I’ve written before about imposter syndrome—the feeling of not belonging even after we reach some milestone. I’ve also written about the hedonic treadmill—how quickly good things become normal, leaving us hungry for more. This idea of “arrival” is slippery– both the feeling that we don’t belong once we arrive, or that when we do arrive we are unsatisfied and need to achieve the next step. Arrival implies that things are now completed and a certain way, but the moment we get there, the moment we arrive, everything somehow feels less solid than we imagined.
The tenuousness of this shows up in the everyday. I’ve been on a tear recently to get the house cleaned up, and get little festering projects completed. But as soon as one project is complete, I notice another one. Even when the house has just been cleaned, there’s something out of place, some spot that has been missed, some area that has been inadequately organized. Somehow, even when everything has been done, it doesn’t feel finished.
The same pattern arises in our inner lives. We think we’ve developed insight, or wisdom, or equanimity, only to encounter situations that make us realize that our previous level of evolution still leaves much undone. We discover, again and again, that there’s more work to do in the very areas we thought we had mastered.
Marcus Aurelius is remembered as one of the wisest philosophers, his Meditations a guide for centuries of readers. Yet his decisions often betrayed the very wisdom he sought to embody. He elevated his stepbrother Lucius Verus to co-emperor despite knowing his character was weak, and later appointed his son Commodus as successor, a choice that destabilized Rome for years. Marcus knew the importance of virtue and self-reflection better than anyone, and yet when it came to his own decisions, he often failed to prioritize these things. Even though he was wise, he had not really arrived at perfect wisdom.
The Buddha, after his enlightenment, experienced perfect bliss. And as he dwelt in perfect bliss, he seriously contemplated not returning to teach or share it, but to stay in Nirvana. He had to be convinced to come back, to teach what he learned in order to help relieve the suffering of others. The Buddha is known, perhaps primarily, as the embodiment of compassion. The Dalai Lama has described his religion as “kindness.” And yet according to Buddhist lore, the wellspring of compassion forgot to be compassionate. The Buddha was fully enlightened, but perhaps still had not arrived at all meanings of compassion.
There’s a similar theme in Christian teaching. After years of preaching, healing, and living in full devotion, Jesus hung on the cross and cried out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” At the height of suffering, he felt abandoned by the very presence he had trusted above all else. This moment does not erase his life’s work; instead it reveals the reality that we never really arrive at a faithful life. Faith, even for the one most closely identified with it, was not a permanent destination.
I’m sure some readers will rightly offer other interpretations, and my goal is not theological debates. What is interesting to me is the pattern: none of these figures “arrived” in a way that freed them from human struggle. Marcus Aurelius, exemplar of wisdom, made unwise choices. The Buddha, paragon of compassion, considered withholding compassion. Jesus, preacher of faith, wavered in faith. If I were cynical, I’d ask what hope do you and I have, in light of this– but I’m not cynical.
Instead, the idea of final attainment is flawed, a mirage– we think we can see it and get there, but somehow we can never fully arrive. The Buddha reached enlightenment and still faced uncertainty. Jesus performed miracles yet felt abandoned. Marcus Aurelius devoted his life to self-knowledge and still made grave mistakes. No matter how far we go, for any of us, there is no point of completion. The whole concept leads us astray.
This idea applies broadly. Just when we think we’ve got parenting figured out, something happens that makes us realize that we still have more work to do. When we think we’ve figured out what’s important in our lives, we find ourselves feeling less satisfied with our choices and changing our priorities. We think we understand what it means to be a good partner, and then situations arise that lead us to new areas of growth.
It is in our nature to want to finish projects, to complete things, to feel that problems have been solved and mastery achieved. We long to say “I’ve learned that.” We want to read the last chapter, and then put the book away. While that works with books, it does not work in most places. I wish I could arrive at a final solution for how the garage should be organized. The reality, though, is that this does not exist. The garage will never be fully organized. We’ll never fully master the lessons of what it means to be wise or faithful or compassionate or loving. The best I can hope for with the garage is a temporary equilibrium of what works for now. The best we can hope for with being compassionate or faithful or loving is to find what it means in the present moment– and to recognize that because there is no final destination, we will inherently always be learning.
Cheers,
Doc
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