THE GARDEN BEYOND THE WINDOW

Not long ago I watched a film called A Lobster Tale. Most people who watch it will probably remember the miracle moss. After all, the moss promises wealth, opportunity, and the possibility of changing one's fortune overnight. But when the movie ended, I found myself thinking about something entirely different.

The miracle was not the moss. The miracle was that someone discovered he did not have to become what other people expected him to become.

We live in a civilization obsessed with credentials. From childhood, we are placed upon a conveyor belt. Study. Get good grades. Obtain a diploma. Obtain another diploma. Accumulate certificates, seek promotions, climb higher. And when you enter the workforce, whatever field you choose, the motto remains the same: earn more, acquire a larger title, and then climb some more.

At no point does anyone stop the conveyor belt long enough to ask a simple question: "What do you love?"

Not what pays the most; not what impresses the neighbors; not what sounds important at a dinner party. What do you really love to do?

And then there is competition, competition for the other sex, to be attractive, to say: Look at all the luxuries I can offer you, at the life I can give you.

There was a time when a carpenter could spend his life working wood and be content or a gardener could spend decades tending flowers and fruit trees. A fisherman could rise before dawn and know every mood of the sea and a shepherd could know every animal in his flock. Such people might never become wealthy, but neither did they, necessarily, consider themselves failures.

Today we often measure human value with strange instruments. How much money does he make? What title appears on her business card? How many degrees hang on the wall? Or even worse, what kind of car does he or she drive? How much does their house cost? Is it in the level of millions?

The result is that many people spend their lives climbing ladders only to discover, years later, that the ladder was leaning against the wrong wall.

Meanwhile, the things that once brought joy are neglected. The garden is abandoned. The workshop gathers dust. The notebook remains empty. The telescope stays in its case. The guitar hangs silently upon the wall.

So many towns are now ghost towns because its inhabitants decided to move to the great cities, farms also lie baren, nobody to care for them. Civilization becomes richer while souls become poorer.

I sometimes wonder what would happen if we reversed the question. What if instead of asking children, "What career will make you successful?" perhaps we should ask, "What activity makes you lose all sense of time?"

And we would maybe receive strange answers. From the one learning software development, maybe it would be: playing guitar. For the economist, perhaps it would be gazing at the stars and wondering what lies beyond them. And perhaps, for the one embarked on learning International Policy, it may be caring for animals.

The answer will not be the same for everyone, nor should it be. Nature does not produce forests made of a single tree. Why should humanity be different?

This is not an argument against education. Knowledge is precious. Learning is one of the great joys of life. Nor is it an argument against prosperity. There is nothing wrong with earning a good living.

The problem arises when credentials become more important than wisdom, when titles become more important than character, and when wealth becomes more important than purpose.

A society that values only money eventually forgets why money exists. A society that values only achievement eventually forgets what achievement is for.

The older I become, the more I suspect that a meaningful life is not found in becoming what others expect of us. It is found in discovering what calls to us from within and having the courage to answer.

I have known people who could not understand why someone would spend hours tending orchids, feeding birds, writing stories, or studying old books. Yet I suspect those hours have brought me more happiness than many pursuits that society considers more important.

An old song warned that when you kiss a dollar bill, it does not kiss you back. Decades later, the warning seems even more relevant. We have become wealthier, more educated, more credentialed, and more connected than ever before. Yet many people seem lonelier and less certain of their purpose. Perhaps we have spent too much time kissing dollar bills and too little time cultivating the things that nourish the soul.

Perhaps that was the true lesson hidden within that modest movie.

The miracle was not the moss. The miracle was recognizing that a human being does not have to spend an entire lifetime pursuing someone else's dream.

Written by Carl Sigman and Herb Magidson and made famous by performers such as Guy Lombardo, Doris Day, and Louis Prima.