself
disabled. I bet Marcy doesn't. She's as disabled as a
world-class champion stallion. When I googled her name, I was
astounded at her national recognition, much of which she's
accomplished SINCE her devastating injury.
She e-mailed, "We
had one of those perchance meetings that was timely and meant to
be. I was deeply touched, inspired and grateful." SHE was? I was
bowled over.
Bob's birthday
fell while the local maritime museum was having a "Seadogs"
photo exhibit. I secretly e-mailed the administrator, Cathrine,
to surprise Bob by having our dogs' pictures included. During
our e-mails, our connection blossomed.
On Bob's birthday,
I said, "We're driving somewhere." I brought Cathrine a box of
Lindor chocolates. For Wallace, her dog, I brought toys. When we
walked into the exhibit, everyone sang the birthday song. Above
our dogs' pictures was a huge birthday banner Cathrine had made
herself. She also had éclairs, lemonade and presents for all of
us. Her present for me? Lindor chocolates! Because of our new
friendship and connection, we turned a fun surprise into a
glorious celebration.
Cathrine's
lovingly long answer about meaning was that she "aspires" to be
like her phenomenal family.
I wrote, "You are
the sum parts of the finest qualities you ascribe to your
family. I am blessed to know you."
My friend Joan,
who's 63, is my inspiration. She wrote, "What gives my life the
most meaning is cnnecting with people, helping people. And
learning - especially learning the kind of stuff that I can turn
into ways of helping people." If we lived by her credo, imagine
the meaning it would bring to our lives and others'.
In truth, Cathrine
would have likely hung our dogs' pictures anyway. The mail-order
fellow would have taken my order. Marcy and I could have just
said, "Hi." But because we all made connections, these
experiences became wondrous. This didn't happen automatically.
We MADE it happen. Otherwise, none of what I've told you would
have taken place.
Sometimes I feel
like Dorothy's 4th pal in The Wizard of Oz. Tin Man wanted a
heart. Cowardly Lion wanted courage. Scarecrow wanted a brain.
But the Wizard said, "You've had them all the time!"
Yet, he gave
Cowardly Lion a medal, Scarecrow a Th.D. diploma (Doctor of
Thinkology) and Tin Man a heart-shaped ticking clock. Picturing
myself in the scene, I asked the Wizard, "I'd like to find
meaning."
I imagined him
saying, "Remember my sentimental friend . . . that meaning is
not only judged by how others connect with you, but by how you
connect with others." And naturally, (the no-longer cowardly)
Lion would chime in, "Ain't it the truth! Ain't it the truth!"
