A Poet’s Surprising Answer to her own Question

There is a very famous inspirational quote that you have probably seen on coffee mugs, t-shirts, necklaces, and in artful memes.  It is a line from a poem by Mary Oliver.  She asks, “What will you do with your one wild and precious life?”

Is this a call to dream big?  Does it point out a path toward greatness?

Surely, it always seemed to pull an answer from us, and I felt compelled to make that answer a good one.  I definitely want to get this right.  My life could depend on it.

Not too long ago, I found an interview that Mary Oliver had done, reflecting upon her life.  The interviewer asked, “So, what did you do with your one wild and precious life?”

My mind soared with anticipation of her reply.  If I wanted to know if my answer to this question was worthy, here was an opportunity to hold it up to the ultimate answer.  A response from the mind that had posed the query.  The equation would be solved; the treasure would be revealed.  I was sure of it.  I read the next line.

She replied, “I used lots of pencils.”

I used lots of pencils.

That’s what she did.  And it’s what she wanted us to know that she did.

I was surprised at first.

She didn’t brag about books published and sold or recognitions of any kind.  Her response did not even mention attempts to be a good person or change the world for the better.

This poet looked back on her life and wanted to celebrate spending her time living the way she wanted to an expressing her very particular way of seeing the world.  She occupied her space, fully and completely.

Her life was led with a devotion to her creative habits and honoring her voice.  She was in the habit of walking through the woods with a notebook, slowing down as words came to her, then stopping to scribble.

Day by day; day after day.  The words came and she wrote them down.

I think of this quote differently now.

Maybe some of my anxiety at wanting to answer the question “correctly” was part of my feeling that my answer had to be something big.

I thought I should say something like “learn sky diving”, or “found a new religion”, or “hypnotize everyone into growing their own vegetables”.  While those are noteworthy and fabulous goals for someone else, they wouldn’t be an expression of my particular gifts.

I love her answer because I (and maybe you, too) get stuck on the idea that what I do with my life must somehow be noteworthy to people other than me.  I have a weird compulsion to compile a highlight reel of my years and wonder what people will say when they see it.

Occasionally, though, it occurs to me that chasing those highlights affects my ability to appreciate some truly wonderful things that have deep meaning to only me.

I can feel genuinely wild and precious without an audience.  And I want to feel that way every day, not just during highlights.

So I read the line again and stayed open to a different answer.

The question doesn’t ask “what could you do” but “what will you do?”  Instead of a call to dream, I now know this quote is a call to action.

What habits will I cultivate to shine this precious light the world has never seen before and will never see again?

What will I do – day by day and day after day – to live a wild life that only I have ever lived?

Will I commit to forming habits around the acts through which a great life will be well lived?

Hopefully I will be gifted with many more years on this earth.  Maybe I will have the opportunity to be asked this question after many more decades of experience.

I’m no longer worried about offering a wrong answer.

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