We all do it. We all get caught up in the daily treadmills of life. Completing tasks assigned to us. Caring for friends and family. Paying the bills. It’s all we can do to get through our task lists each day. Few of us have energy left to focus on higher virtues. One of my adult children told me yesterday that his generation is exhausted. I can understand why.
We all need breaks now and then. Some of us can find the time and resources to plan them. Regardless of planning, though, sometimes those breaks present themselves when we least expect them, and may not want them. Like the breaks that occur when the power goes out. When a storm makes roads impassable. When we lose a job. When we become sick. When a loved one dies. These are the existential moments, the times when we remember that we cannot entirely control our destinies, that forces and events outside our control have greater influence than we give them credit for. They also are opportunities to reflect on what truly matters in the scope of a life and to gain a renewed perspective. To rise above our circumstances and see things from a higher plane.
I heard the other day that there are trillions of galaxies. Not billions, but trillions. Not planets or stars, but galaxies, each containing untold numbers of stars and planets. Earth is just a tiny, virtually imperceptible dot along the spectrum of the universe. Humans are just one species inhabiting Earth, each of us just one of billions of humans alive on Earth today and that have lived throughout time. And humans have existed on Earth for only a minuscule sliver of time. It’s impossible to comprehend the vast scale of the universe and our own insignificant place in it, yet immensely humbling to try.
When I was 15, I spent a week at a camp in the mountains of Colorado. I was awestruck by the numbers of stars in the evening sky, a spectacular vista that was new to me, opened up by the higher elevation and distance from man-made lights. That vision drove home just how small I was, how small we all are. Almost two years earlier, I had experienced a similar awe when I viewed the live pictures of Earth sent back by Apollo 8 orbiting the moon, the first manned spacecraft to do so. The predominantly blue and white sphere seemed so peaceful, so magnificent. It was hard then, and remains hard now, to fathom that there could be any justification for war, violence, or hate on such a gloriously beautiful globe.
One can’t help but be humbled by the realization of just how small we are. The older I get, and the more I travel, the more I am reminded of my own finitude. I encounter it when I sit in heavy traffic, or make my way through crowded airports, or try to navigate busy sidewalks. I remember it when I read history books or watch old movies filmed before I was born. I am struck by it when I walk along a stretch of beach. Of the billions of people alive today, only a precious few even know that I exist. Fewer still will miss me when I’m gone.
And yet, these thoughts do not depress me. Rather, I find them liberating. I am not the center of the universe. Very little depends on me. I do not carry the weight of the world on my shoulders. I cannot control much that happens. My circle of influence is small, my relationships few, my time short.
Making the most of those few relationships and that limited time is what truly matters. My faith tells me that, despite our seeming insignificance, every one of us is precious. It also tells me that wars and violence are wrong, that quests for power and riches are vanity, and that we are called not to idolize the powerful but to serve the powerless. Repudiating our insatiable appetites for power and adopting an attitude of humble service aligns us with the teachings of all great spiritual traditions, and can save us from the types of disasters, and impending disasters, we are witnessing today.
It begins with a pause — with a break from our demanding routines and an opportunity to catch our breath. Sometimes the unwelcome interruption is the gift that allows us to stop and find our bearings. Other times, we need to create those moments, those minutes or hours or days or weeks when we pause to consider what matters and how we can contribute in our own small ways to those values that transcend politics and human invention, that endure beyond the limited scope of our own existence. And we should try to imagine whether, when most of our life is behind us and we consider the journey we have taken, we will conclude that our strivings were worthwhile and our time well spent.
Then, depending on where our reflections take us, we can make the adjustments that move us closer to those most enduring values, those eternal virtues — those qualities that we have been told, through centuries of religion and stories and experience and song, are not power or riches or anger or scorn or ridicule or hate. Qualities like love.