Author: admin

The idea of sharing wealth rather than hoarding it is a rather remarkable turn in one’s viewpoint. To constantly struggle with this is natural. If you’re a bit Hobbesian, as I believe many of us are, you do your best to do your best so that you can get a bigger piece of the pie. You’re not necessarily concerned about the “why” of it, you’re satisfied with just trying to get more. Deep down, you may feel this discomfort that someone is going to take it, or you’re going to need it, and that becomes that ballast against the waves of uncertainty in everyone’s life. It provides a comfort, and whether that comfort is real or imagined, it nevertheless exists, and it tides the overwhelming anxiety surrounding just how quickly things change around you. Many argue that that is the wrong position to take.

The real work, the real gift, is to share the wealth. It is to provide all with your wisdom, your specific gifts. It is to help and to create and to make the pie much bigger. It is as close to a call of duty as you can get. Instead of hoarding, the idea is to freely give. Usually, this comes in the form of intellectual knowledge, but really this can be tangible property as well. You give and you shall receive. It’s biblical (and way before the bible came around stories like these were passed down.) Whether you have a moral responsibility to do so or whether you just believe it’s the right way to go about it, the idea is to freely give away that which you have access to. The trick-the rub here, is that you must do so without regard for the gift coming back to you. The motivation is just as important. Give, without regard of whether it comes back to you. Help without demanding thanks. David Brook’s once wrote about a nun (or maybe not, I can’t recall) who would help with the sick and the poor and the drunks. And they wouldn’t ever thank her. They’d spit at her and curse her and really just be awful. It didn’t matter. The point wasn’t that you’d get some ethical stars in return, but that you’d do the act for the sake of the righteousness of the act.

I am not righteous. Far from it. I’m quite selfish. Yet as the years fly and drag on (all at the same time) I recognize some internal pull towards the sharing and less towards the Hobbesian hoarding. Perhaps it’s kids and the idea that germinates inside you: make it better for them. Perhaps idealism and self preservation meet somewhere. I don’t really know. I know that I struggle very much with the idea of giving, rather than taking. The only other thing I know about this is that it cannot be conceptual. You must do it, over and over. Practice. Over and over. And don’t worry about the results. Just act.

Once you begin opening doors, be mindful that things can rapidly change for you. The door you opened may not be what you envisioned, it may contain things that you didn’t suspect, care for, or are prepared for. Journeys always happen like this. You must go through the thing to see the other side, but the fear in going through the thing must be acknowledged as well. When you shed your skin, realize that what is underneath might not be what you expected after all.

Instead of searching for your purpose, which is always, for some reason, to be found alone in an exotic destination, you might instead list your priorities and take steps to address each one in order of importance.

Health. Family. Relationships. Nature. Finance. Religion (or not).

If you focus on the boring, hard, tedious work, purpose typically finds you, rather than the other way around.

A really interesting question to ask yourself comes from Jerry Colonna: “How am I complicit in creating the conditions I say I don’t want?” This seems somewhat easy at first glance; but sitting with this for a few moments typically allows more layers to appear.

It is a rather succinct way of taking responsibility for one’s life. Of owning the work and the omissions of work. Of stopping the strong current that you claim keeps carrying you, starting around 9 am and ending around 11 pm.

How am I complicit in creating the conditions I say I don’t want?

How often, when you meet your friends, do you find yourself tense in the shoulders? How often do you find yourself talking over the person next to you before they’ve finished their points? How often do you feel anxious? Perhaps the true mark of friendship is the removal of the mask. It is the ability to sit in silence, comfortably, without the need to fill the empty spaces.

There is a undercurrent to these interactions; a buzz. Best to listen to it to see if you’re in the right room.

At some point, after being secured in, and after the ride begins to grind forward, you begin climbing and climbing. Your body clenches, and your brain fires and fires. You perceive what’s coming, even if this is the first time you’ve gotten on this ride. At the top, a pause, and then, plummeting and plummeting. At some point along the ascent, you are giddy, because you recognize that you have lost all control of your surroundings and what comes next. The exhilarating part is the part where you part your arms up on the way down. It is in the surrender that you feel most present; alive.

Often misunderstood as good or bad, fear is hardwired and primal to our species. We do not “get past” fear, as if it’s a marker in the sand, outside of us. We, ourselves, dictate where and what fear is. When we “push past” fear, all we’re doing is moving that marker in ourselves. When we give a speech in front of a large group, skydive, quit our jobs, marry someone, or cross a busy street, what we’re doing is redefining where the marker is, or if there really is any reason for a marker at all. We are ecstatic when we do a thing we’re fearful of, because a small, quiet part inside us realizes it was never supposed to be there to begin with. We reassess what our minds are capable of, and we feel agency over our own thoughts. Fear allows you this victory. This clarity of control. This is why we “embrace” fear; we grant ourselves the understanding that we have more power than we ever thought possible.

The focus on chasing happiness, often at all costs, disguises the ability to find contentment right where you are. Right now. We believe (we are told to believe) that happiness is somewhere else. Far, but not too far. Perceptible but slightly out of reach. To find it, one must chase it. But contentment, silent contentment, meets us right where we are. It tells us to slow down. To receive. To acknowledge the beauty of the present. That it asks us only to sit still for a moment is the very reason we want nothing to do with it. We disavow it because of its availability. Instead, we scamper about. Living in the future while forgetting the present. We should re-calibrate.