When my daughter Jill, now over 60, was four, she asked, “Why are we here?”

Then, without missing a beat, she answered her own question, “To use the earth.”

Hmmmm. “To use the earth.” A four-year-old says it, and suddenly philosophers should all just go home.

It’s funny, of course—but it’s also oddly profound. Children sometimes answer with a kind of brutal simplicity that adults spend decades complicating.

Depending on how you hear it, her answer can mean at least three different things:

1. The innocent version

We’re here to make use of what’s been given:

the world,

our abilities,

our time,

our relationships,

our opportunities.

Not waste them. Not drift past them. Use them.

2. The practical version

A four-year-old may simply have meant: “We’re here to do things.”

To build, play, grow, try, fall, learn, help, make dinner, plant a garden, tell a joke, fix a leak, hug somebody, write a book, run a business, raise a child.

In that sense, purpose is not abstract at all.  It’s participation.

3. The cautionary version

Of course, adults hear a shadow in it too.

If we are here merely to use the earth, we may end up using it up.

So maybe the grown-up revision is:

We are here to use the earth well—gratefully, creatively, and responsibly.

Or even:

Not to exploit the earth, but to steward it.

What I especially love is that her answer skips all the grandiosity.

No thunderbolts. No cosmic manifesto.  Just: Here’s a world. Do something with it.

That may be closer to the truth than many solemn speeches.

It reminds me of a broader possibility:

We are here not only to ask what life means, but to put life to use.

To use our:

minds for thought,

hearts for love,

hands for service,

voice for truth,

time for what matters.

That’s a pretty sturdy philosophy.

And there’s something else charming about it:
children often confuse “purpose” with “function,” and maybe adults should do that a little more often.

A chair is for sitting.
A spoon is for soup.
A person is for… what?

Maybe:

for noticing,

for loving,

for making,

for helping,

for delighting,

for lifting some tiny corner of existence.

In other words: to use the earth and not waste your turn on it.

That’s a line worth remembering

I have, for more than fifty years.

Alan

What possible connection could there be between blood and the iconic story of the three bears?

Thanks for asking.

As everyone probably already knows, in the tale of the three bears (according to Goldilocks), one bowl of porridge was too hot, one too cold, and the third “just right.” By analogy, that is like what I’m currently dealing with in my life. Just substitute the word “blood” for “porridge”.

Fewer than two months ago I had a TIA — that’s quick speak for a minor stroke, caused by a blood clot. If you want the full scientific name, a TIA is a Transient Ischemic Attack – a stroke that resolves on its own without any lasting damage. But it serves as an early warning for a more serious stroke, and preventative measures should be taken.

So, both immediately and long-term:

If my blood is too thick — another, possibly more serious, stroke.

If my blood is too thin — lots of nose or other bleeds.

So, like Goldilocks, I need the porridge of my blood to be “just right” every single day for the rest of my (long) life.

To achieve that result, my attentive doctors have prescribed two different blood thinners. Why take chances? I’m told that each medication works differently. Sometimes, I wish I were a doctor myself. My parents pushed for that, often, and I declined just as often. I told them — repeatedly — that I faint at the sight of blood. Especially my own.

But I’m older now, so I probably won’t faint, provided my veins and arteries are coursing with sufficient blood.

Fortunately, today when I have a medical question I can call one of my sons, or his wife, who are both doctors. Although their usual advice is to “check with my own doctor.” (When I say that I would like a second opinion. They respond, “And you’re handsome too.”)

I’m not complaining, just stating the facts.

There must be wisdom hidden in the above. I’ll try to sum it up.

1. Don’t get old. It’s a mistake.
2. I’m still glad I’m not a doctor. They deal with other people’s blood.
3. The life of a bear is much simpler than that of an 86-year-old man who is plans to remain active for many, many years.

Growl.

Alan

I’m sitting on a comfortable sofa in the lobby of the Wexner building at Harvard University, waiting for the 2026 Behavioral Science and Policy Association to begin their annual conference. My younger son is one of the co-founders of the BSPA and its conference.

The last time I graced these hallowed halls was more than 30 years ago when my older son (now in his 60’s) was enrolled as a student. I sat in on one of his physics classes and while I understood the professor’s greeting, “Good morning, gentlemen,” I didn’t understand a word of the lecture that followed.

I remember back then feeling impressed by its reputation as an elite institution of higher learning. I believed a Harvard degree was a sure bellwether of success. But as I’m sitting on this couch, I also think about an episode of the TV show “Shark Tank,” in which a graduate from Havard seeking to fund his genius idea was so entirely obnoxious that the Sharks didn’t bite. They didn’t even nibble.

I guess that even a degree from Harvard is not a license to be unpleasant to the hands that might potentially fund you.

On the ride over to the conference from the Marriott Hotel in Cambridge, my son mentioned that in organizing the event, the university had been both difficult and expensive to deal with. I told him what Daveen might have said. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy both of your experiences dealing with Harvard — your first, and your last.”

Actually, I’m writing this blog as a favor to Harvard, with the genuine hope that they listen, and perhaps consider that reputations, even theirs, can wax and wane. And theirs is waning. (On a similar subject, I highly recommend the book I’m reading, “How to Rule the World” by Theo Baker. It’s a great expose written by an undergraduate at Stanford University.)

I should mention that when I graduated from high school, I seriously considered applying to Harvard. I ultimately didn’t, but only because I wanted to stay close to my high school sweetheart, and so I made the decision to attend USC. Later we married, and our three terrific children thanked us.

All of this is by way of saying, sometimes we do the right thing for the wrong reason. Or maybe, in my case, it was the right thing for the right reason.

Homage to Shakespeare’s Puck —

“Ah, what fools these mortals be.”

Foolishly yours,

Alan