Examining the days of our lives: Socrates' dictum helps us understand our journey
Left, a small boat rescues a USS West Virginia crew member from the water after the Japanese bombing of Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, on Dec. 7, 1941, and right, crowds of mourners gather around Dakota House, near Central Park, where John Lennon was staying when he was assassinated Dec. 8, 1980. Credit: AP, Newsday / Dan Goodrich
The days come quickly now. Even faster, it seems, as you get older.
And if you subscribe to the Socratic dictum that an unexamined life is not worth living, you consider those days as they come. Mostly, they are filled with the stimulus of family, friends, school, work, current events, and the odd happenings that comprise a day, and the examination runs the gamut. And sometimes, we also layer in meaningful moments from our past, which tinge our reflections on the present.
For many of us, the holiday season is fraught with memories at both ends of the time spectrum, as it was for me this past week, as it is every year during this particular week.
It's the week of Pearl Harbor, not something I was alive for but something that always has resonated deeply for its nation-shaping and world-changing significance. The attack itself was ghastly, the subsequent call to action stirring, the countless acts of heroism then and in the years to follow inspiring, and the result a triumph for the forces of good.
The day after Dec. 7 marks the anniversary of the assassination of John Lennon in 1980. I remember vividly the clock/radio waking me up the following morning and hearing the voice of WNEW-FM deejay Dave Herman, weirdly somber I thought groggily, until I realized that he was talking about something that had happened the night before that seemed utterly incomprehensible. The murder of the man who asked us to "imagine," a musician seemingly at the peak of his powers, was a harsh lesson in the randomness of life.
The day after Dec. 8 marks the birth date of my grandmother, to this day the sweetest, kindest, happiest person I've ever known. I'm sure she had her moments, maybe, when that sunny disposition cracked, but I never saw them. And she was married to a man, my grandfather, who on the cloudiest of days was always able to find a patch of the firmament where, he would confidently observe, it was a little brighter over there.
They were the daughter and son of 19th century immigrants, from Germany. Perhaps they carried within them some of their parents' hope and good cheer, the buoyancy that stems from being in a new land, reinventing yourself, and forging a better life.
Those three days are part of my bedrock, the baseline we all have that girds our examination of our lives. And there those days sat, quietly, as I reveled in the accomplishments and antics of grandchildren medium and small, watching one excel in school and one take her first steps and one board his first plane. And there they sat, quietly, as I contemplated the lives led by my mother and my aunt, now on either side of 90 years old, still forging on and preparing to gather with those little ones this weekend. And I found myself mostly smiling.
We are the sum of our days, and this year I got better at calculating that total. Because that three-day baseline and the current time it underscores all testify to the power of optimism.
Pearl Harbor was a tragedy, but what followed was a rousing reminder of humanity's capabilities and its inclinations toward doing the right thing.
Lennon's death was devastating, but emerging from that dark day was a full embrace of the dreamer and his vision of a better and more peaceful world.
And from my grandparents, long gone now, came the belief that life is good and only going to get better.
There are many corners of the world near and far that present challenges large and small to those beliefs. But I think I've learned my lesson. If we stick to what we know is true, keep dreaming and try our best, we're going to be OK.
Columnist Michael Dobie's opinions are his own.
Michael Dobie is a member of the Newsday editorial board.
