Inadvertently, simply from being a member of the species Homo sapiens, I will contribute to the story of the 100 billion humans estimated to have ever lived on the planet Earth. My life’s story, only 1/100 billionth of the whole, however small, will be part of this corpus. Although my part is very small, I feel a great responsibility to contribute usefully and humanely. When my time is up, what do I hope to be able to say is true? To our collective story, in the time I have on this planet, what might I contribute?
The question, “What might I contribute?”, synthesizes elements from the ultimate existential concerns identified by many thinkers about the nature of being human. My existential thinking has been influenced most recently by Irvin Yalom, M.D. and Marilyn Yalom, Ph.D. Stated simply as continua, these themes are: life vs. death, freedom vs. dependence, connection vs. isolation, and meaning vs. meaninglessness.
Asking, “What might I contribute?” requires courage. It requires the fortitude to consciously become aware of several troubling realities.
First, the question requires approaching the reality that a human life is finite; it has a beginning and an end. We will have the time we have and no more.
Second, it requires approaching the reality that we may be able to influence what happens, but rarely can we insist on outcomes. Even the collective brains of the current 8 billion people on the planet – each with an estimated 100 billion neurons and an equal number of glial cells – cannot comprehend the complexity of reality. Using logic, reason, and data, we can calculate probabilities, not name certainties.
Some might protest, “There are eight billion people now?! And one hundred billion people ever?! My life is too small! How could I possibly contribute or make a difference?!”
When I lived in Tampa, Florida, while also a middle school teacher at a college preparatory school, I was a part-time reporter for what was then The St. Petersburg Times. I was assigned a story about a young girl who wrote and hand-illustrated books for her little sister.
Awed and enchanted by the young girl, I referred her to our school. Intellectually and artistically extraordinary, she was accepted, and became one of my own English students. One of her electives was theater arts and I attended a play in which she was performing.
On the stage, the young girl had been transformed into an elderly woman, her dark hair pomaded white. She wore a Sunday-best dress, a white cardigan over her shoulders, and sturdy, low heels. As she rocked in a rocking chair, she spoke wisdom from her long life.
I wept. I wept with gratitude for the playwright, for the drama teacher who selected the play to perform, for my student for playing this part, for her bravery and forbearance as a person and as a character, and for myself, an unwittingly childless woman who would have no legacy of her own, witnessing the possible future of humanity in such noble hands.
A synthesis of the guidance offered by philosophers, theorists, and researchers in science, psychology, and education suggest asking the following questions may offer a systematic framework for answering, “In the time I have, how might I contribute?“
- What are my strengths?
- What are my interests?
- What are my values?
- What are my priorities?
- Based on my strengths, interests, values, and priorities, what possibilities exist for my contributions?
- Which of these possibilities are based in humanity, logic, reason, and fact? Let me remove possibilities that are zealous or unverifiable.
- Of the remaining possibilities on the list, how would I rank order them based on probabilities? In other words, although I might wish otherwise, through which of these am I most likely to be able to contribute?
- Among these probabilities, which shall I choose as my primary ends in mind? Let me define them precisely.
- What are the constraints upon my intentions? One constraint during this pandemic is unpredictability. How can I optimize within these constraints?
- How will I know when I have reached my ends in mind? By what criteria will I evaluate progress towards these ends?
- Now that I have asked these questions and defined these terms carefully, what plans shall I make and what strategies will I use?
- How will I accommodate and monitor a primary constraint on human endeavors, i.e. my need for self-care? and to attend to my needs, wants, and aspirations?
- How will I accommodate these opposites both being true: “I want to give my all to taking care of myself and the beings close to me” AND “I want to give my all to contributing to the greater good”?
Above all, am I as kind to myself as possible? Regardless of what happens in my story – or in the story of the 100 billion – regardless of how short or long my time on the planet may be, am I helping myself – in my “one wild and precious life” – have the most kind, humane, and generously-spirited story I can?
This post is dedicated to Robert H. Giles, Jr., my father, whose ethics and existential questioning ground this essay. He contributed.
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This post on existential questions is part of a series in the Guide category for people who, in these times of limited contact and resources, are attempting to find ways to help themselves. The post links to related, possibly useful exercises for further thought and exploration.
These guides may be of particular interest:
- Self-Help Guide for Reducing Trauma Symptoms
- Questions to Ask and Answer to Reduce Substance Use
- Becoming One’s Own Cognitive Therapist
- Questions and Resources for Couples
Views expressed are the author’s own. This content is for informational purposes only and is not a substitute for medical or professional advice. Consult a qualified health care professional for personalized medical and professional advice.
