Contentment

Contentment.

Happiness depends on a measure of inner contentment, and also fulfillment. And there are some distinctions here we all need to understand.

Contentment is simply accepting the present as being what it is—letting go of bitterness, resentment, anger, frustration, and the sting of all such negative emotions and attitudes. It doesn't require liking all that's present, or wanting it to continue, or even not planning to work hard to change things radically from being what they are to what they should be. It's merely a shedding of those negative emotions that get us all balled up and unable to move forward productively and well. 

The person with a measure of inner contentment finds things to focus on emotionally that are good, and that can be a basis for renewal and enjoyment and moving forward with whatever hard work needs to be done, A moment, or stretch, of intense discontent can motivate mightily, but extended, it begins to get in the way. You can set your heart with passion to work for a better future without requiring the ongoing fuel of anger or hatred. Those things are inwardly corrosive over time and tend to guide us to replace one unfortunate state of affairs with another, however well intentioned we might be. For more on this, see the history of revolutions.

Contentment says of the unpleasant, unfortunate, and unjust in the moment, "It is what it is." It takes a deep breath, gets back in touch with the best of inner motivations, like love and compassion, and goes to work with that oasis within needed for the longest stretches of travel through any arid desert.

Fulfillment is something different. It's experiencing an ongoing objective realization of your potential, and feeling that inside. It's objective before it's subjective. Whereas contentment is just an inner state, fulfillment is something in the outer world that reflects itself within. Put your talents to work for the good of others as well as yourse. Be a blessing to others. Work hard for justice and goodness and truth. And fulfillment will come, as long as that enemy of lingering discontent doesn't get and stay in the way.

Contentment and fultillment: Two foundations of that deep Aristotelian happiness that promotes excellence and full human flourishing in all things. May you experience both, in even the most trying of times.

Grace: A Quick Sunday Morning Thought.

What is it to embody grace, to be gracious in word and deed? 

It's positioning ourselves alongside the highest and best of what is. It's joy. It's love. And it's our greatest opportunity. There is no ungracious path to real happiness or true success. Grace touches deep in the soul and elevates us in a unique way. It means acting beyond the calculus of merit, with forgiveness and transformative power, demonstrating both nobility and humility in equal measure each day. It's the spirit of living well and abundantly in all good things. It's our calling and chief dignity in the world.

On Life, Age, Loss, Joy, and Learning

Oh, my. If you have 7 minutes and 44 seconds—and who doesn't, unless you happen to be on the wrong side of a firing squad right now, and if that's true, then get off this blog for crying out loud—and if you want a major blessing today—and who doesn't, including anyone facing that firing squad, especially given the fact that it could delay the dreaded action by 7 minutes and 44 seconds, PLEASE watch this short video on my old buddy Norman Lear, where you'll learn how dancing naked in front of a mirror at age 93 just might be the secret to longevity, you'll be delighted, and entertained, and made to think about television today, and age, and loss, and learning.

Click this: http://nyti.ms/29xbgRt And then come back here if you'd like.

I first met Norman when I was 39 and he was 69. I was just beginning to do philosophy beyond the classrooms of Notre Dame, out in the broader world, and we had made contact by telephone. Can you imagine what it was like for a kid who grew up watching All in the Family and debating the issues it raised around the living room to come back to my office one day after a class and press the answering machine and hear, "Tom! This is Norman Lear! Here's my home phone number. Give me a call!" I was just astonished.

Shortly after a bunch of great phone calls, he sent me plane tickets to come visit him at his beautiful vacation house in Vermont, an old home once owned by Robert Frost, then by the abstract artist Kenneth Noland. Its grounds are adjacent to a state forest and are as peaceful as you can imagine. I spent most of a day sitting on the big front porch with Norman and the Dean of the Harvard Divinity School and his wife, and with the co-founders of Tom's of Maine, one of the most ethically and environmentally sensitive consumer products companies of our time. We philosophized all day, and through a great lunch. Mid afternoon, Norman asked me to talk a short walk with him. We ended up lying in the grass on his spacious front lawn, pondering life and creativity. And we laughed a lot.

Then, a short time later, he brought a bunch of television producers to see me speak in front of my first audience of over 5,000 people—all convenience store owners at their national meeting in Las Vegas. We had lunch afterwards and since I was going to speak the next day to the top leadership of Merrill Lynch at a retreat in Santa Barbara, Norman invited me to fly to California with him on his plane, where the conversation continued. He got off in LA and let me have the G4 for the rest of the ride to my destination, and then came up the next day to hear that talk as well, on a different topic. I was due to go to LA for a third presentation the following day, so he offered to take me back with him. We talked and napped and talked more in the back of his limo. Then, after a visit at his amazing home in Brentwood, his driver took me to my next speaking event.

Norman played a big role in my life during those days, with his cheerful encouragement and belief in what I was starting to do as a public philosopher. He helped give me the confidence to leave university life and launch out on an adventure that was in its inception, and even now, nearly unprecedented for an academically trained philosopher in our time. Whenever I was with him, his assistants were taking calls constantly, and Fed Ex was delivering packages every few minutes, it seemed. But I never felt like I had only a fleeting sliver of his attention. His gift to me included full presence, full focus, and uninterrupted conversation of the liveliest and most probing sort. I try to remember that whenever a young person just starting his or her own adventure wants to talk—for advice, wisdom, or just encouragement.

We've kept in touch over the years, in fits and starts. He's called me several times about possibly getting involved in something he was doing. He's made me think, and made me laugh. I just love hearing his voice. Norman turns 94 on July 27. And he's still creating. He has a new show upcoming on Netflix, as well as a documentary of his life about to come out. Happy Birthday, old friend. Continue to learn and dance and create!

Peaks, Valleys, and Wonder

When times are good, there's often a wonderful but dangerous illusion that things will never change. When times are bad, there's often a cruel and equally dangerous illusion that things will never change.

But things do change. And that can be either a shock or a relief, a source of grief or of joy.

In his recently published memoir, Even This I Get to Experience, my old friend Norman Lear recalls that on his sixtieth birthday, his daughter Kate in a toast described him as someone who "walks through life's peaks and valleys with equal wonder." What a rare and tremendous thing to say, and, really, what an amazing attribute to have.

There are peaks and valleys, aren't there? And the journey we're on now has to involve them both. Try to embrace each with equal wonder and a readiness for whatever comes next.

We live amid mysteries and, in the end, it's all a wonder.

The Joy of the Journey

There’s a special joy in doing what you’re meant to do. 

This week, so far, I’ve travelled to Colorado Springs for a talk at the great Broadmoor hotel, speaking to 450 business owners. The hotel itself is spectacular, and I always seem to be put in the West Building, which is quiet and beautiful, with serene views outside the window of my suite. To get to the main building, where I had dinner last night with one of the top speaking agents in the country, a really great individual who also has an unexpected and interesting background as a songwriter, with tunes, so far, in eighteen films, I had to walk on a path bisecting a scenic lake, mounting a gently sloping footbridge in the middle, surrounded by mountains. The temperature was perfect. The evening was magical. 

Who knew that being a freelance philosopher could put me in so many wonderful places, where the glories of nature are on such magnificent display? And the people I meet along the way enrich my life immensely.

And then came the talk, the speech for which I had made the journey. I had forty minutes, a relatively short time these days for philosophy, but it was ethereal. We pondered, we analyzed, we laughed, and we explored the wisdom of the ages on one of the most important topics of all - how each of us can have our best impact on the world in the short span of years that we have, and how we can have true success, deeply satisfying and sustainable success that fulfills us, in everything we do.

It was a treat to represent the great philosophers, east and west, and to add my own interpretive frameworks. And everyone who was there went away with a laminated wallet card on the ideas we talked about. I’ve given out these cards on each of my topics, for more than twenty years. I’ve probably handed out millions as little gifts. And as a result, people stop me in airports and hotels, and in other places, and pull out their wallets and show me the card that they say they got six or nine or twelve years ago at a talk they heard me give and still remember. What a kick! Those little laminated wallet cards are almost the paper version of tweets, but they last, and can be carried about and kept and referred to again and again. The way tweets stand to blogs, these little cards stand to books, and have a special magic all their own.

My talk at the Broadmoor was, as such a thing almost always is, a joy, What Emerson would have called an ecstasy, and an honor. In the whirlwind of time allowed on a busy meeting day, we ranged through space and time, appropriating the insights of the ages for our own lives, and thinking anew about what we want from our time, and our efforts. 

It’s always a new experience for me. I never memorize talks and hit the play button in front of an audience. I do like the great jazz guys and improvise around a framework. I surprise myself. I sometimes say things I’ve never even thought before, but in that moment, I realize a new truth and pass it on to others.

Now, I’ll have two days at home, and then a quick trip to Florida, to philosophize again, for a small group of executives who make sure the lights stay on at such places as Google and NASA, operations where power reliability is crucial. We’ll get to talk about the life wisdom that’s also powerful and always reliable. And that will keep the lights on for them, as it does for me.

I tell you this today in hopes that you are also, in your own way, participating in the joy of living your proper mission and adventure. And if you haven’t quite found that yet, let me encourage you that it awaits you and can be both lived and loved.

So examine your own experience. You’re here to do great things, and to have great joys. I want that for you.

Today.