Mormons cherish excellence, or whatever.
We often hear sort-of-doctrinal talks about how the Lord expects us to be the very best we can, that the Lord wants us to excel even in our non-spiritual endeavors. We look to Dale Murphy and J. Reuben Clark and a hundred other ultra-successful Mormons as examples, and believe that we, too, are called to great heights of worldly, but pure, success. For myself, I’m easily swept away by notions of the nobility of hard work and tedious sacrifice. I can’t help but admit that these men, who’ve risen to the tops of their fields and remained devout, are the ideal for me, as well as for the church as a whole. It’s a commonplace to note the great success of so many of our leaders in their earlier secular pursuits, and it’s a common assumption that we are capable of similar achievements.
And so, my fellow excellent Mormons, my considered question is this: How? There’s little doubt that the first priority of every husband, wife, father and mother ought to be one’s family. Those of us not so blessed with spouse or posterity gain a compensating reward of freedom– which often comes with real professional benefits. But we are constantly reminded, sadly for those living outside the ideal, that this is not what we strive for. What we strive for is professional excellence attained while also contributing to a happy marriage and nourishing six well-fed, ruddy-cheeked blonde cherubs of European descent. On top of this we should give no small amount of time and money to the church, further shrinking our pool of disposable resources. After these first commitments are fulfilled, how many people are able to write that novel or build that startup?
I have no wish to belabor the sad tale of how over-burdened the Mormon mother and father are. In fact, I can’t imagine a more ideal life than the one I lead now– an existence divided equally between a pleasant, well-paying job and some of the most wonderful people in the world at home. It’s an easy life, really, and something many of us are well prepared for.
But that’s the point, isn’t it– that it’s so consumingly pleasant? I’ve seen good Mormons who were able to break away from all of this consistently enough to make extra contributions to their community or company or academic field, but I just can’t imagine how I’d do it myself. As I hinted on my bio page, I consider myself a person of some potential talents, but I’ve been able to develop very few of them, because I’m hewing almost exclusively to my priorities, and probably will be for the next twenty five years or so. Maybe when I’m fifty, that will be the time to run for city council or write the first good Mormon musical. But that twenty year wait sounds an awful lot like lazy complacency, of the kind that J. Reuben Clark certainly never would have countenanced.
So in the middle of all of this deep, soul-fulfilling happiness, I sometimes detect a tiny signal of . . . lament. I would like to be one of those people, the ones with unmeasurable drive, who come home from work and then do something, composing poetry or researching for their law journal article. But there’s a marriage to enjoy, and kids to read to, and a lawn to mow. Who has the time?
Is this on purpose? Does the Lord really expect me to be the best lawyer in Utah? Or will there be some role I’ll play in my exalted life in which my ability to keep ten balls (planets?) in the air will be much more vital than my prestige as a leader in my field? Does anyone else sense a contradiction between the noble ideal of meteoric achievement and the pleasant, plodding growth of a balanced LDS life?
I’d love to write that novel, and maybe someday I will. But right now, my kids are just too darn cute.