Simple Man

Oh, take your time, don’t live too fast
Troubles will come and they will pass
You’ll find a woman, yeah, and you’ll find love
And don’t forget son there is someone up above

And be a simple kind of man
Oh, be something you love and understand
Baby, be a simple kind of man
Oh, won’t you do this for me son, if you can?

Lynyrd Skynyrd released their song Simple Man in 1973. It appeared on a random playlist this week-end and I’ve returned to it repeatedly over the last few days. What is it with the artist that enables them to capture their story, experience, or insight, and share it so magnetically? They manage to meet us where we are and, whatever the original intent or source of their work, allow us to make it our own in a way that makes sense for us in that moment. Such a powerful gift.

I started listening to a book last week, it will remain unnamed as I have not completed it and my incomplete observations run the risk of being unjust. The book is written for “strivers” who now face (or will soon face) the unavoidable decline that comes with age. The author uses various examples (including his own) of high achievers who did their “greatest work” early in their careers and then struggled later in life as they were unable to repeat their success.

Part of his case is built upon studies following various professions and the points at which individuals “peak” and then decline. The core of his argument centers on two types of thinking, a fast-processing form that we are better at when we’re young and the other, more fact and experience-based, which evolves as we age. Curiously, the second form of thinking favors work done in teaching or passing along wisdom, a place in which the author, an academic and researcher, now finds himself.

Amid all of the data, referenced studies, and personal research the author presents, I found myself arguing with him and many of his conclusions. My disagreement was not necessarily with his basic conclusions around the decline of our physical and mental faculties, though I would argue that the variability of timing and form is significant enough to undermine many of his other arguments. I believe the true flaw in his case stemmed from his failure to address the “why” and “purpose” questions of his “striver” class.

A major driver of the book was the author’s interviews with high achievers who found themselves dissatisfied later in life – in some cases even feeling that their lives represented a failure. His conclusion: we have to pivot as we decline and focus on where our capacities are evolving. Great point and worthwhile to consider. However, I’d like to return to Lynyrd Skynyrd:

Forget your lust for the rich man’s gold
All that you need is in your soul
And you can do this, oh, baby, if you try
All that I want for you, my son, is to be satisfied

And be a simple kind of man
Oh, be something you love and understand
Baby, be a simple kind of man
Oh, won’t you do this for me son, if you can?
Oh, yes, I will

Think back to the “why’s” of your early career. Coming out of the gate, motivation for striving is pretty darn high. Money. Recognition. Power. Do we still use the term “Type A?” You had something to prove, didn’t you? Anyone who considered themselves a “high achiever” was getting after it. Career, project, and effort, decisions were built around climbing. Why? Because that’s what we believed it meant to be successful.

More was the mantra. Faster was the goal. The societal “why” of achievement was (and still is) geared around status and accumulation. For those who hit it early, the struggle came in sustaining it. The author’s point here is that disappointment and frustration set-in as we are no longer able to sustain the pace it takes to maintain or increase our achievement. We end up with a dissatisfied memory of our own “glory days” and the sense that they have passed us by for good.

Aside from changes in physical or mental capacities, something else happens as we age: our priorities shift. The things that once meant so much frequently lose their luster. We begin to value people, energy, and time differently than we did when we were younger. The real issue comes when we find that what we now value is not valued the same by the world we find ourselves within. Here, we try to play a game we are no longer motivated to play, in an effort to stay relevant in a system that does not share our “why.”

Boy, don’t you worry, you’ll find yourself
Follow your heart and nothing else
And you can do this, oh, baby, if you try
All that I want for you, my son, is to be satisfied

And be a simple kind of man
Oh, be something you love and understand
Baby, be a simple kind of man
Oh, won’t you do this for me son, if you can?

Watching my grandchildren at dinner last night, I was struck by how present they were in that moment. Nothing else mattered. There was no thought given to yesterday nor worry for tomorrow. The moment right now was enough.

Ours is not a simple life and we are complex individuals. Hopes, dreams, fears, and frustrations all lie within. We’ll ebb and then flow as our life moves on and what was once easy will become more difficult or even impossible. However, our real problem isn’t age, capacities, or even hopes and dreams. Neither is it the fast thinking of our youth as contrasted with the enormous library of experience in our maturity, or that our ship of opportunity has sailed.

The real struggle is with enough, our capacity to be satisfied right here, right now. We often confuse “simple” or “child-like” with simplistic or infantile. That is unfortunate because their real power reflects the ability to find peace and joy in being satisfied. The simple man knows that, ultimately, this moment is enough and each one after is a gift.

Please, keep striving. Make your plans and move toward them boldly. Just know that they will not fill the hole and can never be your final “why.” Whatever “form of thinking” you find yourself within or stage of career or status by the measure of the world, recognize that the “simple” satisfaction of enough will outweigh all of the gold you could ever accumulate.