Diamonds, the Buddha, and the Beach

Our silver Toyota crosses over the Escambia Bay on Interstate 10, in northwest Florida. It is a bright June afternoon in 2005. Soon we will arrive in Pensacola, where we will check into our beachfront hotel, change our clothes, and then drive to the chapel where my father's funeral will be held.

A former college president, my dad spent the later years of his career as an educational advisor to the U.S. Navy's flight school program and taught as an adjunct at a local university. After I graduated from college, I had little contact with my dad. He was a quirky, introverted type, and in the years following his retirement, he lived almost reclusively with his wife in the pine woods of the Florida panhandle. He seemed to have little interest in me. I was seldom invited to his house for the holidays, and some years I did not even receive a birthday card from him.

At the chapel, a small crowd of friends and relatives has gathers the service. The minister asks to meet with the family in the study behind the chapel. In the study, my dad's wife drops a small velvet pouch into my hand and tells me that he wanted me to have it. I open the pouch, and my dad's chunky diamond ring that he wore for many years twinkles up at me. I am very surprised. I am at a loss for words, and the only response I can think of is a simple "thank you."

Later back at the hotel, Jack suggests going out on the beach after dinner. We pick up a bottle of chardonnay and stroll down to the beach. We sip our wine and enjoy the sunset. The Gulf of Mexico's waves roll gently against the shore, like meditative breathing, with long slow rhythmic inhalations and exhalations. The chardonnay we are sharing is the most delicious wine I have ever tasted. Jack and I sit close together in the sand, our arms around each other, snuggling. I feel warm, safe, and loved. We stay on the beach until after dark and we can no longer see the ocean. We listen to the sounds of the surf. I am so happy to have Jack here with me. Our relationship is worth more to me than a sea of diamonds.

Psychiatrist Karl Menninger wrote that our lives are shaped by those who love us as well as those who refuse to love us. I believe that my dad, like most folks, did the best he could. As I look back, I realize that there are some things I could have done differently as his child, but I, too, was doing the best I knew how at the time.

The Buddha said that the past is already gone, and the future is not yet here. There is only one moment for us to live, and that is the present moment. Vietnamese Zen master Thich Nhat Hahn teaches us to say "I have arrived, I am home" in our meditation. I love this mantra. This helps me to live in the present moment, right here and now. My home is in my heart. I no longer feel all the anger and resentment that I did in my youth about the home from which I came. I just finished reading Elizabeth Gilbert's book "Eat, Pray, Love". She says our life's work is to take the circumstances in which we find ourselves and create something beautiful and meaningful out of them. I think that's fabulous advice. I will turn 50 this year. I think her advice is a pretty good goal for the second half of my life.