The Author Gordon Livingston lived an interesting life. A West Point Graduate, Vietnam war veteran decorated for valor, Physician, Psychiatrist and in the later years a tree cutter. The book is full of insights and wisdom that comes from having lived a rich and varied life.
My notes
At the top of the list would be kindness, a willingness to give of oneself to another. This most desirable of virtues governs all the others, including a capacity for empathy and love
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The point is that love is demonstrated behaviorally. Once again we define who we are and who and what we care about, not by what we promise, but by what we do. I constantly redirect people’s attention to this. We are a verbal species, much given to the use of words to explain—and deceive. The worst deceptions, of course, are those we practice on ourselves. What we choose to believe is closely related to deeply felt needs—for example, the dream we all carry around inside us of perfect love, unqualified acceptance of the sort available only from a good mother. This desire makes us vulnerable to the worst forms of self-deception and disillusionment, an indulgence of the hope that we have at last found the person who will endlessly love us exactly as we are.
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When I hear someone say, “He does inconsiderate things, but I know he loves me,” I usually ask if it is possible to intentionally hurt someone we love. Would we do such a thing to ourselves? Can we love the truck that runs us over?
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This question, “What do I owe my parents?” frequently distorts people’s lives well into, and sometimes throughout, adulthood. In fact, our children owe us nothing. It was our decision to bring them into the world. If we loved them and provided for their needs it was our task as parents, not some selfless act. We knew from the beginning that we were raising them to leave us and it was always our obligation to help them do this unburdened by a sense of unending gratitude or perpetual debt.
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Before we can do anything, we must be able to imagine it. This sounds easy, but I find that many people do not make the link between behavior and feelings. I blame modern medicine and the advertising industry for much of this problem. We have become used to the idea that much of what we don’t like about ourselves and our lives can be quickly overcome with little effort on our part. The marketing of medications that favorably affect our mood, changing our appearance through plastic surgery, and self-improvement through consumption all play into the fantasy that happiness is for sale. Malcolm Forbes famously suggested that, “Anyone who thinks that money can’t buy happiness is shopping in the wrong places.”In fact, of course, such a belief only adds to our frustrations and renders our self-constructed prisons more secure. I think of this as a “lottery mentality.” There are those who justify gambling by invoking the notion of selling hope. Those people standing in line, spending money they cannot spare in a game they have no plausible shot at winning talk endlessly about how they will spend their millions. This is not “hope” in any realistic sense; it is dreaming. The characteristics that render each of us unique are seldom the products of rational choice. Sometimes, of course, we do choose to develop healthy practices. Regular exercise can be a life-enhancing routine. Our bad habits, however, tend to insinuate themselves over time and become extremely resistant to change, even when they threaten to destroy our lives.
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it is hard to imagine sudden good news. Virtually all the happiness-producing processes in our lives take time, usually a long time: learning new things, changing old behaviors, building satisfying relationships, raising children. This is why patience and determination are among life’s primary virtues.
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So here’s to the role of time, patience, and reflection in our lives. If we believe it is better to build than destroy, better to live and let live, better to be than to be seen, then we might have a chance, slowly, to find a satisfying way through life, this flicker of consciousness between two great silences.
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Though a straight line appears to be the shortest distance between two points, life has a way of confounding geometry. Often it is the dalliances and the detours that define us. There are no maps to guide our most important searches; we must rely on hope, chance, intuition, and a willingness to be surprised.
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One step up from the dangerous obsessions of the stalker is the love that will not die. This quality is frequently on display in battered women and those for whom a dead relationship is still the subject of endless contemplation—and conversation. I have heard a lot of stories that begin, “He hurt me, he left me, but I still love him.” It is as if proclaiming one’s undying devotion dignifies what could otherwise be mistaken for an unattractive masochism
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What gives love its power is that it is shared. When experienced alone, the feeling we are having may be intense, as is any form of loneliness, but it is not likely to persist or result in any useful behavior and is of limited interest to others. There is a mythical organization for singles, “Sex Without Partners,” that has a membership composed of many who suffer from unrequited love. Application is free and you can participate without leaving home.
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The reality behind these numbers is that we tend to be the same people, philosophically and behaviorally, at forty as we were at twenty. This doesn’t mean we have learned nothing in the intervening years. In fact, most people complete their educations in this time and become more successful occupationally. We just haven’t gained equivalent insight into who we are and why we choose the people we do.
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It is surprising how often the closest relationships in our lives come, over time, to resemble power struggles in which we become intimate enemies. Gone is the sense of shared fate, replaced by a daily battle in which the stakes appear to be a survival of self-respect that is somehow threatened by the person who knows us best. Who would want to live this way, in a state of hyper-alertness and competition for stakes that are obscure, even for the participants?
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And yet, when people are asked to stop making the disparaging comments that are at the root of much marital conflict, they shift responsibility for change from themselves to “the other” in a way reminiscent of international conflicts in which everyone wants peace, but no one wants to be the first to cease retaliation, fearing that it will just make them vulnerable.At the heart of such skepticism is mis
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trust. And so, it seems, is the case with many relationships. My argument in such situations is usually some variation on, “What have you got to lose by trying?” The response is often, “How long do I try?” A better question might be, “Why would I live with someone I don’t trust?” But this is seldom asked, since it brings up all the reasons that people coexist for years in unhappy relationships: money, concerns for children, fear of being alone, and simple inertia.The sad fact
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Authenticity is a prized ideal. Though required to play a variety of roles in our daily lives, we would like to see ourselves as having a relatively stable identity that expresses our core values over time. Most of us also place a lot of importance on the way we are seen by those whose opinions we respect.
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If we hazard our lives for another or for an ideal we are acting bravely. But as Sancho Panza observed to Don Quixote, “to die without good reason is the greatest sin.”
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Some estimates of marital infidelity by age forty place it at fifty to sixty-five percent of married men and thirty-five to forty-five percent of married women. In a society whose dominant expressed marital value is monogamy, these are numbers that indicate not just a high level of hypocrisy, but some serious dissatisfaction with our partners. What is it that people are looking for outside their marriages?
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It became an article of faith for feminists that no one relinquishes power willingly; it has to be seized. This attitude is not a prescription for increased closeness. When combined with an increase in the financial independence of women, it is perhaps not coincidental that one in two marriages now ends in divorce. In some ways this change appears to be a good thing. People are less likely to be trapped in unsatisfactory relationships. Any social development that increases our choices seems like an improvement, so why do we live with a sense that we have lost something important?First, there is the damage that is being inflicted on children. The comforting reassurance that it is better for them to adapt to parental separation than live in unhappy marriages has come to seem more like a rationalization for adults in pursuit of their own happiness. There is ample evidence that the dissolution of marriages results in tremendous insecurity and unhappiness for children, particularly since most of the time there is some level of bitterness and recrimination between their parents. That kids are able to cope in some way with their lives being turned upside down does not alter the devastation and disillusionment that most of them experience.
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Grief is a subject I have come to know well. Indeed it was the subject of my life for a long time. I wrote a book about it, trying to find my way around it. What I learned is that there is no way around it; you just have to go through it. In that journey I experienced hopelessness, contemplated suicide, and learned that I was not alone. Certain that there could be no comfort in words, I came to realize that words, my own and those of others, were all I had to frame my experience, first my despair and finally a fragile belief that my life still had meaning.
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Thirteen years later, my sons, though frozen in time, remain a living presence for me. I have, largely, forgiven myself for not being able to save them. I have reconciled myself to growing old without them. They will not, as I once confidently assumed, bury me. I have forsaken any belief in an orderly universe and a just God. But I have not relinquished my love for them nor my longing that, against all reason, I will see them again.
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The primary goal of parenting, beyond keeping our children safe and loved, is to convey to them a sense that it is possible to be happy in an uncertain world, to give them hope. We do this, of course, by example more than by anything we say to them. If we can demonstrate in our own lives qualities of commitment, determination, and optimism, then we have done our job and can use our books of child-rearing advice for doorstops or fireplace fuel. What we cannot do is expect that children who are constantly criticized, bullied, and lectured will think well of themselves and their futures.
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One of the things that define us is what we worry about. Life is full of uncertainty and random catastrophe. It is easy, therefore, to justify almost any anxiety. The list of fears that people carry with them is long and varied, and a function of the information with which we are bombarded.
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parents whose children are not doing well, who are on illegal drugs, in trouble with the law, or in some other way failing in their lives. These parents are beset with guilt (“What did we do wrong?”). Their child’s struggles reflect poorly on their own efforts. You seldom see a bumper sticker that reads, MY KID IS IN REHAB.To imagine that we are solely, or even primarily, responsible for the successes and failures of our children is a narcissistic myth. It is obvious that parents who abuse their children—physically, psychologically, or sexually—can inflict serious and lasting damage upon them. It does not follow, however, that parents who fulfill their primary obligation to love their children and provide a stable and nurturing environment for them to grow are responsible for the outcome of their kids’ efforts.
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Alternatively (and there are many alternatives), parents can adopt a less rigid, more optimistic assumption, namely that, given love and support, most children grow into happy, productive adults independent of whatever theory of parenting they were raised with. This more relaxed approach tries to set reasonable limits on children’s behavior, and is apt to provoke less confrontation and resentment. It is applied in the spirit of knowing that success in parenting is not dependent on a certainty that one is right or has all the answers. It is imperative not to hit kids since fear and violence are the primary lessons taught by corporal punishment.
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Nostalgia for an idealized past is common and usually harmless. Memory can, however, distort our attempts to come to terms with the present. When people speak wistfully of the way things used to be, it is almost always in contrast to what is happening now and reflects a kind of gloom about the future.In our memories, things were less expensive, crime less common, people more friendly and trustworthy, relationships more enduring, families closer, children more respectful, music better. My parents lived through the Great Depression. They lost their savings in a bank closure, lived hand to mouth through the 1930s. Yet, in their later years, even this experience took on a romantic hue as they recalled neighbors helping neighbors survive the shared adversity and contrasted it with the selfishness that they saw all around them in the modern world of their old age
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What happens as we try to come to terms with our pasts is that we see our lives as a process of continual disenchantment. We long for the security provided by the comforting illusions of our youth. We remember the breathless infatuation of first love; we regret the complications imposed by our mistakes, the compromises of our integrity, the roads not taken. The cumulative burdens of our imperfect lives are harder to bear as we weaken in body and spirit. Our yearning for the past is fueled by a selective memory of our younger selves.
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We are haunted by paths not taken, especially our missed opportunities for perfect love. As we age, our bodies betray us and our opinions can harden into calcified prejudice. And from this unenviable vantage point we look back on the Elysian fields of our youth when the possible outweighed the probable in our estimate of the future. It is this state we wish to regain and it is puzzling to us that our memories can be such a curse on the present.So, how best to recover hope when the western horizon of our lives looms increasingly close? We can cultivate religion with its promise of immortality and reunion with those we have lost. Or, we can concede a poor agnosticism and surrender ourselves to the unknown as we try to imagine some meaning in the ceaseless rhythms of existence: life and death, dream and despair, and the heartbreaking mystery of unanswered prayers.
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It is revealing to ask those in the grip of depression when was the last time they laughed aloud. It is even more useful to ask family members to try to recall the last time they saw the patient amused. I am accustomed to hearing answers ranging from months to years.
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To be able to experience fully the sadness and absurdity that life so often presents and still find reasons to go on is an act of courage abetted by our ability to both love and laugh. Above all, to tolerate the uncertainty we must feel in the face of the large questions of existence requires that we cultivate an ability to experience moments of pleasure. In this sense all humor is “gallows humor,” laughter in the face of death.
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Pessimists, like hypochondriacs, are right in the long run. Nobody gets out of here alive. But pessimism, like any attitude, contains within it a multitude of self-fulfilling prophecies. If we approach others in a suspicious or hostile way, they are likely to respond accordingly, thereby confirming our low expectations. Fortunately, the opposite is likewise true. As with any rule there are exceptions and those we encounter do not always mirror our attitudes. If habitual optimism cannot protect us against occasional disappointment, habitual pessimism is a close cousin of despair
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When I prayed for his life it was an act of desperation fueled by the hope that the religion of my youth might yet save what was most precious to me. When he died, a victim of random cell mutation within his otherwise perfect body, I was left with the conviction that no god who would allow such a thing to happen was worthy of a moment’s more of my contemplation. I envy those who can retain their faith through such a loss and even imagine a purpose to it. I cannot. But still, I hope for a reunion with the soul of my departed son, so what kind of Agnostic am I?