Prophesy

People sometimes ask, "If a fortune teller said you only had a year left to live, how would you spend your time?"  You are meant to zero in on what really matters, and consider whether or not you are living in sync with that purpose. It is a fun exercise. A little anxiety-producing, too.

I propose an alternate question: What if you knew you had thirty years left to live? Or, say, sixty? What if that tea leaves told you that the next twelve months matter, but only because the choices you make in the year to come will determine the quality of the sixty to follow?

What if you knew today that you would live to be 110?

Don't scoff. It is possible, after all. It is even likely, considering demographic trends. You stand a good chance of sticking around longer than your parents and grandparents. You don't need a crystal ball to know that the cumulative effects of choices -- finances, diet and activity, social connections, occupation, and even attitudes and beliefs -- determine what will become of the protagonist in the story of You.

In my tale, I recognize this body is a machine built for endurance. I try to orient my mind and behaviors towards longevity and wellness. This is all fine. But is it sufficient?

I stand here with a brief glimpse into a future not yet written (yet being written, nonetheless). My husband and I are parting. Bug is growing up. My job is manageable and brings a bit of satisfaction. I dance and write and have friends and family. It is a fine life. Alas, it won't be long before my son becomes a central character in his own story. He will, Inshallah, embark on adventures that will make his mama's head spin. If Madame Suzatska is correct, a good fifty years will still roll out ahead of me once Bug heads out.

Fifty years!

I like my work, but will it propel me to serve and learn and grow during the half century remaining once Bug is no longer my raison d'etre? Is higher ed administration where I can make my best contribution? 

I am at a crossroads. You are too, I suppose, because we are all making formative decisions every day. The quotidian, however, does not have the clarifying power of unexpected upheaval. Divorce is Lasik surgery for the foresight. I can see now that I am, ultimately, in charge of myself. I can no longer hitch my wagon to someone else's mule, then complain when I end up too far down the wrong road. My success, contributions, satisfaction and life situation are my responsibility. Perhaps you read this and say, "Well, duh. We're all in the same boat, lady. You're just figuring this out now?"

I suppose I am. Better now than at the wrong end of that 110 years.

As I write this, I am proctoring the qualifying exam for a dozen doctoral students. They have all just completed their foundational courses, and they hope to move on to developing research fields. Their performance today will determine whether or not they continue in the PhD program. Most are younger than I am. A few are older. A handful have children. Several came from overseas, many from developing countries, to study here. Wherever they are in their journeys, they have all decided to deepen their understanding of public policy and work their hineys off to achieve a degree in the field.

Last night at convocation, the select few who survived the rigors of the program over the previous five to ten years donned their doctoral regalia and received a hood and a diploma. Many in this room today will fall away between qualifying exam and graduation. Those who persevere have greater opportunity, a larger vocabulary, a solid area of expertise. Most importantly, perhaps, they will possess the knowledge that they can accomplish what they set out to do. Whether each graduate has two or six decades remaining hardly matters. Each has the capacity to craft something exquisite in the years ahead.

What am I willing to take on in order to enjoy the next half century or so? Could anything that matters really be too hard?

If I were to take on doctoral studies in a field that compels me, I will be in my mid- to late-forties by the time I walk across the stage. This is chilling. It occurs to me, however, that I could be pushing fifty with a degree in hand and the next chapter in my career underway, or I could be pushing fifty adrift. I will be old someday either way. Which old do I choose to be?

While my students sweat and tap at their computers, I am at work on a goals statement for a graduate application. As an administrative faculty member at a state university, I enjoy the benefit of free tuition. The building right next to mine houses a doctoral program for which I am qualified and about which I am excited. This is a big step I am considering. For now, I am only just considering it. I can take one class in the fall and then, if all goes well, complete the PhD application next winter. Small steps, yes. But as the fortune teller says, the choices I make in the next year will determine the quality of the decades to follow.

What are the characteristics of the protagonist in the story of Me? Excitement? Curiosity? Determination?

How about courage?

Yes, yes, yes and yes.