What did I learn this year? The life lessons of 2011

The end of one year and the beginning of another usually brings with it the desire to review the past year, and in my case to ask myself the question, "What did I learn this year?"

2011 was an interesting year for me.  Along the way I learned some things of no great import, as well as some things which have profoundly affected the way in which I view my life.  Some of the lessons of this year have to do with knowledge, others with feelings, sensations, and inclinations.  A couple of lessons were not new to me, but instead served as reminders of things I had not thought about in a while.

I learned that I can no longer eat chocolate truffles, because I find them much too sweet for my palate.  Not groundbreaking as discoveries go, but at one time I did see a lot of truffles in my future.  At least my waistline will see the benefit of the loss to my taste buds.

Once again, I learned that 'professionals' are people too, and therefore occasionally they behave very unprofessionally.  Sad to say, but sometimes it seems as though the boardroom still closely resembles the playground of my grade school days, and the bullies are alive and well.  On a positive note, I also discovered that kind words from unlikely sources can be very uplifting.

Discovery of a much more profound nature happened this year, as I learned to really 'stand inside of my life', and truly observe what is going on around me.  The awareness I have come to in this regard has been groundbreaking for me.  Sometimes there is a magnificence in this.  Such was the case when I found myself standing in silence at the foot of Croagh Patrick, St. Patrick's Mountain, breathing in the crisp cool air of Clew Bay, and imagining my ancestors doing the same back in the 18th century.

Other lessons have not been so pleasant, but nonetheless there they are, moments offering insight.  For example, I have become very aware of feeling as though my mother is slipping away from me.  She speaks of death much more frequently now, and of her dislike of getting old.  It frightens me, probably in part because it reminds me of my own mortality, but more importantly, and more urgently, it reminds me that although I sometimes believe my mother will live forever, she will not.  I now understand, more than ever before, that our time together is very precious.

My mother's tendency to talk about her own mortality has reminded me of the importance of living in the moment.  Tibetan Buddhist nun Pema Chodron calls it "learning to stay", keeping the mind focussed on what is going on right in front of you, rather than letting your thoughts run to future plans, what you're going to do tomorrow, next week, or next year.  None of these times are promised to any of us.  The only time we have is this moment, the one we are in, so I endeavour to live in it.

I learned that, in the emotional side of my brain, I sometimes imagine some individuals are immortal.  As is always the case, I am quickly brought back to earth by the death of someone whom I admire.  In this instance, I am thinking of Apple founder Steve Jobs.  Although I knew of his battle with pancreatic cancer, when I learned of his death I was shocked.  For just a moment I wondered how is it that such a man, who seemed to be able to do anything, could not cheat death?  The answer: He was a human being.  He reminded his audience at a commencement address that 'none of us is getting out of here alive', and said the fact of our own mortality should make us fearless, because there truly is nothing to be afraid of.  If you knew you were going to die tomorrow, what would you do with today?

I learned that individuals who act as though they know everything are sometimes covering up a deep sense of self-doubt.  I learned the importance of showing compassion toward them, and listening to what they have to say, instead of wishing they would just stop regaling us with their put-on brilliance.  People just want to know they are heard, even seemingly obnoxious people.

I learned that a deep hurt from long ago can still resonate within the life of someone, even decades after the hurtful experience.  During preparations for the holidays, I met a man who was once the boy who sat behind me in third grade.  He asked me if I recalled the punishment, meted out to us by Sister Adele, for whispering to one another.  'Yes, I do', was my reply.  Sister took a metal and rubber strap and whipped it across our hands, leaving painful welts that lasted for days, and a feeling of humiliation which lasted much longer.  I could see in Joseph's eyes that the pain of that punishment was very much alive in him.  I felt great compassion for him, and reminded him of all the happy times we experienced in that classroom, such as the triumph of mastering our 'times-tables', and the joy of decorating the classroom at Christmas.

I learned that, as my father once said, I am still like the little sea sponge who wants to soak up all the world has to offer.  I live to learn, and I am very grateful for all that I have been able to see, experience, taste, and touch over this past year, and I look forward to much more in the coming year.

In the old classic film 'Auntie Mame', Rosalind Russell, as Mame, says,

'Live!  Life is a banquet, and most poor suckers are starving to death'.  I plan to fully partake of the banquet of life and learn until I am sated, and my time here is ended.


Copyright©J.Geraghty-Gorman 2011.