How to Be Here: A Guide to Creating a Life Worth Living

by Rob Bell

The poet wants us to know that God is looking for partners, people to help co-create the world. To turn this story into a debate about whether or not Adam and Eve were real people or to read this poem as a science textbook is to miss the provocative, pointed, loaded questions that the poem asks: What will Adam and Eve do with this extraordinary opportunity? What kind of world will they help make? Where will they take it? What will they do with all this creative power they’ve been given?

All work is ultimately creative work because all of us are taking part in the ongoing creation of the world.

All work is creative work because all work is participating in the ongoing creation of the world.

How we respond to what happens to us—especially the painful, excruciating things that we never wanted and we have no control over—is a creative act.

Before anything else can be said about you, you have received a gift. God / the universe / ultimate reality / being itself—whatever word you want to use for source—has given you life. Are you breathing? Are you here? Did you just take a breath? Are you about to take another? Do you have a habit of regularly doing this? Gift. Gift. Gift.

Suffering and loss have this extraordinary capacity to alert and awaken us to the gift that life is.

Boredom, cynicism, and despair are spiritual diseases because they disconnect us from the most primal truth about ourselves—that we are here. All three distance us from and deaden us to the questions the blinking line asks: How are you going to respond to this life you have been given? What are you going to do with it? What are you going to make here?

written,

What We talk bout?

Who you aren’t isn’t interesting.

who “they” are isn’t interesting.

Decide now that you will not spend your precious energy speculating about someone else’s life and how it compares with yours.

We rob ourselves of immeasurable joy when we compare what we do know about ourselves with what we don’t know about someone else.

Whoever you are and whatever work you do, no one has ever lived your life with your particular challenges and possibilities.

Now, let’s pause and take a breath. You’ve been given this gift of life. You were not given his gift or her gift. You were given your gift. Is there any way that you’ve been looking over your shoulder or over your fence, comparing your life with someone else’s? Is there any way in which you wish you had someone else’s life? Is there any way in which you are not throwing yourself into your life because you’re convinced that you could never do it as well as so-and-so does it? Is there any way in which the blank page that is your life has got you stuck, terrified, asking that soul-crushing question, Who am I to do this? There is a new question, a better question, a question that will help you to be here. The new question is this: Who am I not to do this? (Who am’n’t I?)

The Japanese have a word for what gets you out of bed in the morning: they call it your ikigai. Your ikigai is that sense you have when you wake up that this day matters, that there are new experiences to be had, that you have work to do, a contribution to make. Sometimes this is referred to as your calling, other times your vocation, your destiny, your path. Your ikigai is your reason for being.

Some people find their ikigai by asking, What do I love to do? Others find theirs by asking, What makes me angry? What wrongs need to be righted? What injustice needs to be resisted? Listen to your life. Look back on the moments when you felt most connected to the world around you. Think about those experiences in which you felt the most comfortable in your own skin. Reflect on when you were most aware of something wrong in the world and your strong response to it. Be honest about your joy. Sometimes our ikigai is jammed way down in our hearts somewhere because we were told early on, You can’t make money doing that, or That isn’t a real job, or That’s a waste of time.

Getting a paycheck for doing that thing you love may actually ruin

Your ikigai is exhausting and exhilarating, draining and invigorating, all at the same time. There are moments when nothing in the world seems more difficult, and yet you can’t imagine doing anything else.

whatever romance there is in writing or speaking or touring or being an executive or running an urban garden project or doing humanitarian work or being a lawyer or nurse or teacher or manager or architect or having your own store or starting a charity—when the newness wears off, you are left with the pure undiluted slog of the work. And you either love the work, or you don’t.

Craft is when you have a profound sense of gratitude that you even get to do this. Craft is when you relish the details. Craft is your awareness that all the hours you’re putting in are adding up to something, that they’re producing in you skill and character and substance. Craft is when you meet up with someone else who’s serious about her craft and you can talk for hours about the subtle nuances and acquired wisdom of the work. Craft is when you realize that you’re building muscles and habits that are helping you do better what you do. Craft is when you have a deep respect for the form and shape and content of what you’re doing. Craft is when you see yourself part of a long line of people who have done this particular work. Craft is when you’re humbled because you know that no matter how many years you get to do this, there will always be room to learn and grow.

Success says, What more can I get? Craft says, Can you believe I get to do this?

What would it look like for you to approach tomorrow with a sense of honor and privilege, believing that you have work to do in the world, that it matters, that it’s needed, that you have a path and you’re working your craft?

Is this you? You’re here, in the middle of your day, doing whatever it is you do, but your mind is all over the place, thinking about 2s and 9s and 47s, playing out possible scenarios, wondering about certain outcomes, constructing conversations in your mind about what you’ll say and then what they’ll say and then how you’ll respond—thinking about shit that ain’t happenin’.

Nerves are God’s gift to you, reminding you that your life is not passing you by. Make friends with the butterflies. Welcome them when they come, revel in them, enjoy them, and if they go away, do whatever it takes to put yourself in a position where they return. Better to have a stomach full of butterflies than to feel like your life is passing you by.

It’s always a risk to take action. It might not work, it might blow up in your face, you might lose money, you might fail. No one may get it. But that’s not the only risk. There’s another risk: the risk of not trying it.

When you are bored, restless, longing for something more, unfulfilled, feeling like you’ve settled, haunted by the sense of being trapped in your own life, these are the deep waters of your soul speaking to you, telling you something is wrong, something is missing, something needs to change.

Failure is simply another opportunity to learn. Another opportunity to explore, to grow, to find out who you are.

How does the David and Goliath story start? It starts with David bringing bread and cheese to his brothers at the battle. It’s as basic and menial a job as there is—the kind in those days that you would give to the youngest son. You want to conquer giants? Bring the cheese first.

Find me one person who’s doing something interesting in the world who hasn’t felt the hot sting of a NO. Or a door slammed in the face. Or boos. Or a rejection letter. Or a tepid reception. Or bankruptcy. Or gotten fired. Or been interrupted by a dog.

Surrendering the outcomes is making peace with our lack of control over how people respond to us and our work. Surrendering the outcomes is coming to terms with the freedom people have to react to us and our work however they want. Surrendering the outcomes is embracing the fact that there are no guarantees when it comes to results.

these details are important because how you do anything is how you do everything.

Clutter is the books on your shelf that you’re never going to read, the stacked-up papers that have been untouched for months, the endless flotsam and jetsam in your car, your closet, your garage, your kitchen, your bedroom, and your office. Clutter is all those clothes that you haven’t worn in years filling all those shelves and drawers. Clutter is all those possessions you’ve got piled in the garage just in case you might need them someday. Even though it’s been seven years since you first made those piles and haven’t looked in them since. Details are those pictures that remind you why you do what you do. Details are those books that are filled with underlining and notes. Or the books that you actually will read. Details are those few items of clothing that you actually do wear. Details are those objects you use regularly that help you do better whatever it is you do. Details are the tools of your craft. Details remind you who you are, where you’ve been, and what your path is.

When you intentionally slow down, you instantly see how fast you’ve been moving the rest of the time. When you stop to pay attention, you learn how much you’ve been missing.

The meaning of awe is to realize that life takes place under wide horizons, horizons that range beyond the span of an individual life or even the life of a nation, a generation, or an era. Awe enables us to perceive in the world intimations of the divine, to sense in small things the beginning of infinite significance, to sense the ultimate in the common and the simple; to feel in the rush of the passing the stillness of the eternal. —Abraham Joshua Heschel

There’s a fascinating commentary in the ancient tradition about the story of Moses and the burning bush. The rabbis say that the bush didn’t suddenly start burning when Moses came upon it; it had been burning the whole time. Moses was simply moving slowly enough and paying attention enough to actually notice it. Are you moving so fast, are you so stressed and distracted, your head down reading your latest text messages and emails, that you’re passing burning bushes all day long? Whatever it is that you find yourself in the midst of on any given day—from laundry and meetings and traffic to going to class and answering emails and driving kids around—I want you to learn to live like you’re not missing a thing, like your eyes are wide open, fully awake to the miraculous nature of your own existence.

This exact interrelated web of people and events and places and memories and desire and love that is your life hasn’t ever existed in the history of the universe. Welcome to a truly unique phenomenon. Welcome to the most thrilling thing you will ever do. Welcome to your life. Welcome to here.