Coming home
October is an earth-tone month. Deep shades of orange, gold, and red create patterns of color triggered by the first cool winds blowing from Canada. Night grows longer and a feel of freshness enlivens the soul. September is cruel with its mocking heat. November means haste as the holiday push begins. But October. October seems to slow things down and allow for the necessary deep breaths of reflection.
October means that school has been in session a while. It means that high school football is in full swing with the team playing on Friday night under the pinwheel shadows of field lights and the constant chest-thump of the school drum line. October is when schools call their alumni to return, to enjoy a homecoming.
An old principal once told me that 25th-year reunions are the best. They’re the best because students have grown into themselves and mostly know who they are. They’ve been able to shy away from labeling themselves solely by clothes, cars, or zip codes and have begun to identify through careers and families. He said that 10-year reunions are oftentimes flops. They’re flops because 28-year-olds judge themselves harshly when it comes to peer comparison. They’re afraid to be vulnerable, to demonstrate they’re still on the path of finding who they are.
Makes sense, I guess. The comment took me to David Brooks’ newest book, Second Mountain. The book’s premise is that we spend much of our lives in search of power, gaining family, solidifying influence, and making money. That’s the first mountain. And, when we get to the top we stand and wonder, “What’s next?”
That’s when we find our second mountain.
Now, those who’ve been out of high school for 25 years or more can easily understand Brooks’ theme. Some might call that feeling of “what’s next?” a midlife crisis. But Brooks is optimistic about the challenge and change that may come from standing on that first mountain and having the wherewithal to want more in terms of connection and collaboration, to live a life that is even more active and passionate. In the author’s words, the first mountain is about personal gain. The second mountain is about contribution to fellow man.
When alumni walk down a school’s hallways, it’s interesting to note the muscle memory that comes into play. It’s almost as if they adjust for books in arms and squeeze tighter to make it through crowded hallways. I knew one who dodged the square of light that shone from the faculty lounge onto the hallway floor. “What are you doing?” I asked.
“That’s Mount Olympus in there,” he answered. “Those people came down out of the clouds and challenged me, inspired me, made me feel bad some days and great on others. They helped form me in so many ways.” Many alumni like to see their old lockers and admire them as their own personal space during school, as if a rectangular metal box somehow encapsulated their experiences and it’s pleasing to see it still there.
Nostalgia is a big part of climbing a second mountain. It allows us to seek that which made us happy in a simpler time—friendships, momentary successes, imagining the future. High school is a microcosm of life. It starts fast, turns agonizingly slow, then builds to a crescendo marked by anxiety and great times, embarrassingly wrong decisions and challenges won. As we approached graduation, the constant theme was, “What’s next?”
But, Brooks argues, “… [S]ociety is a massive conspiracy to distract you from the important choices of life in order to help you fixate on the unimportant ones.” These dalliances litter the first mountain and distract those climbing it. Focusing on outward signs of success ultimately breeds emptiness. Then challenge hits us. We run headlong into the second mountain, or we choose to start climbing it.
Brooks notes, “When you ask people what experience made them the person they are, they never say, ‘I really was a shallow and selfish jerk until I went on that amazing vacation in Hawaii.’ No, people usually talk about moments of difficulty, struggle.” High school is the land of struggle, which makes it the proving grounds of a life well-lived.
A25th reunion is like aging siblings coming home to visit and remember. They remember what lit their fires in the first place, what working together felt like. Those former classmates hear songs of their era or catch snippets of conversation and, for a slight instant, they’re transported back to those important, formative experiences.
Finding the second mountain is realizing there’s more out there than just self. The second mountain takes the successes of the first mountain and puts them into play for others. The second mountain acknowledges the forces that shaped us in our youth, guided us through our early adulthood, and inspired us to look beyond for more. The second mountain allows for a well-earned homecoming.
It’s not difficult to find stadium lights and feel the school band on Friday nights in October. The cool wind pushes leaves from their high perches and reminds us to breathe easily. As we return to our alma maters, as we walk those hallways, enjoy our reunions, and sit under the bright lights of the homecoming game, we can inhale those October breezes and reflect on Brooks’ valuable advice and decide. We can decide what’s important. We can decide to climb that second mountain.