Tales of the Invisible Ben

The year was 1805. The place? Camp Fortunate, located in the modern state of Montana but at that time well beyond the edge of American civilization. Meriwether Lewis and William Clark, by this point more than a year into their westward expedition, had just completed negotiations with the Lemhi Shoshone to obtain horses for the final push to the Pacific. They were fortunate that their guide and interpreter, Sacagawea, was herself a Shoshone and that her brother, Cameahwait, was the tribe's chief. 

After consulting with Cameahwait, the expedition's leaders decided to break a cardinal rule of role playing games and split the party in half. Clark was curious to see if Cameahwait's description of the nearby Salmon River was accurate and decided to lead a reconnaissance party to evaluate its navigability. Lewis, meanwhile would set up a base near the Lemhi River, where the two would meet up the following week. 

On the morning of August 18th, after Clark had left, Lewis spent his time packing up the camp, obtaining provisions, and lashing up supplies for the move using rehydrated strips of leather. They killed a deer, caught some trout, and rested in anticipation of the portage to come. As had become his custom, Lewis sat down and wrote a journal entry that struck me as particularly relevant when I first read it a few years ago.

"This day I completed my thirty first year...I reflected that as I had as yet done but little, very little indeed to further the hapiness of the human race, or to advance the information of the succeeding generation, I viewed with regret the many hours I have spent in indolence, and now soarly feel the want of that information which those hours would have given me had they been judiciously expended."

As Stephen Ambrose notes in Undaunted Courage (where I first encountered this passage), given life expectancies during the early 19th century, Lewis was not unjustified in feeling as though he was equidistant from the cradle and the grave, "halfway through his life's journey." He was, essentially, suffering a literal midlife crisis, and one whose contours are not entirely unfamiliar when considered two centuries later. Who among us has not wondered whether we could have done more with our lives, especially if we just stopped procrastinating? No matter how much we speak of time being a precious resource, there are always regrets about wasting moments when we could have been bettering ourselves. Whether that means obtaining a new degree, mastering a foreign language, or pursuing a favorite hobby, there is always more to do.

Given how frequently people talk about these issues in the context of new technologies that facilitate distraction, most notably the television and Internet, it is somewhat heartening to realize that such concerns predate the Internet. For me, however, the most valuable lesson to learn from Lewis' reflections is the fact that even those whom history later judges as significant and admirable were human beings, subject to the same insecurities and doubts as the rest of us. We construct mythologies and build pedestals for our idols, but in the end they are just people, who wanted to live happy, rewarding lives despite profound uncertainty over how best to pursue that goal.

That question has loomed large for me over the past year. As rejection letters and e-mails piled up, I wondered whether it was the result of wrong decisions that I had made, from the very large (e.g. deciding to go to graduate school) to the relatively small (e.g. cleaning my house on a weekend instead of reading a journal). Or perhaps this was just evidence that I had been mistaken about my calling. Maybe I was not meant to be an academic. Should that be the case, it would be a profound disappointment, but at least I would be realizing it now, when there might be time for reinvention. Perhaps this was part of the motivation behind my decision to apply for curatorial positions, which might enable me to break free from the constraints of an increasingly unattractive tenure track job market and approach my interest in a new and exciting way.

This has been a year full of optimism (both cautious and unguarded) and disappointment. A year where, on a personal and professional level, the future seemed more in doubt than ever before. Yet as I read over Lewis' journal, I remember that I am not alone in facing these concerns nor am I lacking family or friends to help me resolve them. Indeed, it is only thanks to the strong relationships that I've established over the past few years, that I ultimately obtained a somewhat more permanent position at my current institution. Though the terms of my employment may end up simply postponing my career questions for a little while rather than resolving them, I am profoundly grateful that at this point in my life, I can follow in the footsteps of Lewis, who amended the passage I quoted above with the following  paragraph:

"I dash from me the gloomy thought and resolved in future, to redouble my exertions and at least indeavour to promote those two primary objects of human existence, by giving them the aid of that portion of talents which nature and fortune has bestoed on me; or, in future, to live for mankind as I have heretofore lived for myself."

With the exception of additional clarification of the two primary objects of human existence, I don't think I can really improve upon Lewis' affirmation, so it seems like as fitting point a point as any with which to bring this birthday post to a close.

Happy Bastille Day, everyone!