Choosing the Right Thing to Do: In Life, at Work, in Relationships, and for the Planet - Softcover

Shapiro, David A.

 
9781576750575: Choosing the Right Thing to Do: In Life, at Work, in Relationships, and for the Planet

Inhaltsangabe

We all want to do the right thing. But determining the right thing to do isn't always easy. Everytime we pick up a newspaper or turn on the TV, someone tells us how we ought to behave. Rarely, however, do we get much assistance in deciding what to do for ourselves. Meanwhile, technological developments and rapid social changes make the right decisions-especially about the BIG issues-life, death, sex, justice, and so on-harder and harder to identify.
Choosing the Right Thing to Do responds to the growing need that people of all ages have for moral guidance-without moralizing. It contains a rich palette of principles and strategies, stories and examples, ideas and insights that offer real-world help for intelligently addressing the often quite troubling choices we face every day in our personal relationships, jobs, and lifestyles.

Die Inhaltsangabe kann sich auf eine andere Ausgabe dieses Titels beziehen.

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

David A. Shapiro is a writer, consultant, and curriculum designer specializing in progressive business and personal development pro- grams. He is also Education Director for the Northwest Center Philosophy for Children, a non-profit organization that brings philosophy into the lives of young people in schools and community groups through literature, philosophical works, and classroom activities.
David began his professional writing career by penning jokes for stand-up comedians but eventually realized it would be much funnier to write corporate training materials. As an employee of several internationally-known training organizations, he spent more than a decade writing and designing numerous interactive multimedia programs intended to help businesspeople maximize their personal and professional effectiveness.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

A Gas Station Burns in the Forest

Illuminating our Moral Legacy


Every day, all day long, we are presented with choices: simple ones, like “Should I hit the snooze button on my alarm one more time?”; more complex ones, like “How ought I to respond when someone I care for fails to live up to my expectations?” And every day, all day long, we make these choices. We do the best we can with the information and experience we have, and we try to make choices that reflect our deepest values and are consistent with the sort of person we would like to be.1

Every choice we make goes into creating who we are. With every move we make—every action, every inaction, every thought that flashes through our minds—more sand trickles from the top of life’s hourglass into the bottom. Each grain of sand—every single instant we’re alive—builds up to form an afterimage of who we were, where we came from, what we did, and how we loved. This afterimage is our legacy, our gift to the future, the story of our life to be told after we’ve gone.2

How will you be remembered?

When your children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and beyond talk about you, what will they say? Who is the person they will see when they examine the afterimage you have left behind?

Think of your own recollections of those who have preceded you: family members, friends, co-workers and colleagues, public figures great and small, the well- and the little-known. What remains of them when they are no longer here?

Possessions are disbursed, projects taken over, vital statistics catalogued away until all that’s left of who we were is who we were.

Our character.

Our character is our legacy. And our legacy is ultimately a moral legacy. It is the story of the good and bad things we did to and for other people.

Our bequest to tomorrow will not primarily be monetary or physical or even spiritual; that is, it won’t be something beyond this earthly plane. What we will grant to others in our absence is what we have granted to them in our presence: how we have met our obligations to them as family members, lovers, neighbors, colleagues, and fellow human beings.

As we proceed through life, this can be hard to see. The day-today responsibilities of making a living, raising a family, keeping up with the Joneses—not to mention rooting for one’s favorite sports team, downloading the latest Internet software, and keeping tabs on the extramarital dalliances of world leaders—incline us to perceive ourselves as individual, autonomous agents whose legacy is more about what we produced than how we lived. While few people really believe that whoever dies with the most toys wins, many of us do live our lives as if our acquisitions will have a more lasting effect than our offerings.

But when we look back upon things, it becomes obvious how much more enduring is what we give than what we take. And we can see better how our legacy—both individually and as a society—is most clearly forged by the moral choices we have made.3

It doesn’t take a wise old person to recognize this; even a child (even a teenager!) can recognize how enduring our moral legacy really is—and how unforgettable are the choices that lead to its creation.

Here’s how I know.

When I was 13, my father, my best friend, and I toured the western United States in a Winnebago motor home. During the three weeks we spent together, I enjoyed all the father and son bonding experiences a kid could hope for. I got to drive our truck on the highway. I drank my first beer straight from the can. I learned that my old man, despite his age, education, and the respect that, as a medical doctor, the world accorded him, was an imperfect human being—just like me.

Yet what I remember most about our journey is a single experience, one that lasted no more than ten minutes but which has stuck with me for some three decades now. I have often wondered why the event implanted itself so deeply in my consciousness, and it is only by considering it in light of a moral legacy that I believe I have found my answer. The event, though short-lived and personal, has come to bear a significance that is both enduring and universal; in short, it has come to represent for me the moral legacy of our time.

The picture of what happened has yellowed with age, but if I focus my mind’s eye on the images, they return with the clarity of the mountain air which was their alembic.


About 300 yards outside the entrance to Glacier National Park in Montana are two gas stations, one on either side of the two-lane road. They have been strategically placed so tourists can fill up before entering the park and refill upon leaving. The one on the left is a national brand, the one on the right, a local Mom ‘n Pop cut-price mark called Y-Pay-Mor. We, of course, have chosen the national brand—quality, my dad likes to reminds me, is worth a few pennies extra. Besides, the cut-rate places don’t take credit cards, and gasoline, for convenience and accounting, is always purchased by credit card—that’s just how it’s done.4

We have completed filling our vehicle’s huge 32-gallon tank, have stocked up on peanuts and gum, and paid. With my father behind the wheel, me in the passenger seat, and my best friend lounging at the motor home’s kitchen table, we are just beginning to pull out. It is almost dusk and we are in a hurry to find our reserved campsite before it gets dark.

Just as my father angles the Winnebago onto the road, an explosion rocks the gas station across the street. Through the corner of my window, I see a fireball engulf its white clapboard office. I perceive the image of a man inside completely on fire, staggering toward what had been the door, and rolling on the ground, over and over. A woman comes running from the back, pointing at the right side of the building where the restrooms are. She waves her arms at the blazing structure and cries “My baby! My baby is in there!”

By this time, we are on the road and pulling away. I look at my dad. “Did you see that?! Should we stop?”

He is fighting to disbelieve what he only half-saw. The expression on his face is one I’ve never seen before. His eyes are wide; they look simultaneously young and ancient, somehow. His jaw is clenched and his hands are tight around the steering wheel. He is slightly hunched over, as if urging our vehicle forward. He focuses on the road ahead, hits the brakes as a man in jeans and a T-shirt sprints across in front of us and toward the fire, then accelerates again.

“Dad! There was a guy, I think, on fire! Shouldn’t we do something?”

My dad says that he didn’t see any guy and even if there was, there’s nothing we can do. It’s too dangerous and there are other people already on the scene. It’s better we should hurry up to the park entrance and tell the rangers.

When we get there, a small crowd has assembled and is looking back at the plume of black smoke that is now funneling upwards. One park ranger is inside the toll booth, talking hurriedly on the phone. A second stands outside with his arms folded, watching the smoke rise, looking bewildered. My father explains to him what has happened. The ranger gratefully acknowledges the information, tells us it will help, and says that we should move inside the park so emergency vehicles can get through.5

We drive off toward our campground. I ask my father if we should go back after we get set up.

“We’ve done the best we could do,” he says. “The right people have been informed. It’s under control...

„Über diesen Titel“ kann sich auf eine andere Ausgabe dieses Titels beziehen.

Weitere beliebte Ausgaben desselben Titels

9781459625990: Choosing the Right Thing to Do: In Life, at Work, in Relationships, and for the Planet

Vorgestellte Ausgabe

ISBN 10:  1459625994 ISBN 13:  9781459625990
Verlag: ReadHowYouWant, 2012
Softcover