“Want what you have. Do what you can. Be who you are.”—Forrest Church

It was a Sunday morning in September 2018. I had just met a fellow traveler to the Port Townsend Film Festival; I don’t remember her name, but the short conversation I had with her lingers to this day. We had both just been to a screening of a movie in which a man with a terminal illness had decided he wasn’t going to fight it any longer.

Having lost my husband to multiple myeloma less than three months earlier, I was seeing everything through the lens of grief. The woman I’d just met was a cancer survivor who had become a patient advocate in Seattle, a job that was giving her a lot of meaning after what she’d been through. I told her I’d come to believe that I was put on Earth, at least in part, to help Tom through his final journey–but having done that, and done it well, I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do next.

For much of my life, I thought my highest fulfillment might come through work, and to an extent, it has. I’ve done a lot of good work, and some of it made a real difference. After losing most of my paid work in early 2020 and falling short last summer in the pursuit of new work that might feel truly meaningful, I’m now trying to find satisfaction in simply doing the work I have.

As for romantic love, I have experienced it in its fullest, once-in-a-lifetime-if-you’re-lucky expression. Although Tom and I had just five years together, we “got” each other completely. I don’t expect to find that intense level of connection again, and I’m not sure I’d want to; I quite enjoy living alone. So if I am not eager to experience new levels of fulfillment through work or life partnership, what’s left?

As I near 60, I think service may be my true love for the next decade of my life, and perhaps beyond. I am here to serve, but to do so selectively. When I am selective, when I try to intuit the next right thing, I can serve with all my heart.

Volunteering at the food bank these past 10 months, I’ve often worked beside two people who are role models for this ethic of service. David, who has a ton of vacation time after many years with the same company, spends many of those free hours volunteering, both at the food bank and with victims of domestic abuse. Patti is retired and lives out of two suitcases, a level of minimalism I’ve considered before and may mull again a few years from now. She has been waiting this pandemic year for clearance to travel to Mongolia, where she plans to volunteer with children.

A week ago Wednesday, the co-chair of my church’s leadership committee emailed to say that my name has been coming up as a possible board member. Would I be interested in a conversation about the opportunity? The request came a bit out of the blue and felt a little flattering. I love my church and I love to serve it, but it only took me a few hours to intuit that a three-year term on the board wasn’t part of my plan.

Two days later, I was able to quickly turn down a tight-turnaround, detail-heavy project from a work client. Once again, I simply know at this point in my life what I enjoy and what I’m good at, and I don’t want to waste anyone’s time–least of all mine–in trying to be who I am not. Just a few days later, a friend approached me with a project that would take about the same amount of time and pay the same as the work I turned down, but it is a project that I will find much more fulfilling. Things happen for a reason.

What is my grand plan? I no longer think I have one, but I know I want to be free to serve in a big way if (not necessarily when) the right opportunity arises. In the meantime, I have found small but not insubstantial ways to be of use, including the food bank and assisting in an English conversation class two mornings each week. Because I have committed to these activities, I take care to allow room in my schedule for them, even as paid work picks up.

At some point, I may get an offer I can’t refuse: for a paid job that makes my heart sing or a major volunteer opportunity that feels exactly right or even, though less likely, the chance to be a grandparent and meaningfully and helpfully meet another life at its start in the same way I was blessed to help Tom in his final years.

So I leave my options open, much as someone who is looking for true love might. But just as I did when I was young and hungry for a partner and purpose, I always seek to live life fully as it is right now—only now, I know the power of saying no, and of occasionally and wholeheartedly saying yes, and in getting on with things one way or the other.

Thank you for reading Surely Joy. If you’d like to get my posts via email, you can sign up elsewhere on this page. The quote at the top of this week’s essay comes from Forrest Church’s book Love and Death: My Journey Through the Valley of the Shadow. I’ve long thought it to be a good mantra for life.