The Human Fire 2.4 - Investing in Ourselves
The Human Fire 2.4 - Investing in Ourselves
Each of us is worth it.
If you've been on this newsletter journey of the past year with me, you probably know that my mother's struggle with Alzheimer's, and her death in late October, plus my son's treatment for PANS, have loomed large in my writing and in my heart. Both circumstances have carried relief: relief for my mother's suffering to cease; relief for my son to be feeling so much better. And both have carried grief: grief for all the lost years of not having my mother present; grief for the lost childhood that my son never experienced.
Having two family members both "lose time" at either ends of their lives - and at the same time, no less - strikes me as unfair. Yet there's no life manual, not even the most sacred scriptures, that guarantees me or you fairness in this life. If anything, fairness is something we create from imperfect circumstances.
In reflecting on what's been lost, I decided to choose "invest" as my thematic word for this year. Investment is the singular activity that compounds results. And it's not just for retirement savings. It's for me, my relationships, my talents, my loves. It's for you, too. Each of us, with precious little time on this earth, is worthy of investment.
For most of my life, I heard my mother talk about what she wanted to do, what she would rather be doing. Take a Spanish class. Go back to school and become a therapist. Volunteer. But she never did those things. She just did the same things she always did, and I'm not sure how much she really enjoyed her life.
Once the disease took hold, it became clear she never would do those things she talked about. The final time I saw her in person in August of 2019 - though I didn't know for sure it would the last, I treated as if it might be - she was so frail I felt like I might break her when I hugged her goodbye. It was as if her very life force was slowly being siphoned away.
She lived much of her life caught in her head between narratives about herself and the world, narratives that, in truth, were unreliable in their depictions of who she was and what the world is like. Those narratives narrowed her experience and kept her trapped in a distorted version of reality that she rarely broke free from.
As a result, she wasn't capable of being there for those closest to her. In the investment she gave to untruth, she lost something of life. And it is one of the most powerful lessons I've learned of what not to do, and why, for me, it's essential - I'd dare to say necessary - for me to invest in myself, do the things I long to do, and become the person who lives to the fullest of my capabilities.
When my wife and I look at pictures of our son from a year ago, he looks like a different kid now. He looks healthier. There was a hollowness to his look before we started IVIG, and he was bone-thin, even the skinny size clothing just hanging on him, looking huge.
Now I can barely lift him like I used to. The other day, when we were both tired, he asked for a piggy-back ride up the stairs to bed. But I couldn't do it. He's thickened out and shot up, and he's just too big. This little life that I used I hold like a football against my forearm when he was born. I can't carry him in that way anymore.
The wistfulness I feel in writing that is immediately followed by a profound gratitude: he is more capable of standing on his own than this time last year. While he still has a long road of healing ahead, things are so much better. It's hard to believe I've only been sharing his journey - and our family's - for roughly a year when we've been walking it for much longer. It's hard to communicate in the fog of life, sometimes.
As for me, it feels like this is going to be an important year. A year that commitments will be made for the second half of my life. Above all is the commitment to invest in all the things that make me most me: my relationships, my business, my writing, my music. And in sharing these things with you and with the world. I can't wait to see the fruits of such investment.
What are you investing in, this year?
I'm excited about the writing and work I'm engaged in this year, and can't wait to share more of it with you. Hit reply and tell me what you hope to see in this newsletter - I'd love to know!
Until next week, I'll see you down the path.
Chad
The tension of feeling both laughter and tears is what made this essay so powerful. Love your word for the year and hope to hear more around how you’re thinking of “investing.”