The coming of midlife, when life’s pathways begin to diverge seriously from the map we’ve so carefully crafted for ourselves, brings with it the equivalent of an ‘engraved invitation’ to indulge ourselves in a virtual orgy of self-doubt. At these times of reflection, we’re tempted to look at all the personal resources that we’ve expended over the years to live up to expectations — from others (parents, teachers, spiritual and civic leaders, ‘gurus’ of various flavors, elders, mentors, friends, etc.) as well as from our own egos — and to question most seriously what it was all for. Over the years, haven’t I repeatedly just wasted my money, my blood, sweat, and tears, and, most precious of all to me, my time? Poet Robert Frost wrote about the ‘road not taken,’ but, at midlife we start to think back more frequently concerning the ‘road once taken, but abandoned.’ Was it worth it? Not so much. Is there an answer?

You betcha! By this time, as a Midlife Master, you must have realized that your perspective on life and love is not just your point of view: how you look at life, the universe, and everything actually creates the reality in which you live and move and have your being. When it all fails to make sense, it’s not the reality that needs adjusting; it’s your perspective on it.

I was in a meeting yesterday where a brilliantly insightful member shared how everything in her life served to prepare her for what came next, and, in addition, the skills and understanding she gained through careful adherence to the detailed policies and procedures she was ‘force’ to follow won her the freedom to innovate later on when she was no longer constrained (or no longer chose to be constrained) by external authorities or personal or institutional demands. I thought that her reflections on the topic were so incisive that I told her after the meeting that I was going to write about it. This aspect of midlife affects everyone who passes through it, in one way or another.

Take our experience with religion, for example. For years, in the ministry and long after, I’ve heard people complain about how mistreated they were by the religious institution they were brought up in, or how religious institutions deal unlovingly with their own members or with outsiders. I’ve listened to more than my share of tirades against the ‘institutional church.’ In each case, the indignant speaker cites personal or public anecdotes to demonstrate why s/he feels victimized by the institution and, in many cases, why those events should serve as evidence not only for the hypocrisy of religion in general, but also for the non-existence of God. This argument has spawned a plethora of folks who take great pride in proclaiming to whomever may be listening that they are ‘spiritual but not religious’ people. In their estimation,’religion’ represents a blight of ignorance on humanity rather than what its definition intends it to be: the summons to mindfulness.

Yet, ironically, it’s that very mindfulness that I find lacking in their arguments. There are many purposes for religious institutions, among which are the preservation and safeguarding of human spiritual experience (through Tradition with a capital ‘T’ as enshrined in Scriptures with a capital ‘S’) and the tutelage of each successive generation of novice believers (through institutional discipline as enshrined in its rules and regulations). Without those services to humanity, our common spiritual experience through which Higher Power communicates with humankind would be lost forever, and each generation would have to begin from square one learning the language of the divine.

At the same time, those who complain about how they were mistreated by religious institutions may not realize that, as people who insist on considering themselves victims, they have failed to grasp the very lessons that those religious institutions are in place to teach: namely, that no one can take advantage of you without your permission. Life is full of injustice; from earliest childhood to the indignities of old age, everyone at some time suffers pain of some sort at the hands of others. That is not the lesson that life teaches. That is simply a fact of life, like birth and death.

The lesson that life teaches concerns how we deal with the pain we encounter. Wallowing in blame and resentment only cements our status as victims. Yet, we are not victims unless we choose to be so! All tutelage — especially that offered by religious institutions — provides us with the platform from which we can learn how to transcend other-focused blame and resentment and gain independence and mature self-possession. Without spiritual tutelage (lessons in meditation and discipline), spiritual maturity would be impossible.

Nothing that you have experienced in life has gone to waste. Every element, every experience, every moment you’ve spent in travail has provided you with an opportunity — an invitation — to growth. Every moment you’ve lived and every person you’ve loved and every thought you’ve thought and every breath you’ve breathed has become a part of the person you are today. Some of those experiences have provided you with the raw materials you needed to grow both strong and wise. Other experiences (particularly those you’re allowing to haunt you as resentments) await the moment when you’ll assimilate them, too, into your growth process. Each one of them came to you as a gift that you need right now to become the person that you were destined to be. Whether or not you actually become that person is your choice: at any given moment, you have the choice either to resent the teacher or to be grateful for the lesson. So then, what’ll it be?

H. Les Brown, MA, CFCC
Copyright © 2010 H. Les Brown