Don’t ask what we want from life. Instead, ask what life wants from us

“And He called to Moshe, and Hashem spoke to him from the Ohel Moed, saying...” (Vayikra 1:1)

These words seem redundant. If Hashem spoke to Moshe, why add that He called him too? Rashi explains that before speaking, Hashem called to Moshe by name, signifying that Hashem called Moshe to this task with love.

In Western culture we discuss a “calling” — a vocation or way of life that one does, not simply because he wants to, but because he feels he’s being called specifically to this mission in life.  (Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks, Covenant & Conversation)

My Pesach cleaning often segues into an amble down memory lane. As I was sorting through my closet, I found an old, faded program of my ninth-grade play. The ninth-grade play was a milestone in high school, and the younger children watched in awe and dreamed of the day it would be their turn. So it was, finally, when I auditioned for the main part in our ninth-grade play. I knew I could act; knew I could carry the part to success. But our director thought otherwise. I ended up with three tiny parts of extras in the grand play.

The American Declaration of Independence speaks of the inalienable right of the pursuit of happiness. What is happiness? Is it the same as meaning?

Happiness is largely a matter of satisfying needs and wants. Meaning, by contrast, is about a sense of purpose in life.  Happiness is largely about how you feel in the present. Meaning is about how you judge your life: past, present, and future.

Happiness is associated with taking; meaning with giving. Furthermore, happiness isn’t unique to humans. Animals also experience contentment when their needs are met. But meaning’s a distinctively human phenomenon. It’s not about what happens to us, but about how we interpret what happens to us.

Emily Smith writes in The Atlantic that the pursuit of happiness can result in a shallow, self-absorbed, even selfish life. What makes the pursuit of meaning different is that it’s the search for something larger than self.

Viktor Frankl survived three years in Auschwitz. There, he saw that those who lost their will, their meaning in life, didn’t survive.  In 1946, he wrote a book entitled, Man’s Search for Meaning. Frankl wrote that the way to find meaning wasn’t to ask what we want from life. Instead, we should ask what life wants from us.

We’re each unique in our gifts, our abilities, our skills and talents. For each of us then, there are things only we can do, in this time, this place, and these circumstances. There’s a task, a tikkun in this world that’s just as unique for each one of us, that only we can perform. 

To say I was miserable was an understatement. To say I felt betrayed, misunderstood, devastated… you’re getting closer. But as the weeks of practice went by, I realized I could stew in my lost dreams, or I could make something of the parts I was given. And so, I did. I became a two-second walk-on comedy figure for each of the three small parts I had. I still remember that feeling of success.

From the perspective of eternity, we may sometimes be overwhelmed by our own insignificance. We’re no more than a speck of dust on the surface of infinity. Yet we’re here because there’s a task Hashem wants only us to perform. The search for meaning in this quest for this task, hearing Vayikra, Hashem’s call, is one of the great spiritual challenges for each of us.

This message has stayed with me many times throughout life. We don’t choose the parts we play in the performance of our lives. We work with the parts we’re given from Above.

Years ago, I thought I’d make a career in education, perhaps school psychology, perhaps opening my own seminary. The last thing I expected was that I’d be writing a weekly column while being a SAHM. Seriously? That’s not what I thought was “me.” Not my dreams and not my predictions. But today, it’s my part.

To (mis)quote Shakespeare’s Macbeth in his description of the stage of life: It’s my tale that can be told only by me (not by an idiot), full of sound (not fury), signifying... eternity.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 938)