This is the New Year

Yesterday, I sat at my desk and looked out over a bright, sunny afternoon. The air was crisp, but earlier that day the sun urged me to drive with the windows down—though to be honest, I also fired up my seat warmer. You know, just to be sure.

But a few days ago was a different story. It was a very mild December day, odd for Christmastime in St. Louis, the kind of day about which Al Gore might laugh all the way to the bank. Art Hill sled-hounds mustn’t have been happy to see temperatures soaring well above the critical mass for the white Christmases so many people dream about. Too bad, too, because strong storms lingered over the area all day. We would have been knee-deep in the white stuff.

But for as good as I felt driving down the road that day, sailing along in my car with my coat bundled and eyes wide open, the other day I couldn’t help but feel scared. The mild temperatures were nice, but no part of me wanted anything to do with the outside. I sat in my room and, for the first time this Christmas break, wished school would just go ahead and start, putting me out of this sudden misery where even the most innocent of question about my future sent me into a tailspin of self-doubt and anxiety.

In some ways, I feel my life these past few years has been similar to these St. Louis weather patterns. I’ve been doing some hardcore head-scratching. I’ve been given much and have worked hard for where I have gotten, but what the hell am I doing now? Some days now I find myself staring down something I feel to be a vocation – where my deepest sense of happiness and desire really does seem to grab hands with something helpful and positive for the world – but other days I find myself curled up and throwing around the what if questions. I should be doing something more. At these times I usually just grow frustrated and with a whimper concede that this is just what it’s like to be twenty-five. At these times I also take a look around me and see the very real pain of so many.

In a book I’m reading right now, Chris Lowney uses the point of view of a CEO or Fortune 500 president to describe how the Jesuits have seen exceptional leadership create a “company” atmosphere that has led to its enduring success over the past 450 years. Each chapter is dedicated to different qualities of successful leaders, which in the case of the Jesuits Lowney says boils down to four traits: self-aware, creative, loving, and ambitious. His contention is that this four-pronged head of effective leadership not only molds men in a particular Catholic religious order, but it also can create more effective leaders in all parts of life and work.

As most of you know, I’m now in my second year of teaching high school in St. Louis. Life has been unfolding itself to me, sometimes too slowly for my taste, but all too often incredibly generously—as if to say, the bright days are never far off. I am abundantly blessed with health, my family, and an array of friends over the world that I don’t always keep up with in a way that matches my love for them. These things I know. But, am I doing my life as I should? This is my only shot at it, right?

Just as the Jesuits hold the Spiritual Exercises—an exercise in self-awareness that culminates in specific actions that is akin to the Socratic condemnation of the unexamined life—as one of the foundations for all they do, whether as novitiates or priests celebrating their 30, 40, or 50-year anniversaries after ordination, so, too, have I been becoming more self-aware these recent years.

Having a job right out of college that I absolutely hated better taught me how and in what capacity I want to spend my working years.

Seeing former friends and relationships drift away spoke to me about the need to sometimes just accept the fact that there’s no one I can control but myself—and even that can be a dubious feat at times. But you know what, I say with a quiet laugh, next time I know what I might be able to do a little better.

Being connected with the retreat experiences that can help shape the lives of at least 750 young men at my high school has forced me to reconsider my own experience as a spiritual seeker. So, too, did suddenly blanking on the words of the Our Father in my daily PA-prayer to the school community.

Being embraced into a resident community of students, staff, religious, and other warm and friendly faces at Washington University’s Newman Center this year has taught me about the overwhelming effects of true hospitality.

Getting my hands dirty with some of the less glamorous behind-the-scenes aspects of coaching has taught me more about humility and my gifts as a patient organizer.

The point being, I think, is that these are the years which are forming me exponentially. I couldn’t quite do it yet, but I’ve considered what it’d be like to draft my own mission statement. What do I stand for? What are the pillars that I fall back on to make all my choices? What are the non-negotiables? I am my own president, and this is the impact that I hope to make on the world. This is my legacy.

So this coming year, I’m just hoping to continue finding happiness in my work, family, and friends. I’m hoping to seek out the idea of magis, the more, in all that I do—and hopefully maintain my beauty sleep on top of that. I’m hoping to cut down the mindless preoccupations that lead me to glide along so superficially and blissfully unaware of the rumblings of my heart. I’m hoping to find new, fresh ways to adapt and seize the opportunities I’m given. I’m hoping to learn how to better deal with and love those around me. I’m hoping to become even more ambitious to motivate myself and others.

It is my prayer that in 2009 you may better realize the things in your life, work, and family that you most care about. It is my prayer that you, too, may see the number of ways that you touch and inspire others. I know this email is going to areas far and wide, so whether I last talked with you earlier today or if we made it all the way through 2008 without talking, know that you are loved and have been in my thoughts. I wish you the deepest sense of peace and joy.

I’m sure the weather will go south again sometime soon, but why do I worry? It’s not like my fair Irish skin would carry any sort of tan anyway. I’m ready.

Yours,

Brian