A Hundred-Year-Old Man Shares the Key to the Universe

You ask me what I've learned.

So much really... and so little. But in that, I think I've learned the key to the universe. At least for me.

Where to even start?

I was born into this world one hundred years ago today, and I'm living proof that you're never too old to change. These past forty years have been the best of my life, surrounded by people I love and filled with growth. Whether I live forty more years or forty more minutes, I'll leave this earth with a full heart and a fulfilled soul. I'll leave brimming with curiosity.

But that wasn't always the case. I needed to listen to the universe. Listen and hear.

Let me explain.

My parents had long-wanted a child. After many years and considerable heartache, my mother finally became pregnant. She wept for a full day and dreamed dreams every day after that. My parents greeted my imminent arrival with much fanfare, telling everyone in their village that they were going to have a son, and he would be the most loved boy in the world.

He would one day leave the village to run a company or a country. He would win prizes and amass a fortune. He would be a man of significance.

As so often happens, things didn't go as planned. After a long and difficult labor, I was born into the world, only to see my mother die a few hours later.

Throughout childhood, I carried the guilt of someone who had killed his mother.

My father grieved deeply for the rest of his days. He never blamed me, and he worked hard to provide. He didn't have much in the way of money, but he gave me everything I needed-- food, clothing, education.

He told me of my mother's dreams, and I was determined to make my way in the world. I would be a man of significance. I just didn't know that that meant.

I had little direction. Scant motivation. No real sense of purpose.

Midway through my nineteenth year, on a windy autumn morning, the universe spoke to me.

In fact, the universe had already been speaking to me. I just hadn't been listening.

It spoke through my friends and through advertisements and through news stories that cut through the howling wind.

"The key to life," it said, and I leaned in to listen.

It had been speaking to me for years. Speaking through movies and role models, mentors and heroes.

"The secret of fulfillment is…"

The universe paused. It had spoken through politicians and preachers, athletes and musicians.

"The key to the universe is… to ACQUIRE."

I looked around. I was alone. No one could corroborate. I thought about what the universe had said, and I nodded.

I didn't know much, but I knew I should listen to the universe. Its advice aligned with my parents' wishes. My mother's dreams. Of course I should acquire. To the winners go the spoils. Competition makes everything better. Just do it! To acquire, one needs to strive. We should all strive. Striving and acquiring gives us purpose and meaning. Eyes on the prize. Begin with the end in mind!

The universe had spoken and the message was clear. Acquire! If I acquired enough wealth and power and influence, I would certainly be a man of significance.

After that day, everything changed. I had a new ambition-- a sense of purpose. I followed the universe's advice. Kept the main thing the main thing. How could I not?

I strived to succeed so that I could earn money so that I could buy things. I would acquire things that my dad never could. That would make him proud.

And acquire I did.

I acquired the newest sneakers and the nicest suits. That was just the start. I acquired a house and a wine collection and, eventually, a fleet of cars. It never felt right to think of it in these terms, but if I'm being honest, I acquired a marriage and later a divorce. I acquired a team of lawyers who made sure I could keep the beach house we had acquired during our union, which felt more like a merger than a marriage.

I acquired the right to see our kids every other weekend.

I acquired promotions and bonuses and stock options. I acquired mutual funds and CDs and ownership stakes in Real Estate Investment Trusts.

I acquired two hours from a famous band to play at my 50th birthday party, where the friends I had acquired drank the expensive scotch I had acquired for the acquired occasion.

I had acquired status and success.

I had listened to the universe.

I had fulfilled my parents' hopes and dreams.

Why did I feel so desperate and alone?

I lived in a five-bedroom, seven-bathroom house I had acquired with the help of a bank. I acquired a new housekeeper when the previous one kept forgetting to dust my most expensive wine bottles. My things didn't work for me. I worked for them.

I acquired a new hip and an ulcer and a doctor to perform a hernia surgery. I acquired high cholesterol and habit of drinking too much when I felt stress, which was most of the time.

I acquired a company and a team of lawyers and accountants to strip out cost from that company, which afforded me the chance to acquire another company.

I had acquired so much. Why did I feel like I had so little? Why did I feel so insignificant?

In my 60th year, my father passed away after a long battle with cancer. No neighbor dropped off a casserole. No co-worker suggested we have coffee. I couldn't think of anyone to call to explain how hollow I felt. Most of my "friends" worked for me. In a strange way, they felt… I don't know… acquired.

My grown kids cried for grandpa and told me how sad they were, but it felt superficial. Like they didn't really know me. Like I didn't really know them.

By contrast, so many of my father's friends came to the funeral. They told me about his integrity. The love he gave. They told me he was funny and charming, trustworthy and loyal, and they shared so many stories I had never heard. They told me how proud he had been of me.

I had been so busy acquiring stuff that I hadn't ever realized that I had acquired my dad's love. And now it was gone. Or at least he was gone.

I had never felt so alone. So insignificant. I was the most successful person I knew, and yet I felt like a complete failure.

The day after the funeral, I visited his grave. The wind kicked up, reminding me of the day the universe had spoken to me some forty years earlier.

I had some questions.

I looked down and I looked up. I held out my fist. Since my father had died, I had acquired so much anger. So much guilt. Or maybe I'd been acquiring that anger and guilt for years. Since my mother had died.

"I did what you told me," I yelled to the universe. "Why do I feel so alone? Why am I not fulfilled?"

The wind kicked up, and the universe spoke to me again. "I've been waiting for you," it said.

"Waiting for what?" I asked.

"Waiting for this. Waiting for you to ask this question?"

"Why didn't you just say something?"

"Because you never asked."

"I'm asking now," I said.

"Do you remember that morning, the morning when I told you the key to the universe?"

"Yes. Yes, I do. I'll never forget it."

"Do you remember the wind?"

"It was howling," I said. "Howling like it is now." Leaves kicked up all around me. I clenched my fists in anger.

"Perhaps that wind affected your hearing."

"What do you mean. I heard you loud and clear."

"Did you really?"

"You spoke to me in so many ways. Through friends and ads and movies and politicians."

"And what did I say?"

"You said Just Do it and Be Like Mike. You told me to Live the Dream. That Greed Is Good."

"But what did I actually say?"

"You told me to ACQUIRE. That's how I'd fulfill my potential. That's how I'd make my parents proud."

"That explains it," the universe said. "You heard that the secret was to ACQUIRE?"

"Yes, that's what I heard. That's what you said."

"No," said the universe. "That's not what I said."

"What did you say then?"

"You've figured it out. You've answered your question."

"What do you mean?" I asked. "I haven't figured anything out. I'm asking you."

"Exactly," the universe said.

And it hit me. I had been listening to the wrong things. I had misheard the universe. I had thought it had spoken to me through my friends and my rivals, through the messages of brands and politicians.

Truth be told, I had listened, but I hadn't heard. Maybe I hadn't been ready. Too young. Too self-involved. Too impressionable.

But now, I had another chance.

I would heed its advice. Get to know my neighbors. Get to know myself. Follow my curiosity. Give and get love.

I would ask hard questions about what it means to live a life of meaning. I would confront my own fears and insecurities. Deal with my unresolved guilt. I would approach the world with a beginner's mind.

And that's what I've done. That's what's made the last forty years so fulfilling.

What's that?

What had the universe really said to me so many years ago?

I'm sorry. I thought I was clear, but I guess those same cacophonous noises still exist.

You see, I had thought the secret to living a full life was to ACQUIRE.

All along, all I had to do was ask questions. Ask the question.

For the universe, on that windy, noisy day, had offered up its secret.

It hadn't told me to ACQUIRE after all.

It had said something that I now can hear clear as day. From that day forward, I understood the path to fulfillment.

"The key to the universe…" it had said, "… is to INQUIRE."

And from that day forward, I did.

The world tells us to Acquire, but the world is not the Universe. That's not the universe speaking.

The more you ask, the more you’ll understand. And the more you understand, the more you'll ask. When you realize this, your life will become richer. Your heart will be full.

Or maybe the key to the universe is 42. I don't know. I'm going to keep asking. I hope you'll do the same.