For most of my adult life I have the lamented the amount of time that I’ve wasted, not writing. I’ve always known that I wanted to – that I was meant to – write. Instead, I spent decades avoiding it, tortured by the what ifs. What if I’d submitted the novel I wrote in my twenties? What if I hadn’t given up writing articles after my first rejection? What if I’d completed that writing course I started in … pick a year, there were so many?
From the teaching of Elizabeth Gilbert
Elizabeth Gilbert tells the story of a visit she took to … I want to say New York City, but it was probably somewhere else. Anyway, she was there for work and, as she had the afternoon off, she decided to take a walk. While crossing the road, she noticed a man up a very precarious looking ladder. Having some experience with men and ladders (her father was a farmer who did stupid shit up ladders) she took it upon herself to see him safe. For the longest time, she stood at the bottom of that ladder, the man above her completely unaware of her presence. She had nowhere else to be and besides, it felt like this was what she was supposed to do. Only when he began his descent, when he’d reached a level of safety, did she walk away.
“What if,” Gilbert asked the room, “What if my only role here on earth school was to see that man on the ladder safe? What if my being born was purely to be in that city on that day for that task?” In order for her to be the perfect person for that role, she went on, the universe saw to it that she was born into a farming family where her father did stupid shit on ladders. She was given the role of a successful writer so that she could be in the right place at the right time.
What Gilbert elucidated in the telling of this story, is that none of us know why we are here. We may have an idea of what our purpose is, but there is no way of ever really knowing.
A message from my past life
The reason that I’m thinking about this now is that I recently received a message from my past life.
In my last ‘proper’ job I had an administrative role on a science based PhD programme. A multi-faceted role, the hours were flexible around my daughter’s schooling and it came with the best manager and team. Despite the fact that it wasn’t my dream career then, I was happy there for almost a decade. What I valued most about the role though, was the support I provided to the hundreds of students under our care.
They were young people mostly, at the beginning of their careers. Some had travelled from foreign countries, often knowing nobody on their arrival. It was a responsibility that I took great care in getting right, one that I felt privileged to hold. I saw myself as a safe place for them to land, an advocate, a bridge between them and the academics who would shape their futures.
A lasting impact
It took me a while to let go of all of that after leaving. Like a proud parent, I’d take a peek at how the programme and the students were progressing for a good year or more into my new life. But it had been a while since I’d given it any thought, now fully immersed in this next chapter.
Then, one of the students tracked me down out of the blue. She’d just been awarded her PhD and had acknowledged me in her dissertation— she wanted me to know. I emailed to offer my thanks, moved that she’d remembered me after so long. She’d joined the programme in 2018. Moved on after only one year instead of the usual four to follow an alternative PhD pathway. It had been seven-years since I’d last spoken to her, almost four-years since I left that role. She said,
“My peers and I have such fond memories of you. You were an incredible support as we began our journeys in the programme and your kindness has always made a difference, especially during challenging times like the COVID pandemic. I couldn’t imagine not including you in my acknowledgements!“
Isn’t that enough?
The realisation that, in doing my job, I’d left a lasting impact, reminded me of Elizabeth Gilbert’s ladder story. I remembered too the similar messages I’d received at the time of leaving:
“I’m not sure if you remember me but I’ll certainly remember you. I’ve had some pretty trying difficulties throughout my PhD and every single time I got in touch with you looking for help you guided me through all of these issues with care and compassion. I can honestly say I wouldn’t still be here doing research if not for the help you’ve afforded me … you have had a profoundly positive impact on my life and I’m incredibly grateful for that.“
I don’t share this to toot my own horn. What I mean to show here is that, I had no idea! And if this was my impact then, what if I didn’t leave my writing too late? What if my sole purpose was to support either one of these young people? What if one of them goes on to discover some life saving drug or … I don’t know, win a Nobel prize. Maybe it’s nothing more than I was nice to someone who was going through a shitty time. And isn’t that enough?
I think so.
What if it’s all as it should be?
More selfishly, what if I worked in that role so that I could be present for my daughter. So that I could be there for every drop off and pick up, every assembly and school trip. Cook her dinner in the evenings and stay home with her when she was sick. What if it afforded me the time to care for my aging Grandmother or my nephews and nieces during the holidays?
What if I was always meant to write, but not until now? Now, when I am older and wiser and more self-assured? What if I wasn’t ready before ? What if I lacked the ability to discern what is mine to share and how much of what is mine that I actually want to? What if I haven’t left it too late? What if I’ve been doing it right all along?
And if that is the case, if the universe has gotten this right, does that mean it’s right about everything else? If so, what if I don’t need to second-guess the next right thing? What if I surrender to what is, having faith that all that is meant for me will not pass me by.
What if I’ve already fulfilled my purpose and the rest is gravy?
What if …?
