Is this it?

It is probably my age, but this is a question that sometimes pops into my head. I’m uncertain why I grapple with it, but I am also quietly heartened when I hear it.

I don’t assume anything is wrong when I hear the question in my head; I like to think that being human means that once we have cracked survival and can reasonably rely on a level of security and stability, that we are then programmed to look for something more existential to drive us forward, to make us happy and fulfilled. I therefore hear “Is this it?” not as superficial dissatisfaction with the material things of life, but a gentle challenge to seek something more intrinsic, perhaps even something more soulful.

If I may I would like to share with you how I have tried to answer the question.

To begin with I was looking for the answer in the wrong places. I was looking for something big, a unifying answer that would be beyond my influence. Something I could not challenge, but would accept.

However I now believe it is not about a unifying theory of everything, but something tiny and inconsequential instead. A thin almost invisible thread that I can weave into just about everything I do.

A while ago I might have wondered “Is this it?” because I knew for sure I would never open the batting for England at Lord’s or write Nobel Prize winning literature. I have also wondered if it was about religious faith, but while I respect and envy the certainty of faith, it is a personal journey that for me at least seems too hard, too big and perhaps even too uncertain.

So I stopped looking for a big answer and I started to look for something so small it would be invisible to everyone accept me. I looked for things that in an individual moment made me happier to be me. I looked for answers that had to be so small I knew I could succeed in finding them every single day.

Why am I writing this now? Well because a few days ago I received a hand-written letter. It was delightfully “old school” and meant so much more because of the effort I knew had been made to take that much trouble. It was a letter of thanks for time we have spent together in conversation and at one of our events. A letter from someone I have met just a few times, but who I know to be an excellent lawyer, and an excellent man; someone I respect and someone I hope will fulfil their potential which, right now, they have no idea will shine more brightly than they can yet imagine.

It reminded me of one of my small answers and the thoughts that I hold close when I hear the question “Is this it?”

I would like to share them with you, not as small answers for you to adopt, but perhaps as a way for you to find your small answers should you also hear that “Is this it?” question in your head.

Written down I know they can look glib or frothy, but they are not meant to be profound thoughts either; they are just small moments in time that connect me to what makes me happier. That’s all.

1. If I inadvertently make eye contact with a stranger, I will smile rather than look away.
2. When I speak to a waiter or waitress before I ask for something, I will always ask how they are and wait for their answer.
3. When walking between meetings along familiar streets I try to look at the tops of buildings and notice something I have not seen before.
4. Once in a while I will make breakfast a real treat.
5. I always have something in my diary, even if weeks away, that I know will please me.
6. I will try to say something kind in any situation when an opinion is asked for – I figure it isn’t a limited edition stock that will run out and must be rationed.
7. I accept that work will be shit sometimes, but jobs don’t define me, I am just passing through.
8. Occasionally I write letters, to a friend or client (old school, as mentioned above, with paper and ink and a stamp!) If their friendship or kindness matters to me, I figure it is nice if they know this too.
9. I suspect there is more kindness in listening than almost anything else.  I try to listen as much as my impatient mouth will let me.
10. A lazy day should be planned and relished. I find that only unplanned lazy days make me feel guilty
11. As my head hits the pillow at night, I will try to remember a specific conversation or something that made me smile.

I’ll leave that with you now. Thank you for indulging me by reading this far.

Take care. Paul