Creating Shade

That's All There Is

At each place setting at a recent wedding was an envelope that contained a notecard and pen. A note on the outside of the envelope read in part:

“…we hope you will write us a note to open on a future anniversary. We plan to open cards on the anniversary that match your table number. Write whatever moves you. A few ideas… A wish for our future. Something you noticed about today will make us smile years from now. A piece of advice you believe will stand the test of time. An adventure we should pursue.
And do keep the pen!”

My initial thought was, What a clever idea. It was meaningful—a gift from us in the form of a reflection the couple might remember long after they couldn’t remember the original gift we had placed on the table, along with the offerings from the other guests.

My wife and I were seated at Table 8, so I imagined the couple sitting at their kitchen table eight years from now, opening up the cards. They would read each card aloud, smile, laugh, maybe cry, and reflect briefly before opening another card.

I imagined a cascade of heartfelt well-wishes, including questions about what lessons they had learned, how they had kept the romance alive, and what endearing quality they had discovered in their spouse. I sat back and looked at the blank notecard. There was nothing wrong with those types of questions, but they seemed, maybe, expected.

I grabbed some scrap paper and began to draft an idea:

Dear Anne and Mitch. Congratulations on your 8th anniversary! Celebrate it in style! Rent a villa in Tuscany for at least a week. Hire a chef. Invite friends and family members to join you sometime during those seven days. Spend time with people you love and who love you!

I paused. While there was nothing wrong with organizing a Tuscan experience—Sign me up!—it seemed, well, fleeting. I wanted Anne and Mitch to consider something that would outlive memories of Pici pasta, cantaloupe, prosciutto, and burrata salads, and endless glasses of Brunello.

I scratched out the draft.

Last year, I watched the series After Life, written by comedian Ricky Gervais. While there were moments of humor, it was a drama about Gervais’ character (Tony) trying to crawl out of the deep hole he’s in caused by his wife’s death. In one scene, he’s sitting on a cemetery bench with another mourner, Anna (Dame Penepole Wilton), in front of the graves of their respective spouses. They’re talking about death, suicide, and life.

Tony: “It was something you said. It’s not all about me. It’s worth sticking around to make my little corner of the world a slightly better place.”

Anna: “That’s all there is. Happiness is amazing. It’s so amazing, it doesn’t matter if it’s yours or not. There’s that lovely thing: A society grows great when old men plant trees whose shade they know they shall never sit in. Good people do things for other people. That’s it. The end.”

That quote about planting trees to provide shade for others comes to us courtesy of the Greeks. It’s message is centuries old and perhaps never more needed than today given our ripped social and political fabric.

That lines has stayed with me and made me wonder about what trees, if any, I’ve planted in almost 74 years—what shade I’ve produced.

I picked up the pen and began to write.

Dear Anne and Mitch. Congratulations on your 8th anniversary! Jennifer and I are sending you virtual hugs to help celebrate your happy occasion. Speaking of which, let’s talk about happiness—yours and the happiness you’re creating for others.

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Thanks for spending some time with me. I’m curious what came to mind when you heard that quote from the Greeks. Feel free to leave your thoughts by clicking on the comment bubble above.

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And finally, here’s a request for an upcoming episode of Getting Unstuck—Cultivating Curiosity. I do an annual year-end review of the books we’ve read and have set aside to read in the coming year. If you’re so inclined, leave me your thoughts in a comment. The episode will air on January 7, 2025. Many thanks.