The Most Important Day
I was thinking recently about the most important day of one’s life. Do we even recognise it as such at the time? I’ve always quite liked Mark Twain’s definition of the most important days: “The two most important days in your life are the day you are born and the day you find out why.” — Mark Twain. Clearly, I’ve been born, so now to the second most important day of my life. Has it been? Is it yet to come?
I’ve encountered people who hope to pass the responsibility of purpose to their children. In doing so, their reason for being born becomes to have a child of their own, who will somehow change the world. Which may become a burden for the child.
Finding one’s purpose doesn’t have to come early in life. Take Charles Darwin, whose ‘On the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection’ was published when Darwin was 50. Even then, he was reluctant to put forward his ideas. The day of publication was perhaps the day Darwin found out why he had been born. Or would have done, had he thought about it in such a way. This is, arguably one of the most important books ever written. With hindsight, we can see the greatness of Darwin’s work. There are myriad people whose contributions to their fields have been appreciated more after their death than during their life. Vincent Van Gogh, Johann Sebastian Bach, and Edgar Allan Poe, to name a small but high-profile selection. Perhaps it follows that others are more likely to recognise our reason for being born.
It might be that we would have many different most important days if we sought the views of a range of people. A gentle word or kind gesture might be the most important thing you ever do for someone else, which then becomes, to them, the reason that you are around. Even if they don’t realise at the time, the kindness will remain with them.
I remember several wonderful teachers I experienced at school. Some, in particular, hold a special place in my memory. When I was 7, I was told to leave hymn practice, and go to sit on the mat outside the headmistress’s study. Tired of singing the same songs, I’d been messing around at the back of the assembly. This was most unlike me; I was usually a model student. My form tutor happened to walk past while I sat, alone and upset, on the circular carpet outside the door labelled ‘Head Teacher’. Taking a seat next to me, she asked what had happened.
When I had finished hiccupping my way through the story, she took my hand and led me to our classroom. (This happened a few years ago, when teachers could take a pupil’s hand in an innocent gesture of comfort.) We arrived in the empty classroom, where the teacher (Mrs Roberts), found some natural history books – she knew this was one of my main interests. While I studied the books, making notes and drawing pictures, she tidied the classroom, and we talked. We spoke of the birds we had heard on our recent class nature walk, and the butterflies we had spotted. Mrs Roberts also reminded me that it was not a day I should feel sad. My mum was in hospital, and all being well, I would have a baby brother or sister by the end of the day.
I doubt whether Mrs Roberts would remember this day. But it’s one I won’t forget. She showed kindness to a child, reminding them in their sadness of the things in this world which are important. Our passions, and our family. It’s something I try to pass on to others. She wasn’t the only person to instil this lesson in me, but it’s an example which I will always remember.
Thinking back over life so far, I wonder whether rather than searching for meaning, and a reason to have been born, I should focus on what’s important in life generally. None of us really know how long we have to live, though we tend to make assumptions. We couldn’t plan anything if we made no judgement on how long we will be around for.
I’ll take the day I was born as my most important. And every day since then, good or bad, as being equally important. While I am alive, I have a chance to be kind, to be inspired, and to be human. In doing so, I give value to my life, and to the lives of others. Because, after all, that is what is most important.
I love the idea of finding the second day. I’m not sure when mine was, although around the age of 7 I wrote a poem for fun and my teacher thought it was great and encouraged me to write more. Dad brought home a typewriter a short while later and I recall being spellbound, tapping out passages on it. I think that might have been the first time I realised that I could write creatively and my words were my own, not bound by some set piece of homework or copying the style of another. I’m not sure that was my second day, but as I move onto a different career path I’m beginning to wonder if it might have been. Great post!
Thank you. Yes, good teachers can help a lot when it comes to encouraging us. When I joined the civil service, my first line manager told me he liked my writing style very much, but the civil service way of writing would soon drum that out of me. It did. It’s so nice to have moved on now, and be able to write as I like using only my own ‘lines to take’, rather than parroting the policy of the day. Thank you for reading and commenting.