“Why Am I Here?”

Yom Kippur, the Jewish day of atonement, is behind me. It was an intense day for many reasons – it usually is. Especially compared to an ordinary day. After all, if one observes, you fast and spend many hours in quiet reflection. A combination of things came together to make it especially emotional for me this year.

Though I have not written about it directly, I may have alluded to it in other blog posts, I have been facing a bit of a health challenge. Back in June, as part of a CAT scan to determine my calcium score, there was an incidental finding of a cyst in my abdomen. At first my doctor didn’t recommend follow-up, but on closer inspection of the scan, it was determined that it needed further investigation. Over the course of the summer, step by step, we tried to figure out what this thing was. There was a three-to-four-day period in early August where it was thought to be a pancreatic cyst that might not be innocent. During that stretch of uncertainty, I wondered if this was the beginning of the end. My aunt passed away from pancreatic cancer two years ago. I wondered if I was embarking on that journey.

Fortunately, another test result revealed that possibility to be extremely unlikely – they were able to take a fluid sample and the outcome was very encouraging. However, the question of where this cyst originated (it is large – about the size of a baseball, but not the shape of one) is still not clear and it makes a difference in terms of the course of treatment or whether just watching it is sufficient.

As I write this today, after much consideration, Gary and I, along with my doctors, have decided that we will get this thing removed, but it is not an emergency. Gary and I had planned a river cruise ten months ago that is scheduled to depart on October 15^th. We have been assured that there is little to no risk in keeping our travel plan. It has been a confusing time and, with all of the back and forth, I am comfortable with our decision.

I am not going into all the details of this medical odyssey– no need to go into the nitty gritty of it. I am sharing it because it contributed to my state of mind going into the High Holy days this year. There had been uncertainty and a good deal of soul searching even before Yom Kippur began.

I am a Jew who is not religious; I am doubtful about the existence of God. Despite this I have taken the ritual of Yom Kippur to heart. Starting with Rosh Hashana, we are asked to reflect upon our behavior over the course of the prior year and admit to our flaws and failings. We ask for forgiveness from those we have injured or disappointed and we make promises to do better in the year ahead. For many, this process might involve asking God for forgiveness and beseeching him or her to allow us to be ‘sealed’ in the book of life for another year, but that isn’t what resonates with me. The practice of, on an annual basis, taking stock, holding yourself accountable and quite literally making amends is powerful – or it can be if taken seriously. It can also be an exercise in going through the motions. If I am honest, there were years that I have done that. Not this year.

Perhaps because of my heightened awareness of the precarious nature of health, I was more open to the message of the holiday. I listened to the sermon of the rabbi from B’nai Jeshrun, a synagogue in New York City that we live streamed, as we came to the close of Yom Kippur and I found his message very profound and more than a little unsettling.

Rabbi Rolando Matalon, who speaks eloquently with the Argentinian accent of the country of his birth, implored the congregants to ask themselves: ‘why am I here?’ ‘what is my particular mission?’ He offered a story from the bible of an unnamed person who asks Joseph, who is wandering in a field, what he is looking for and when Joseph replies that he is looking for his brothers, the man shares what he overheard the brothers say. This sets Joseph on a path to Egypt, a path he would not have otherwise taken, but we know how consequential that was. The rabbi offered a number of interpretations of this interaction, but ultimately the point he made was that every individual has an impact, whether they know it or not. In this bible story, a man only called ‘Ish’ (somebody) plays a critical role in setting events in motion. Rabbi Matalon continued by explaining that each individual is a messenger, each individual has to fulfill their particular mission – we have to do the work of figuring out what we are doing in this world. He noted that it was hard work that takes time and commitment. Whether I felt that the parable he shared was a perfect illustration of that idea or not, I believe his point is correct. That is the work of our time on earth: to discover what I can contribute to repairing the brokenness we see all around us and within ourselves.

In those days of deep uncertainty in August, when I wondered if I was facing a truly life-threatening illness, I asked myself that question. I realized I didn’t know how to answer and that was very troubling. As I listened to the rabbi, I visited the question again.

As a child and young adult, I thought about these things. I was always very introspective. I thought I would find a career that would lead me to fulfillment. I was growing up at a time when girls were encouraged to have careers, to consider alternatives to the traditional role of wife and mother. I believed that it wasn’t enough to be a homemaker. I wanted to make more of a contribution to the world. When I was in college, I remember conversations with friends, particularly with one friend whose mom was very devoted. We talked about how it was important to have a well-rounded life, to not be solely defined by being a mother. At that point, I didn’t even know if I wanted to have children, I didn’t imagine that I would ever define myself that way.

As I went to school, through college and graduate school, and through my first professional jobs, the question of what I was meant to do nagged at me. I had not figured it out. Sometimes I would really struggle – I would not go so far as to describe it as depression, but persistent sadness over my inability to find purpose. Imagine my surprise when I found that the questions stopped after I became a mother. I had no expectation that it would answer that very fundamental issue. While I still grappled with defining myself, a substantial part of me felt settled. I understood what I needed to do. In a day-to-day way my purpose was clear. I thought to myself, ‘I guess the joke is on me because mothering appears to be what I am meant to do.’

My children have been adults for a long time now. My relationship with them has evolved and continues to evolve. Since they left home about 15 years ago I worked at a job that provided some satisfaction. Then I retired to take up writing with very little success, if one defines success as mainstream publications or earning money or fame or large readership. I would not say the question of my purpose has plagued me as it did in my youth, but all is not quiet inside either. There I was all those years ago, smugly talking in my dorm room, about how I wouldn’t be like the women raised in the 1950s, and yet here I am struggling with finding meaning now that the years of active mothering are behind me. The irony is not lost on me. The role that felt the most fulfilling is essentially done – not that I don’t have a meaningful relationship with my children and grandchildren. But it doesn’t feel the same – my soul (whatever that is) is not as well nourished.

I think the rabbi’s question, and the intensity of all the emotion leading up to the moment, led to a bit of a crisis of meaning and confidence. In the week that has passed since then my innards have settled. I am finding comfort in reflecting on meaningful conversations, friendships and experiences.

All of this introspection is not only prompted by the High Holy days. It is also the season of my birthday. The lyrics of that Beatle song “When I’m 64” have come home to roost. That number kind of freaks me out even though I am still a year away from Medicare eligibility. Apropos the lyric of the song, I am confident that Gary still needs me. One of the thoughts that has given me solace over this past week is the idea that I have helped him to make a significant contribution to the quality of his patients’ lives – and that ain’t nothing.

I will leave you with one other important lesson learned from this Yom Kippur. In the spirit of the holy day, I hoped to ease the tension (make amends) in a relationship by calling and discussing the issue. It may be obvious to many that it wasn’t wise to have that kind of heartfelt conversation on a day of fasting – it wasn’t obvious to me. It is now. Perhaps I should have taken a clue from Jewish law which prohibits making phone calls on the holiday – something I have always ignored. It might have gone better in the days leading up to or days following Yom Kippur because the odds of success are greatly enhanced when all parties to the conversation are fed, hydrated and caffeinated. Sorting out fraught emotions while headachy, hungry and tired is not a winning strategy. Tensions have subsequently been eased but we may have arrived there with less agita if I had placed the call on any other day.

Live and learn – something I hope to continue to do every day that I inhabit this earthly realm. And, I believe that is also in keeping with the rabbi’s sermon.