A constant refrain that I hear from colleagues and clients alike is, "I wish I had more time in the day!" As a species that is experiencing the cutting edge of technology designed to make our lives easier, we continue to find more and more to do in less and less time. It seems that, as technology reduces the time it takes to accomplish a task, we find more tasks to take on. Which can lead us to apexes of efficiency--punctuated by bouts of exhaustion, frustration, leading to deeper moments that call up the big question: What's it all about? Is this--the frenzy, the efficiency, the ticking off of "to do" lists--is this what it's all about? Why am I here?
I have had the privilege of working with people of all ages, across the lifespan. And, my clients have shown me that past the age of 18 or so, "the big question" above comes into play at many of life's transition moments: For teenagers leaving home for work, the military or college; for young adults getting married, having their first child, moving or choosing more defined career paths; for those who lose jobs or relationships either unexpectedly or after a clear period of dissatisfaction; for those faced with their first physical limitations of normal aging; for those facing serious illness; for those who face retirement and the conclusion of their professional "usefulness;" and, in the ending phases of life those who, examining a life of accomplishments, failures, compromises, regrets and losses find themselves asking: What was it all about?
The people who seem to weather the question the best are those who, at various stages of their lives, find a way to "repurpose" themselves. They find a way to adjust, replace or augment a value system that no longer serves them. And, in the process, they also, unconsciously or not, redefine the meaning of "satisfaction" in their lives.
The young couple who starts a family may initially find the transition from couple to family limiting and difficult, until they recognize and elevate the importance--and joy-- of raising a child.
Job loss--often a devastating blow to the ego at first--can be an invitation to re-examine what you really would like to to if there were no limits to your choices? I've worked with several clients who have found themselves in just that position--and have taken the opportunity to find new purpose in their daily work.
Serious illness or loss of a loved one can act as a life signal to pause--or at least slow down. Loss, of either our own functionality or independence--however temporary--can be a cause for pause. Death of a spouse, family member of friend can further underscore our own relative impermanence--and the finite nature of our span on earth. The question often becomes: What legacy will I leave? Did my time here matter?
Another life marker, retirement, can be a time of reinvention or a time of feeling adrift. Many older adults reach their retirement years facing the question: Now what? If your job so thoroughly defines you, if your professional accomplishments are your primary source of life satisfaction, you may find yourself reaching retirement asking the same question.
Fortunately, we are, as a species, remarkable in our ability to reinvent--to repurpose--ourselves. Businessmen become tutors in retirement; accountants become landscape painters; physicians become organic gardeners. Successful retirement years become a time for passion to either augment or replace profession.
And, finally, in our final years, we are often blessedly equipped with the time--and the insight--to conduct a life review: an examination of where we've been and what the journey has meant. And most of the aging adults I've had the privilege to work with have been blessed with another ability: acceptance. Acceptance of accomplishments, failures, even mediocrity--at the end with a minimum amount of energy devoted to regret.
It's then that an amazing transformation can occur--the shift from wondering if one's life was worthy--to acceptance of the life we actually lived, peaks, valleys and the terrain in between.
Until next time, thanks for listening.
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