This is not a religious post, but King Solomon of ancient Israel wrote the words, “all is vanity”, after trying all sorts of different material pursuits and concluding that, in the end, none of it mattered when compared with his relationship with God. Other translations use the phrase, “all is futile.” I’m sure there are similar quotations in other literature.
Solomon used the word “vanity”, not in the sense of conceit, but in the sense of futility. He had engaged in all sorts of material pursuits that many people consider to be the main aims of life, only to find that it meant nothing when you are faced with great loss, whether that is of someone, or something else, or even of your own health or life. After all, as Solomon went on to say, we can’t take it with us when we die, even though the Pharaohs of ancient Egypt seemed to have tried.
Ask yourself: Why do we do these things?
These words came to my mind one day when I was in Cardiff, Wales on university graduation day. As I watched the graduates walk past in their caps and gowns, either going to or coming away from their ceremonies, it struck me that there were very few smiling faces. Maybe they were conscious of the student loans that they would soon have to repay. Or maybe they knew that the majority of people do not end up working in the field for which they studied. I knew that from personal experience. As an accountant, I worked with two graduates. One had a PhD in metal science, and the other had a degree in zoology. Both ended up as accountants. And a friend who studied for an accounting degree found greater happiness replenishing merchandise on supermarket shelves so that she could work part-time and pursue other, higher goals.
Obviously, education has its place. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have doctors, nurses, accountants, teachers, and so on. I’m not anti-education. But this led me to think about my own life experiences, and all the things that I had considered to be “important” at the time, matters that I was willing to fight for, often obnoxiously!
Yes, you read that right. I often behaved obnoxiously over matters that I thought were important, crucial, life-threatening, even. And yet . . . and yet, after I retired, just how important were they? What happened to those cherished projects that I had worked so hard to achieve?
Ask yourself: What have I achieved?
As an example, I once wrote an automatic daily report that was used to plan workshop production every day. The managers waited for my report to leave their printers before their morning planning meeting. If, for some reason, it was delayed, I would get a phone call asking when it would be ready. Later, I left the business.
Then, one day, unexpectedly, I had a telephone call asking me to go back to work there. It seems that the business had been sold and the new owners brought in their own stock control system, losing my report in the process. Product availability had slumped to just 66% as a result. In other words, the business could only supply two thirds of its orders and was losing major customers, whilst having a warehouse full of unwanted products. I was asked to go back and see if I could recreate my report.
I did. I was taking a break from work, at the time, and felt that this was a nice challenge. So, I went back and, over the next three weeks, I recreated the report. By the end of six weeks, product availability had returned to 98%, and customers were happy again. The planning manager told me that I had, single-handedly, saved the business.
And then the new owners shut the business down.
It had all been about owning the business name and reputation. The products were replaced by their own products, and all but a handful of the employees, once numbering in the hundreds, if not the thousands, during a period of over 200 years, were sent off to look for new jobs.
Were my efforts in vain? It would be easy to think that. After all, the business didn’t survive as we had hoped. But there was something else that made it worthwhile. It was the sense of achievement.
Maybe I didn’t save the jobs. Maybe I didn’t save the business. But it could have turned out differently. I had made a difference, if only for that very brief time. I had a sense of usefulness. I had a sense of achievement.
Ask yourself: How important will it be in five years’ time? Or less?
These thoughts became even clearer to me as I neared, and passed, my own retirement day. By then, I was already engaged in other, more important pursuits, and I wondered what other cherished projects had disappeared into thin air during my lifetime.
This sense of loss was heightened when my wife passed away. We had been planning to really enjoy our retirement. But she passed away four years before I officially retired, before even her own retirement date. And all the plans were suddenly thrown into disarray.
This made me think of other experiences in my life. Had they made a difference?
I thought about the pursuits of other people I had known, or about whom I had read. Some had worked hard to achieve their dream life, only to have it cut short before they could enjoy it. Others had built dream businesses, only for them to fail in the uncertainties of the economy.
And it made me realise that, despite all the stress that I had put myself and others under, it didn’t matter, even a short time later. Life was still going on, even though I wasn’t involved in it. The companies I had worked for were either gone, or were still running quite nicely without me, thank you. All the things that I considered to be important now seemed to be so futile, so vain.
Ask yourself: What legacy do I want to leave behind?
I am reminded of a conversation between two sisters. One had a large family, the other had just two sons. The sons were successful in their own careers, and yet they didn’t seem happy. And they didn’t have, or want, children.
One day, the two sisters were talking about wealth. The mother of the two boys looked around at the family portraits dotted about the room of her sister, pictures of children, grandchildren, and even great-grandchildren and she said, “I may have the money, but you have the riches.” And, pointing to the photos she added, “These are your riches. What am I going to leave behind?”
We spend so much of our lives trying to improve our lot in life, only to find that, as we face life without work, without loved ones, without the health and energy to enjoy the life that we have accumulated, it all becomes meaningless, futile, vain.
I’m not going to bombard you, now, with inspirational quotes about taking time to enjoy what you have, rather than striving for what you want. You have your own life to live.
All I will do is to say that, in my experience, Solomon was right when he spoke about his material pursuits. Yes, he built some fine palaces, only to have his descendants ruin them, either by refurbishing them, or by acts of war. Yes, he accumulated wealth, only to leave it all behind when he died, and to have his descendants squander it, vainly trying to protect their own lifestyles.
Solomon’s conclusion was, “fear the true God and keep his commandments.” You may or may not have religious beliefs, but Solomon’s sentiments ring true. What you choose as your “god” may bring you happiness or sorrow. Think of those whose god is their belly; how do they feel lying in the critical care unit after a heart attack brought on by bad eating?
Ask yourself: What’s the takeaway from all this rambling?
Enjoy the life you are living. Dreams are all very well in their place, and it’s good to have goals for our pursuits.
But the real joy comes from the journey and the achievement, not the goal. Goals change as we get older. But the sense of achievement is in the little things along the way. It’s in passing the milestones. Once a goal is achieved, there’s often a sense of anti-climax, sadness, and disillusionment that the goal didn’t achieve the happiness that we wanted it to achieve. So, enjoy the journey and the little successes along the way.
The important thing is that we make a difference. And we don’t do that by all the big, showy acts of vanity, in the sense of conceit, but in the little things that we do every day. It’s holding the door open to allow someone to pass through before you. It’s smiling at someone who is loaded down as they trudge through their lives. It’s picking up something that someone dropped so that they don’t have to pick it up, themselves. It’s speaking to the person in the wheelchair as well as the carer pushing it. (Too many people speak only to the carer as if the person in the chair is stupid and can’t understand the conversation. Let’s face it, just because someone’s legs don’t work that doesn’t mean that they are stupid!)
The real joy comes, not from what we get and achieve for ourselves; it doesn’t come from what we take from others. The real joy comes from what we give to others, even if it is only a smile.
So, what legacy do you want to leave behind? How do you want to be remembered? How do you want to remember yourself? When you reach the age of retirement and you sit there with a glass of wine or a cup of coffee, watching the sunset, how do you want to remember your life?
Solomon was almost right. The pursuit of material things is vanity; it is futile. But giving to others always brings joy, both now, and in the future.
This is the first in a series I’m calling, “Grandpa’s Way”. The aim is to create longer reads once a week, or so, that contain observations about life and enjoying it. They will most likely be posted on Sundays when people have more time to read. Feel free to ignore them!
And please read the About page and the Disclaimer page before acting on anything that you read here!
Greenacre 9 