I realize that I’m seven years late to the party, but I’m FINALLY reading Malcolm Gladwell’s national bestseller, Outliers: The Story of Success, per a recommendation in the somewhat distant past from Rabbi Jonathan. I’m not done with the book yet, so forgive my first impressions.
In Outliers, Gladwell aims to debunk commonly-held myths about what it takes for people to become so successful that they become “outliers,” those with extraordinarily unique achievements. He explores why some who may seem equal on paper end up making vastly divergent contributions to the world. Why might two people with the same intellectual, athletic, or artistic ability end up fulfilling the potential to such varying degrees? Why doesn’t every smart person become an Einstein or every athletic person an Olympian?
One of the arguments that Gladwell makes is that true outliers are afforded opportunities that set them on their individual paths to greatness. These life-changing opportunities may not be the things that we tend to think will determine our future success. For instance, it seems that there are plenty of Nobel Prizes awarded to people who attended “good” schools for their undergraduate degrees, not just “great” schools by any means.
In many of Gladwell’s examples, the opportunity afforded to the future outlier is something far beyond their control, yet that outlier took full advantage of the opportunity once presented. Take Bill Gates, for instance. One of the major opportunities that set Bill Gates down the path to computing stardom is that someone else – a stranger – donated an early computer lab to his private high school. He didn’t choose the high school because it offered a computer lab. The computer lab and Bill Gates just ended up in the same place at the exact right moment in time and Gates devoted himself as a teen to mastering programming. His peers throughout the country did not have this opportunity, and his peers in his school did not take advantage of the opportunity.
Most of us are not destined to or desire to be outliers.
What we all have the ability to do is practice looking for opportunities that might help us lead our best lives. We must hone the ability to discern between opportunities that deplete our emotional, mental, and spiritual coffers and those that will fill us up and make us stronger. Really, every choice we make is an opportunity to move toward our most fulfilled selves.
Or, what if we foster the ability to change the things we “must” do into opportunities for personal growth? What if dinner becomes an opportunity to build a strong family or a strong body? What if choosing to volunteer is a chance to bolster your own ability to be compassionate. You emerge stronger and better from the experience and more prepared to engage in the next opportunity.
One of the things that I love most about Judaism is that our traditions give us tools to fully engage in experiences as they present themselves.
What do I mean by this? A great example are the practices surrounding death and mourning. Tradition’s acknowledgment that there are stages of mourning – times to embrace being private and times to reenter the world around you, and that these steps are incremental – reflect a deep understanding of human nature. These traditions coupled with our Reform prerogative to be in dialogue with what has meaning for each of us as an individual has the power to lead to personally healthy and relevant practices as we emerge from a loss. No one wants to lose a loved one, yet we know that we must. If we take the opportunity of engaging Jewishly in this “must”, we might just emerge stronger, more resilient, and with a deeper sense of love for the person who is gone.
At this time of year, what I’m really thinking about is how we prepare for the High Holy Days. Not just to show up for them, but with the clear expectation that if I work very hard (read: take advantage of the opportunities afforded to me), I might just emerge better, stronger, and more fulfilled.
The High Holy Days are not a destination. They are not tickets, parking, and time off from work. They are an opportunity to emerge anew – even perhaps to exceed our own expectations of ourselves. Maybe to become an outlier in comparison to our former selves.
We are entering into our season of most heightened spiritual practice as Jews. What we each need in terms of our spiritual, emotional, and physical growth is as unique as our fingerprints. Some of us must use this time to garner the strength to move towards healthier choices for our bodies. Some of us must use this time to prepare to heal broken relationships. Others still must find the courage to walk away from relationships that are destructive and beyond repair. Some of us seek connection with nature, with God, with one another in more deep and profound ways. Some of us seek to become leaders or readers, agents of change or harbingers of calm and serenity. Some of us need to gain control and others of us need to relinquish it.
This Sunday begins the Hebrew month of Elul, a month specifically set aside to prepare for the Days of Awe. Next week, we will begin to blow the shofar at each service. Its sound is meant to stir our soul, a call to do the work to prepare to move towards our most sacred time of year. We have some opportunities planned to help you prepare, if you choose – like the Machzor Tour – a basic overview of the High Holy Day prayers – or Mikvah and Martinis (Mocktinis, too!) – a time to ritualize this season of personal renewal with a private dunk in the mikvah. You might choose to attend our annual Labor Day Weekend retreat at Wildacres and deepen your relationships with fellow congregants and with nature. You might attend S’lichot services. You might plan some special Shabbat dinners to reconnect with friends and family who matter. The opportunities are limitless.
If we are open, I believe we have the tools we need to lead our best lives and become our best selves. Best to take the opportunity while it is here.
