The Monument You Leave Behind

I will turn fifty in 2009, and the event has been looming like a thunderhead on the horizon for about two years. I seem to have been the youngest, by a few months, among many of my peers, so I've been watching them slide over the hill for about a year now. It looks painless enough.

Yet.

Fifty is the age when all men line up for the colonoscopy. Fifty is the average age for women to begin menopause. Fifty is the kiss of death on any resume. Michael Jackson died at fifty. There's no way to hit the half-century without admitting that you're getting old. Or are old already.

For men--or for this man, anyway--fifty is not so much about lost youth (we felt that at 30) but lost opportunity. We take stock of our remaining strength, energy, and time and we realize that there are more things we won't accomplish than that we will. There just aren't enough sunsets left to get it all done.

For me, this realization is compounded by the knowledge that I've wasted a lot of time and many opportunities. The many detours and siestas in my life and career have left me short of several goals. Some of them were unstated, things I simply thought would happen in my life but never have.

For example, I always assumed, unknown to my conscious self, that I would create a grand achievement that would leave the world, and even me, somewhat in awe. I'd write a best-seller. Or found a megachurch. Or build a cathedral. Or Win the Tour de France seven times. Something that I could point back to and say, "See. There it is. That's the story of my life. I did that."

At fifty, I realize that I have neither the energy nor the time to achieve most of the things on my unwritten bucket list. Worse, I had not the talent nor determination to achieve most of them even as a younger man. 

How am I going to live with that for the last 50 years of my life (Heather made me put it in writing that I'll live to 100)?

My mentor Henri Nouwen offered this response to me. He said, "Many ministers, priests and Christian laymen have become disillusioned, bitter, and even hostile when years of hard work bear no fruit, when little change is accomplished. Building a vocation on the expectations of concrete results, however conceived, is like building a house on sand instead of on solid rock, and even takes away the ability to accept successes as free gifts. Hope prevents us from clinging to what we have and frees us ... to enter unknown and fearful territory."

He must have been speaking of the 51st year.

Life itself is the grand achievement. Surviving for 50 years is noteworthy. Growing. Changing. Loving God. Serving others. Leaving the world a better place than you found it, this is worth a great deal. Monuments, towers, empires? These are the free gifts that God bestows on some. To most of us, he gives only life, which is itself the greater gift.

When I die, they will perhaps lay my bones to rest on Crown Hill, the iconic cemetery that lies at the heart of Indianapolis. There, among the imposing monuments to men like Benjamin Harrison, Eli Lilly, and L.S. Ayers, there may be a small stone with these words upon it:

Here lies Lawrence W. Wilson. 

He learned from his mistakes.

If that is all I leave behind, it will be enough.

PS: Please leave no comments on this post that tell me how good I am or how much I achieved or what my life is worth. I'm not looking for "Twitter love."  I'm just sayin'.