Status Symbols

My sta­tus sym­bols have changed. When I was younger, it was degrees on the wall. Before that it was posters of places I had been or wanted to be. In high school it was track rib­bons and a let­ter jacket. Before that it was my favorite toy — a heli­copter. Right now my sta­tus sym­bols con­sist of a cou­ple of over-worked com­put­ers, sticky notes, receipts for things that are deductible, and the two most impor­tant key proofs of self-importance: a big bot­tle of aspirin on the left side of my lap­top com­puter and a large bot­tle of antacids on the right.

Aspirin and antacids — both are proof that as we age our inflam­ma­tory responses are more eas­ily trig­gered and also that our focus is more on the needs of oth­ers — espe­cially the insti­tu­tions we use as tools to min­is­ter to them. There is not much in my med­i­cine cab­i­net. I have found that aspirin and antacid are to the body what duct tape and WD 40 are to the tools in my garage. Patch them. Oil them. Use them. Get the job done. Get to the next task. Those lit­tle phrases depict any­one at midlife on a mission.

What mat­ters most is what we accom­plish with our­selves and oth­ers. Human inter­ac­tions hold the great­est poten­tial for hope and the most extreme pos­si­bil­i­ties of despair. Every­thing we do is an invest­ment in self or oth­ers. I have come to real­ize that there are very few — if any — neu­tral human actions. It seems like every­thing we do counts on this lit­tle planet.

Neg­a­tively speak­ing, my aspirin/antacid tro­phies are indica­tive of a neglected med­i­ta­tive life. When I am truly cen­tered, I do not need either one. For now I will use them as a cover for the spir­i­tual short­cuts I have taken. Like other sta­tus sym­bols, they hide an inad­e­quacy or two. They are just part of my life mir­ror for now. Some­day I will not need them. Once I get rid of my inse­cure “need to be too busy” sta­tus sym­bol they will go too.