I abhor the phrase “At least he died doing something he loved.” It’s among the many platitudes that turn my stomach at funerals. In the case of young Georgian luger Nodar Kumaritashvili, though, it is an appropriate statement.
Push aside the shock and sadness of this terrible event. Few, if any, could argue that 21 is anything other than “too soon” for a life to end. Further, though the inherent dangers of luge are many, death on the track is impermissible. We’ll ignore questions about the safety of the track, implications Canadians limited other teams training for a competitive advantage and outrage over the decision to name athlete error as the cause to focus on the things that make all Olympic athletes—simply by making it to the Games themselves—a success.
1. Figure Out A Dream
In order do do anything, a goal is necessary. You must have something to push your energies toward or you are simply drifting through life. Why get out of bed without consciously setting a target?
2. Put In Daily Work
Once you have something in mind, it’s time to buckle down and put your efforts toward it. Avoid the mistake of thinking you must leap from where you are to where you’re going. Olympians train years to even sniff an opportunity to participate in the quadrennial event. Listening to your national anthem from the top of medal stand as your country’s flag is pulled to the rafters is a thousand mile-road covered inches at a time. Millions of little steps cover great distances with a higher success rate than an Evel Knievel-style jump.
3. Manage Your Fear
You will face many challenges along the way. There will be mornings you’d rather stay in bed or painful injuries (physical or emotional) to heal. The only way to overcome these setbacks is to accept them, realize the unknown is inextricably linked to change and boldly tell the world “I will either win or die.”
Upon learning a family friend, one of my “other grandpas,” passed this morning. A question came to mind: How much does death teach us about a person?
A visibly shaken IOC President Jacques Rogge, at the press conference before the Opening Ceremonies, eulogized Kumaritashvili: “Here you have a young athlete who lost his life pursuing is passion.”
What would you do to be remembered that way?
We’re all going to die.
Day by day, we move through our tasks focused on what must be done more often than the larger context of what we’re doing. We trade a sense of meaning for a myopic view of crunching numbers or approaching deadlines.
Periodically we are given shocks to our mortality. Tragedy befalls someone publicly or, more frequently, the time comes for a person we are connected to. In the latter case, the stains of sadness linger in our lives longer.
My phone lit up with it’s characteristic “brrrring” signalling the arrival of a text message around 7am Monday. I learned through half-opened eyes that a family friend had passed away at the age of 94 after battling multiple ailments over the last few years, particularly prostate cancer.
I last saw him briefly on Christmas Eve, the first time in quite a while. Gone was the characteristic energy in his voice, clouded by the fog of a mind that’s edge had been dulled. We each wrapped an arm around the other, as always, and exchanged affectionate words for a minute before I headed out into the cold air to pull my car up to the door to pick up my mother.
His kindness and encouragement will remain fond memories, particularly the way he said “How you doin’, guy?” as he shook my hand at holiday gatherings…which inevitably led to us sitting together for a few minutes discussing all the happenings since our last meeting.
I wrote my cousin a brief email to express my condolences. This was not our shared grandfather, though I count the man as part of my extended family. My cousin replied:
“He seemed to have a positive influence on everyone he met and I’m glad that you had the opportunity to be around him.”
We should all live that our eulogies may be written so.
I’m glad, too.
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“Most jobs aren’t glamorous.”
Those four words have bounced through my head several times during the last few weeks. I noticed them as I scanned a collection of notes for The Essential Wooden by one of my favorite leaders, former UCLA basketball coach John Wooden.
Though this phrase was in reference to team building and helping each person understand his or her role, it has been little comfort in this era of my life. As tears of frustration and disconnection well up in my eyes, feeling as though I just have to do something to make money angers me.
I am dissatisfied with the idea that work should be a passionless means to an end, a way to gather money eight hours a day and then snap the day’s stress into my briefcase for the ride home. The idea that misery with monetary benefit is how I should spend a third of my weekdays turns my stomach.
I have tired of feeling guilty for desiring to be different and silently apologizing for going against the flow into cubicle hell. I have a seething disdain for the idea each of us is here to survive life and wistfully hope for something better, to dream of a time in the past where a different decision would have made for a positive experience.
I have chosen to believe differently.
Instead of strapping into a chair and filling out TPS reports in the hopes my 401(k) will last me from 65 until I die, I’m pursuing me. I’m loosening the shackles of old expectations, shedding the weight of old thoughts that pushed me toward delusions of money and grandeur. I must die knowing I lived and, though I may be far from what I’m made to do for this day, endeavor each morning to take another step closer to my purpose, my dream and my service to God.
So, I’ve chosen to do my damnedest to remember this next time my brain reels at the thought of a shift at the office supply store or teaching a class just for the money.
“…we are all given a certain potential unique to each one of us. Our first responsibility is to make the utmost effort to bring forth that potential in service to our team.”
Step into the game. We’re all on the same team.
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Yesterday, I gave you four words from John Wooden that I believe have led people to think misery is normal:
“Most jobs aren’t glamorous.”
My mind took an unexpected turn in the process and I ended up missing the point I wanted to make. Today I’m going to give you the six words I meant to:
“…but yours should be to you.”
Mr. Wooden is correct, the variety of occupations out there means most people will be something other than a movie star or professional athlete. However, the idea that our work has to bring fame or fortune is a misguided conception of prestige.
Instead of measuring the “glamor” in our lives by the number of paparazzi behind us, let’s tip the scales in favor of enjoyment and passion.
Which sounds more appealing, being in the public fishbowl all the time or coming home to your family feeling you’ve done something worthwhile? Would you rather be fatigued by the emotional toxicity of your environment or worn out from the amount of your soul you put into your day?
Most of us go into a field because of things like “return on investment,” thinking the money spent in college will be worth it because the pay can be great. We set aside “childish fascinations” to be sure we can handle “adult responsibilities.”
Think about this: Who seems to be having the most fun? Is it the guy that remembers wanting to be an engineer since he was six or the woman that decided to enter the field because there was a better chance she’d get a job? Do you think Bill Gates or Oprah Winfrey fell into their careers based on how much they would earn?
The old saying goes: “Do something you love and you’ll never work a day in your life.”
It’s a lie…but what other than love could make you really work like that?
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Sometimes, you find something in the middle of nothing.
In the midst of tremendous quiet, you hear a whisper. It’s startling. It’s moving. It’s clear. The plug is in the outlet and the light is blinding. The simplicity is striking and humbling. Strangely, you find comfort with it as you wonder why you didn’t think of it before.
Something finally makes sense.
It’s the gift you’ve been waiting to open, the package you’ve hoped would be delivered. It’s presented to you for the achievement of a purpose. It is energetic and focused, strong and unbreakable. It is an end for a means, a result for your work.
Something is what you live for.
This idea is the seed. Much depends on what you do with it. Will you give it the attention required to grow or ignore it as it withers? Will you choose to help it live grandly or allow it to die silently with its potential?
Something requires you to act.
This is the power of something.
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