"Old age is not for the weak."
I was having coffee with a friend. He's in his mid-seventies, an accomplished artist, has a wife battling some curve balls in assisted living, and is doing his best to live a good amount of life on his own as he walks through the aches, pains, changes, and shortcomings of his life as he knows it. He shared the above adage "...not for the weak." with me. Not a badge of honor, moreover a statement of fact. There is a developed strength required to make it through life.
I've got a couple of close friends in my life who I look up to. They're the sort of people that cause me to think "I want to be like him."
One of the guys seems to boldly walk through life with sensibilities and thoughts that are quite uncommon. He says what people are thinking. He's well versed in philosophies and world-views both old and new, and is not afraid to speak of, or even be the elephant in the room. When you are with this guy, you feel challenged. Sometimes you can receive it as an aggressive challenge—but most of that feeling comes from the challenge itself being provoking, not the man verbalizing it. He's a renaissance man in 2018. And I want to be like him. Having spent more than a decade of weekly conversation with him, I suppose in some ways I am.
The other guy strides along the earth with the ease of Freddie Couples on the course on a Saturday during one of golf's majors. You wonder how he can do it with such a breezy manner. He (my friend that is) is one of the most gracious, soft-spoken, witty, generous-in-spirit people I know. His love for others—friends and strangers—is on display at all times. Giving encouraging words and relevant insights in so many areas, with a special gift for demonstrating patience, listening, and acquired wisdom. And I want to be like him. Having spent more than a decade of rich dialogue in what seem like semi-annual conversations over margaritas and guac, I suppose in some ways I am.
But, if I were to say to either of these guys that I want to be like them, while they'd probably appreciate and understand my sentiment, they'd probably both reply "No you don't." You see there is a requirement to get to the places my friends have landed. Knowing their stories, the personal, relational, professional, spiritual, financial, heartaches (some they'd admit are self-induced) has formed them. They are aware of their past, present, and the potential of future pain. Not happy about it, buy in a way glad it occurs. Because that is where growth happens. In the valley, not on the mountaintops. Fortunately, valleys are not forever. But when we are in it we want out of it. But we need to be there to become more of ourselves. And not like others.
I'm in a valley of sorts. A time of odd isolation that has me thinking a ton about myself and the world in which I live. It's not a fun place, but it is a valley full of wonder, fear, and hidden beauty. I recently finished a book by Brené Brown called Braving the Wilderness. It is a read for the valley. In it she shares a Maya Angelou poem that talks about belonging no place and belonging everyplace. Essentially through isolation—through the valley—we become who we indeed are. And this gives us a confidence, or "way" about us, that allows us to bring ourselves anywhere—belonging everyplace, without changing ourselves to accommodate that "everyplace."
When I look at Jesus, a guy who I think I'd like to "be like," I see a man who was able to live a life for others. With his love and actions. But the cost was so high. The work was so immense. The valley was so deep and dark. But his mountaintop is beautiful.
In the valley we are tilled, it is hard and undesired. But for our seed to grow into its purposeful beauty, this must happen. And throughout life, it happens again and again.
Becoming yourself is not for the weak.