As a young man, I scoffed at the notion of individual wisdom – a personal system of thought that helps one make the right decisions at the right time. It seemed such a nebulous concept. About halfway through my projected life span, however, that all changed. After a chance meeting with an acquaintance from college, I finally understood the way to wisdom.
My disdain for declarations of and beliefs in wisdom started in my sophomore year in college when I picked up a copy of The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran. Many friends and classmates were raving over its content – the wise sayings and lessons in the dialogue and philosophical proclamations. I found it all meaningless, such as “For what is evil but good tortured by its own hunger and thirst.” What gibberish! As I read more literary and historical classics, my exposure to all things wise and weighty became ever more confusing. Wisdom lost relevance in the platitudes of purported truths by anyone and everyone with vocal cords, pen, or QWERTY keys. Most seemed bent on imparting or imposing wisdom upon humanity and making their mark on history.
For example, Karl Marx’s pragmatic social wisdom became a revolutionary calling, as did the insights of American colonials that found their way into a bold declaration, and even a constitution. Wisdom could also be reflective, such as the notable but empty existential views expressed by Jean-Paul Sartre. The wisdom of the day gained followers depending largely on the prevailing social and economic conditions. Often, those in charge promoted their brand of wisdom through armed conflict or religious proselytizing. Usually, the people had no choice but to accept the worldly wisdom forced upon them. Personal wisdom, then, developed as an extension or adaptation of the social, economic, political, and/or religious belief systems in one’s environment.
Many I knew refuted history’s effects and believed that personal wisdom is born only of experience. From the streetwise teenager to the swindled investor, wisdom can emerge only after life carves its lessons upon one’s soul – or so was the claim. Again, more nonsense. How many times have humans failed to learn the lessons of life, no matter how painful or profound? In an attempt to bring clarity to the various views and assertions regarding personal wisdom, I developed a wisdom test. I would compare my life in relative affluence to that of an individual in an impoverished state, where satisfying one’s hunger was often the prime motivation of daily activity. Any wisdom that could survive such hostile conditions had universal merit. The test always failed. As a result, I became a mechanist, looking to science to improve my understanding of humanity. Science also failed me. Scientific theory was on a path toward quantum mysticism, shrouding certainty behind probabilistic principles. If this weren’t enough, the mathematics of the new physics exposed multiple universes and dimensions, creating alternate realities. All this did was lend credence to every con artist conducting a séance. My zeal to find and share wisdom through science rapidly waned, and I gave up any hope that universal human wisdom or truths existed. After stumbling through undergraduate and graduate level degrees, I entered the workforce and became an experienced project manager leading major industrial initiatives. Often, apprentices were at my side. Tainted by my search for wisdom, I was reluctant to convey my knowledge directly to them. Instead, I relied solely on Socratic questioning to help my trainees reason their way through the decisionmaking process. My approach, however, was about to change as I discovered a common element to wisdom applicable to all situations. It happened seventeen years after earning my bachelor’s degree, when Lori Kaiser re-entered my life. I saw her at Boston’s Logan International Airport when I was en route to DC on business. Whenever I approached a woman with long, straight, jet-black hair and soft-white skin, I would check to see if it was Lori. Incredibly,this time it was. She was sitting in the waiting area prior to boarding. I worked up the courage to speak, and as I drew closer, the aura of her beauty reclaimed me. Without my beard, she didn’t recognize me at first but instantly warmed up. She was coming from her fifteenth college reunion and returning home to northern Virginia.
After figuring out how to sit together on the Delta shuttle, we exchanged broad overviews of our lives since college, which included greatly abridged descriptions of our personal relationships – revealing that neither of us was currently married. But we both knew where our talk would lead. Predictably, Lori was first to reminisce on a shared experience from our undergraduate days. Though we were two years apart, we were in the same English literature course. Lori and I rarely spoke until one evening near the end of the semester when I found her sitting alone in the student center. She had a book in her lap but seemed distracted. I thought this might be a good time to approach her to find out who this young woman was. I was happily surprised to find she wanted company. We launched into deep discussions of the readings in the course, our eccentric professor’s take on them, and their special meanings in our lives. It was fantastic. Lori’s intelligence and feelings gripped me, and I sensed reciprocal reactions to my words. The student center was about to close on this brisk second Friday in December so I suggested we take a walk and continue the dialogue. We did, straying off campus unconsciously into a seedy urban neighborhood. Around 2:00 AM, we approached a railroad track, and suddenly the crossing signals sounded and flashed, followed by the lowering of barricade arms. A very long freight train was approaching. We stood silently mesmerized by the audiovisual display before us. There were no automobiles waiting to pass, just the clinking freight cars and us – until “he” appeared.
On the opposite side of the track, a tall, dark shape had emerged rising larger and larger and filling the gap between the slow-moving freight cars. A bright street lamp cast a long, sinister shadow in our direction. Our eyes could see human form but not substance, heightening our sense of danger. I could tell Lori was concerned. Based on many battle scars growing up in similar neighborhoods, I too felt anxious. All I knew was that nothing good happens in this part of town at this time of night. Were circumstances and perceptions creating fear in both of us? Whatever, I felt obliged to pose an alternative. With the train chugging along in an endless procession, I offered Lori an option and broke the deadly silence.
“We could backtrack our way to campus instead of waiting.” A long hesitation followed, her eyes glued to the eerie image flashing before us, and then calmly she replied, “No.” Several more minutes passed before the caboose finally appeared and slowly drifted by, but the bright street lamp kept the mystery man as a ghastly apparition. I instinctively grabbed Lori’s hand. We moved towards him, and he towards us. We passed mid-track but in such situations, sound is one’s ally – one never looks back so as not to provoke unnecessary encounters. Then, in anti-climactic fashion, his footsteps faded into the night. I released Lori’s hand, and two blocks later, our conversation resumed, but it just wasn’t the same. We both seemed preoccupied by our phantom. Around 3:00 AM, I dropped Lori off at her dorm.
The next morning I awoke to find a folded sheet of paper slid under my door. My eyes watered as I read Lori’s heartfelt poem to me and for me. She captured our talk and experience, now only several hours old. Train cars became “passing boxes.” She also reflected on “a long fear” caused by a nameless, faceless shape – a fear she could not dismiss. But something was wrong. Her words both delighted and defused. I feared their implication, sensing a rather bizarre ending to our short-lived relationship. I must have read the poem twenty times to finally figure out that there was no future for us. There were “walls” and “barriers to true
friendship.”
Mulling it over, I decided not to press Lori on the meaning of her poem. I thought I had the gist. I remained focused on the positive. No one had ever written a poem to me before, and I was flattered. At the end of the next, and coincidentally, final English Lit class of the semester, I went up to Lori and told her how beautiful I thought her poem was. She thanked me, telling me how special it was to her as well, but two of her friends interrupted, pressing her to get to their next class. She turned back in my direction and smiled. I didn’t see her the remainder of the semester as finals and term papers filled our agendas. Winter break followed. Thereafter, our infrequent and momentary meetings on campus were the “Hi, how are you?” variety.
During the flight, Lori told me how intense our mutual experience had been for her. She had gained an inner wisdom. Her “no” on that early winter night was the first time she had conquered fear. Through high school and the first year of college, she had erected emotional walls, hiding her fears and keeping out others. The poem was a means of self-reckoning, a process to start bringing down the walls and facing her other fears. Her walls were now long gone, as ancient ruins weathered to the ground. As I gazed into her eyes, I saw someone free and at peace with herself. She was neither heroic nor reserved, but I could tell she confronted her fears with a common sense that shaped her responses to the physical and mental challenges life placed in her path. Those responses ultimately enriched her life.
Then, it struck me. Wisdom shares an inescapable relationship with fear. One cannot be wise if fear controls one’s actions. Fear impedes change and blinds understanding, as a fog concealing the paths to improvement and truth. Intuitively, I knew that Lori’s way of wisdom would pass my wisdom test. Hope for a better future, even for the destitute, relies on eliminating or minimizing those fears that build barriers to the smallest of successes. Though fears will always exist, the individual must master and manage them. Why it took so long for me to realize these truths, I can only attribute to my own arrogance – and fears. By my extended silence, Lori could sense that I was reviewing my life and those personal fears I had failed to address, those still holding me back. I knew what I had to do – to take down the remaining walls of fear around me. Freedom from fear gave Lori the wisdom to deal with life’s curveballs and tragedies and to make the best of most situations. I wanted the same.
I felt euphoric for the remainder of the flight as our conversation lightened. We shifted from the past to share our expectations for the future. On the ground, we silently strolled to baggage claim, collected our belongings, and were about to head off into our separate worlds, when she turned and handed me her card. “Call me if you like.” she said smiling. “Thanks,” I replied, “perhaps I will.” I returned her smile and watched her slip into the darkness of a long-term parking shuttle.
I stood on the terminal sidewalk as if frozen in time, reflecting on the past. Seventeen years ago, fear had prevented me from asking Lori what her poem really meant and perhaps from entering into a lifelong relationship. Today, Lori had helped crumble one wall of fear. I knew others were soon to follow, and I would become wiser. Already Wisdom was whispering to me, “Move on.” I knew I would never call.
