Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 6.48

You are not dissatisfied, I suppose, because you weigh only so many litrae and not three hundred?

Be not dissatisfied then that you must live only so many years, and not more. For as you are satisfied with the amount of substance that has been assigned to you, so be content with the time.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 6 (tr Long)

I was a tiny fellow when I was a child, both shorter than all the other boys, and so skinny that you’d miss me completely if I was standing next to you sideways. I always wished that I was bigger and stronger, so that I wouldn’t be mocked and pushed around.

Adolescence suddenly gave me height, and I was then far taller than everyone else. Now I was an even more ridiculous beanpole. How I wished I had been made different, and how I wished I could change it all. But there was really nothing to be done about it. I could eat voraciously, I could go running for miles and miles, or I could do dozens of push-ups every day, but I never buffed out, as they say. That was the way that Nature had chosen to make me.

Since then, I have always felt empathy for folks who wish they were different, thick or thin, tall or short, broad or narrow. It was one part for me in understanding that the dignity of a person never has anything to do with height, or weight, or measurements. Dignity has everything to do with how we choose to live. 

How big or how small we are, or how big or how small we might wish to be, is not much different than how long or how short our lives will be, or how long or how short we might wish our lives to be. By all means, eat well, exercise, and go see your doctor, even when nothing seems to ail you. Providence, however, has assigned a time, just as Providence has assigned a measure for all things.

A very dear friend in high school, one of the few who didn’t choose to tell me I looked like a sickly AIDS patient, died in her third year of college. We usually bickered, and we often disagreed, but I always knew that she was someone I could trust absolutely. When she was gone, I was deeply affected by the fact that so many of the good folks seemed to die young, and so many of the bad folks seemed to be able to hang on forever and ever.

But there is never any good or bad in how long anyone lives, not in and of itself. My old friend died at the age of twenty, and in that time she managed to live with more character and commitment than most people can manage if they live for a century. To be content with whatever time may be given is never an act of surrender. It is an act of courage, an acceptance that comes from love, and never giving in to regret or resentment.

My friend from high school would often tell me how much it troubled her that she was quite short, and given that I was quit tall, we would have a good laugh about it all. Her passing made me think shamefully about how I had not been a decent enough friend for her, while she was still around.

There is the key, I think. Love while you can, with all of your heart, and with all of your mind, and with all of your soul. Tomorrow is never guaranteed.

Written in 7/2007

IMAGE: All hail, the mighty beanpole! ;-)