I've been doing a lot of thinking lately about what's important to me. There have been a lot of changes in my life these past several months, and each change reminds me of how many more changes will inevitably come as my sons leave home to pursue their own lives and their own dreams. Oddly, contemplating the changes in my life has made me more aware of the things that remain constant.
Every now and then someone manages to cut me to the quick with a thoughtless comment. Last week, I felt that someone was accusing me of being materialistic. (In reality, it was probably just a case of someone having a bad day and over-reacting to something I said first.) Nevertheless, it made me think.
I was raised by a steel-worker and a telephone operator. We lived comfortably because my father insisted on frugality. I was nicely dressed as a youth because my mother was a gifted seamstress. I learned that money has its place - it is a necessity in everyone's life. It provides comfort and security, but it truly cannot buy happiness. I lived one step above abject poverty when I left home. At a few different points my parents, worried about my dire financial straits, tried to convince me to move home. I staunchly refused. The satisfaction I felt at being able to survive "on my own" (no matter how uncomfortably) mattered more to me than the financial security that my parents could have provided for me. I wanted to stand on my own. Independence brought me satisfaction.
During my first decade of married life the "lean years" continued. Todd endured three periods of unemployment and a series of low-paying jobs. Our finances were sometimes shaky, but our happiness as a couple, and a family, remained constant.
When we lived in Quebec, my husband was viewed as an "up and comer" by his employers. As news spread that he was planning to move back to Ontario (a move our family desperately needed) several co-workers advised him to send his family to Ontario, and remain behind. That advice, we both felt, wasn't even worthy of consideration. Instead, Todd accepted a demotion so that we could move to a place where we could be happier as a family. There are some losses that money just can't compensate for.
We consider ourselves fortunate to be enjoying financial security in an era where the economy is unsteady and many around us are experiencing hardship. We have a healthy appreciation for all that we have, and a healthy fear that it will all disappear. The reality is that the "success" (and I use the term loosely) that we presently enjoy could "turn on a dime." We're trying to plan wisely for an uncertain future. But if we are poor again tomorrow, we will still have love in our family, we will still strive to improve ourselves, and we will continue to have faith in each other.
I related what I'd perceived as a slight on my priorities to my younger son, who is away from home. I asked him what he felt he'd learned from us. (I wanted to be reassured that I hadn't inadvertently preached the "Gospel of Materialism" to him.) This was his response:
"Money doesn't make me happy, and accolades don't thrill me. What satisfies me is knowing that I've done my best and I've become a better person for it. I think that's what our family is all about. I'm quite confident that you and Dad feel the same way."
My older son said recently. "I don't aspire to ever live in a house any bigger or nicer than this one." It warmed my heart to hear him say that.
Amen to both of them. A "good life" isn't a life of decadence or fame. Success is measured in satisfaction, in the knowledge that you're doing your best and making some sort of progress on a daily basis. I'm glad that my sons somehow heard and understood the messages my husband and I tried to convey.
This month's poetry selection is one that I feel illustrates my philosophies on money, success, and life.
Center Stage - by Sharon Flood Kasenberg (September'07)
A man's worth more than the amount
of dollars in his bank account.
His worth lies not in what is seen,
but what he's done and who he's been.
How did he act, what did he say;
what graciousness did he display?
When he stood out at center stage,
how did he with the cast engage?
Did he shine in his starring role
or use position to control?
In lesser roles, how did he act?
(For this determines worth, in fact.)
All men can shine when light are hot,
but worth's determined when they're not
and how a man acts in the wings
illuminates a lot of things.
By how he acts there we can know
what is for real, and what's for show.
Most men can prosper and seem bright
when they are upstage in spotlight,
but stars are born when lights are out
and there's no audience about.
All do perform for better cause
by acting well, without applause.
