In the quiet contemplation of my seventies, a familiar, unsettling question recently resurfaced: Had I made a mistake? It’s a query I never anticipated wrestling with at this stage of life. Like many peers, thoughts often drift to retirement, savings, and the elusive promise of financial security. I observe friends who meticulously built stable careers, their futures seemingly unfolding precisely as planned. My own journey, however, feels less linear, harder to neatly categorize. Much of my life has been a pursuit of intriguing opportunities, often at the expense of conventional security. This retrospective lens sometimes tempts me to wonder if a more ‘practical’ path would have served me better.
One morning, caught in a familiar cycle of comparison, the thought echoed loudly: Maybe I missed the boat. The idiom, however, brought me to an abrupt halt. Because, ironically, one of the most transformative decisions of my life began precisely there – standing on a dock, gazing at a ship.
The Call of the Sea: A Childhood Dream Revisited
Years ago, an unexpected opportunity arose: teaching U.S. history, English, reading, mathematics, and study skills to Navy and Marine personnel deployed overseas. This assignment would place me aboard the USS Cleveland during a Western Pacific deployment. I vividly recall that moment on the pier before departure. The ship loomed impossibly large, a bustling hive of activity. Cargo bays gaped open, forklifts vanished into its steel maw, and sailors moved with purpose, laden with gear. It was a symphony of motion, preparation, and anticipation – less a ship, more a floating city.
Standing there, staring upward, a long-dormant feeling stirred within me: wonder. As a boy, the sea had captivated my imagination. Ships, maps, distant lands – the very notion that life might extend far beyond my known world fueled my dreams. While others envisioned what they would become, I often dreamt of where I would go. On that dock, I felt as if I had stumbled into a living embodiment of those childhood fantasies. I had no clear destination in mind, only an undeniable urge to step aboard. And so, I did.
An Unconventional Classroom: Lessons Beyond the Curriculum
Life aboard the USS Cleveland quickly established its own unique rhythm. Days were a blend of classes, duties, shared meals, conversations, and the vast, unending expanse of the ocean. Beyond the ship’s hull lay endless horizons; within, a tight-knit community living and working in close quarters, steadily navigating destinations across the Pacific. I taught my subjects, and the sailors and Marines diligently attended. Yet, with the benefit of hindsight, I realize I was receiving an education far more profound than any I imparted.
The Education of a Lifetime
- I learned that true teaching transcends mere information delivery; it’s about deep attention and connection.
I discovered that failure, far from being a setback, could be as potent a teacher as success.
- I witnessed extraordinary perseverance in individuals shouldering immense responsibilities.
- Most importantly, my world expanded. The ship didn’t just cross oceans; it broadened my understanding of what a life could encompass.
Unconsciously, I began to forge a path guided by curiosity rather than certainty. At the time, this felt entirely natural. It was only years later that the insidious whisper of doubt began to creep in.
The Peril of Comparison: Measuring Life by Another’s Yardstick
As I aged, the temptation to compare my life with those of others grew stronger. Comparison is a seductive force, often masquerading as wisdom. It convinces us we are being realistic, responsible, practical. But it rarely prompts us to question the validity of our measuring stick. The more I contrasted my journey with those who had chosen different, seemingly more secure paths, the more dissatisfied I became. I fixated on perceived lacks, judging my life by values that were never truly my own.
Then, during a moment of reflection, the image of the USS Cleveland returned. I posed a simple, yet powerful question: If I could return to that dock, armed with all the knowledge I possess today, would I make a different choice? Would I caution my younger self against boarding? Would I advise a safer, more predictable future? A life of greater security?
The answer was immediate and unequivocal: No. I would still step aboard. Not for financial gain, not for guaranteed success, nor because it led precisely where I expected. I would step aboard because it made me feel profoundly alive. This realization was a revelation, illuminating something I had overlooked for decades.
Redefining Success: A Life Measured by Wonder
The problem was never that I had chosen the ‘wrong’ life. The problem was that I had begun to judge my life by values that were never authentically mine. The young man on that dock wasn’t optimizing his future or calculating long-term returns. He wasn’t seeking maximum efficiency or a perfect retirement plan. He was simply responding to wonder.
Somewhere along the way, I had forgotten that. Like many, I had absorbed the pervasive belief that a life’s worth is primarily determined by what it produces, accumulates, or achieves. These metrics undoubtedly matter; stability and security are vital. But there exists another, quieter measure of a life. It asks whether we paid attention to the stirrings of our soul, whether we embraced the unexpected, and whether we allowed ourselves to be guided by the profound, often illogical, pull of curiosity and wonder. It asks if we truly lived.
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