Ed Batista

I'm 42 today.  Yay me!  As I wrote in March, 42 is "too young to feel truly old, but old enough to no longer feel young."  Forty was just a number–I really didn't feel much different as a result.  But 41 was a quite a bit heavier because Amy and I lost several family members that year, and that process has continued this year, leading to thoughts about mortality while laid up or caring for Amy after surgery.

Andy Chan, the former Director of Stanford's Career Management Center, once provided me with a great framework for thinking about where we are in a given journey or experience by asking, "Are you in the first half or the second half?"  And it's safe to assume that I'm in the second half of this existence.  (Although hopefully it's still the third quarter.)

As a result of my reflections over the past few months, I'm comfortable with this.  Being sick and helping Amy recover made me realize how little I know about aging and infirmity, but, paradoxically, learning how unprepared I truly am has helped me prepare.  Funny how growing old (up?) works that way.

So a sense of my mortality doesn't leave me feeling gloomy–but it does cause me to take stock, to look around and assess where I am and what I'm doing.  And last night I wrote to a friend that "I've been feeling down lately, wondering whether I'm making enough of a
difference, feeling a little frustrated and envious as I get glimpses
down other paths."

This is largely a result of the absence of our students over the Summer, those from the Class of 2009, who have graduated and left the GSB behind, and those from the Class of 2010, who are in the midst of their internships all over the world.  I have more time to see private coaching clients when classes aren't in session, but on balance I spend less time coaching and more time on administrative work and other projects at Stanford over the Summer.  Coaching is my vocation, it sustains and feeds me–but the rest is just stuff that needs to get done.  It's not drudgery, but it's not my passion, either.

So knowing that expressing gratitude is one of the keys to my happiness, I've been reflecting on what I'm grateful for, what I appreciate–which is to say who I'm grateful for, who I appreciate:

• Amy, first and always.  I'm so grateful for the chance that brought us together and all the hard work we've put in over the last 23 years to stay together.  More than anything else, my love for you and your love for me give my life meaning and purpose.
• My Mom and Dad.  In some ways I was a really easy kid to raise; in other ways I know I was unbelievably difficult.  Thank you for putting up with me through the difficulties.  I don't tell you enough how much I love and appreciate you.
• My brothers David and Matthew.  See above–in some ways I think I've been a pretty good older brother; in other ways I know I could do better.  Time with you is one of the rarest treasures in my life, and I wish there was more of it.
• My friends.  The friend I mentioned above emailed me just to say how much she was appreciating my writing here, which was incredibly powerful and uplifting to hear.  I have a lot of people in my life like that, and I am truly lucky to call you my friends.
• My clients and students.  Second only to my marriage, my work with you fulfills me and gives me a purpose in life.  I'm deeply grateful for every opportunity to talk with you, to share your challenges and your joys, to be a part of your journey.  Thank you.
• All the little moments that remind me what a privilege it is to be here, like the one captured above, atop Drake's Head in Point Reyes with Amy in June.  Lucky, lucky, lucky, lucky, lucky, lucky.  That's me.