That Should Be Enough

Some lives are hard. Some aren’t. And the ones that aren’t don’t always know what to do with that.

Most of the lessons I’ve learned from life have been taught by other people.

Now, in my twilight years, I look back amazed at how little trouble I’ve faced.

I’ve known the deep sorrow of losing loved ones, family and friends. I slowly crawled out of the despair of divorce. Those aren’t small things but I got through them.

I’m in good health—always have been. Never faced a life-threatening injury or disease.

Oh, I’ve broken some bones. Those taught me lessons, like don’t show off by doing a handspring over a vaulting horse while wearing cowboy boots.

Don’t climb the roof when it’s slick and the ground is concrete.

Live and learn.

My dad saw something peculiar about me when I was still a kid. I remember it well. He smiled, shook his head, and said:

“You could fall into a sewer and come up smelling like a rose.”

He was right. For some reason—divine grace or dumb luck—I’ve had a charmed life.

Here’s the nutty part: I feel like I’ve missed out on something.

If there is a purpose for one’s life, I’ve not found mine. If, as many believe, I was put on Earth for a reason, it remains hidden.

I’ve never been hungry. I’ve always had a warm bed and people who tucked me in.

The jobs I lost have always led to something better.

Lucky in love? Listen, I’ve been married to the same wonderful woman for 38 years and there was another before her. My first marriage ended 45 years ago, leaving me with fond memories, a lifelong friend, and a perfect son.

There is a point to this.

Lately some people have been talking like these are the end times. Frustration and anger are bubbling up and splashing on those around us.

I don’t understand.

I wonder what I’m missing.

I’ve watched people I care about suffer things that don’t come with a lesson at the end.

Illness that lingers. Loss that doesn’t soften. Lives that don’t snap back into shape.

I understood it. I felt for them.

But I wasn’t inside it.

This isn’t something new. I’ve spent many years smiling while looking over one shoulder for disaster to strike.

Some lives are hard. Some aren’t. And the ones that aren’t don’t always know what to do with that.

I’m happy. I’m grateful.

That should be enough.

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