The meaning of life, as told by Socrates, George Washington and Ace Ventura

When I was a kid, I knew I was going to be famous.

I just knew it.

I wanted to create comic books and play professional baseball all before I was six. When I was in high school I wanted to be a rockstar, idolizing how Kurt Cobain came from nothing and became a legend. When I was in college, I wanted to be a famous war photojournalist like James Nachtwey. After college, I founded an online music magazine, hoping to build the next Rolling Stone. And if I’m honest, I can recall dreams of fame and fortune rooted in when I decided to found a startup.

I guess the last few years have changed and possibly matured me considerably, because I no longer see fame as an aspiration.

If anything, it sounds awful.

But I have been thinking about life and legacy a lot lately. When I recently uncovered that we had a war hero in our family who fought alongside George Washington, and not a single person in my family knew about it, I had a harrowing realization of just how finite the memory of me will be.

I, and most of you, will not be remembered for more than four generations.

The ripples we create in life will eventually slow, and return to become the same calm before we were plunged into life, as if we were never here.

If my sixth great grandfather fought for our nation’s independence alongside one of the most famous leaders in modern history, and no one remembered him, what on earth could I possibly do to be more than a mere notch in a family tree? This thought was grounding.

A few years ago, I read Ron Chernow’s biography, “Alexander Hamilton.” Hamilton’s list of accomplishments are longer than nearly any of the founding fathers, yet he too was fairly forgotten before the musical brought him back to life. We watched the musical that summer, and I still love this quote from it:

“Legacy. What is a legacy? It’s planting seeds in a garden you never get to see.”

It’s Father’s Day weekend, a time we’re supposed to celebrate dads with hot dogs, bad humor and gift cards to hardware stores. I’m always up for a good chili dog, but as a father myself, I’ve been participating in the Socratic method, pondering a question older than Socrates himself.

“What defines a good life?”

More than 2,400 years after Socrates’ life ended, I’m still wondering the same thing.

But I think I’ve come to agree with him.

“The unexamined life is not worth living”

First, you’re probably wondering why the Appalachian kid from coal country knows anything about the ancient philosopher. I minored in philosophy in college up until I realized I needed several more semesters of Spanish to get that degree. I was no bueno at Spanish class, and bailed on the goal but kept taking the courses because I loved finding new perspectives on life.

Socrates is credited as being the founder of Western thought and philosophy. He also taught the greats. You’ve heard of his student, Plato, who became the teacher of Aristotle.

I enjoyed reading about Socrates in college. He defined a good life as one living according to virtue, because “virtue is knowledge.” Socrates believed life shouldn’t be measured by wealth, possessions or power, but our inner qualities and virtues. This may seem like an outdated thought in today’s materialistic society, but I’ll quote a modern philosopher to highlight how I still think this has roots.

Jim Carrey.

That’s right, Ave Ventura himself.

Carrey once said “I think everybody should get rich and famous and do everything they ever dreamed of so they can see that it's not the answer.”

That’s powerful.

Through my journey with GoWild, I’ve met so many members on GoWild who lust for the fame of the outdoor industry’s influencers. They see the free gear, exotic trips across the globe, and millions of followers and aspire to escape their own life to be something and someone they’re just not. They want this idea of wealth, but the irony is that I’ve realized so many of these people live on large, beautiful farms with rolling hills or mountain ridges and ponds. These are farms just like the ones many wealthy people work for decades to be able to afford to escape their reality.

It reminds me of the famous story of the fisherman and businessman. A fisherman was laying on the beach, relaxing and casting a line into the ocean. A businessman approaches, questioning why the fisherman was just casually fishing instead of working hard to increase his take. The fisherman asks what his reward would be for such hard work, and the businessman said he could catch more fish, buy a boat, and expand his enterprise. The fisherman again asked what would be the ultimate reward of such a commitment.

Growing frustrated, the businessman says, ​​“Don’t you understand that you can become so rich that you can hire a great team, have multiple boats, and build an empire? You will never have to work for your living again. You can spend all the rest of your days sitting on this beach, looking at the sunset. You won’t have a care in the world!”

And the fisherman said, “and what do you think I’m doing now?”

Socrates said one of my favorite quotes of all time: “An unexamined life is not worth living.”

The fisherman had examined his life. The businessman had not.

Our work matters

It may seem we’re headed towards a confusing, counterintuitive woke hot take from a guy who recently said apathy is killing America’s culture. However, I’m not getting soft or about to tell you that you should buy a van and drive off into the desert to find inner peace.

If we all are blessed with enough time, we’ll work a third of our life. That is an incredible amount of time. Some of us will rise higher through the ranks, and some of those will become well known for it. Others will find a comfortable position and stay there, and may go their whole career known to a select few, regardless of their skill.

Given we’ll spend so much time working, shouldn’t that work matter to us? If I ask myself what defines a good life, I’m able to use the Socratic method to dig into what that means for me.

First, I have to decide what’s important to me, Brad Luttrell. What do I value spending my time doing? While a lot of things have value to me, only a few make the final list. Tacos are thoughtfully omitted.

What I value:

1. My family

2. My friends

3. My work

4. Time in nature

5. Exploring the world

It’s a simple list, but I think that’s it. I’m still tempted to add tacos but putting tacos behind my family could be insulting.

Next, I can use the Socratic method to dig into what are my goals. It’s been a long time since I’ve written my goals out. This is the first time I’ve challenged myself to do so in years.

My goals:

1. Raise my kids to contribute well to society

2. Build a lasting company that gives people joy

3. Own property where my young family can build memories and be outside

4. Give back to the people of Kentucky

5. Help others who are a few steps behind me, tackling challenges I’ve already solved

Years ago, I mentored at-risk kids with incarcerated parents. Statistically they’re far more likely to end up in prison, so we’d teach them that they can break the cycle by simply pretending to be someone else. If you pretend it for long enough, you eventually become that person.

Or “be as you wish to seem,” Socrates said.

With my goals and values in hand, I can work towards living a Socratic life—examined. I can be more purposeful today, and less worried about things I can’t control. I have a system for which I can teach my kids; one that’s founded in values and fundamentals, not vanity or materials.

If you’re not doing work that you’d be proud of on your death bed, knowing you spent 1/3 of your time doing it, it may be time to write out your own values and goals, and work towards alignment.

The invisible garden

30 years later, I can still remember little Brad sorting through his baseball cards, wondering what his own card might look like and thinking of the kids who would want his signature.

I’m sure six year old me would be crushed to find out I’m not famous. But 36 year old me recognizes that’s not a life I want to live. Fame for fame is fleeting, even for the greatest of a generation.

But as I wrap up my Father’s Day thoughts, I think I’ve realized how true that Hamilton line may be:

“Legacy. What is a legacy? It’s planting seeds in a garden you never get to see.”

Today, I’m raising my kids to have virtue. It’s how I was raised, and it’s how my parents were raised, and their parents. Collectively, we’re all small blips on the family lineage, but there is a collective power in a bloodline built on virtue, and with each new generation, they create one, two or three more people (or seven, in my mom’s case) who have the value of virtue instilled in them.

This is what technologists call a “network effect,” or a phenomenon where increased numbers of people or participants improve the value of a good or service.

Collectively, a good bloodline founded in virtue improves the value of our societal contracts. It makes us all a little better.

Maybe my family did forget Lt. James Tomlinson, my sixth great grandfather. But now I’m left to wonder if maybe we didn’t and I’ve had this wrong for the last few months.

It seems quite possible that James may have very well instilled values that impacted his next four generations—those likely to remember him—and their virtues made it all the way down to my grandmother Zella Tomlinson. I never met Zella, unfortunately, but have grown up learning of her legacy of love—it was rooted deep inside my dad and his sister. Maybe—just maybe—I’m living out James’ legacy today.

On this Father’s Day, I recommit to instilling virtue into my kids. I’m also committing to making sure my kids know their ancestors—even my youngest who is four generations from her great grandmother.

Her name is Zella.

Who I’m listening to: Abe Partridge

What I’m reading: “Blood Meridian” by Cormac McCarthy

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