Ask More: The Power of Questions to Open Doors, Uncover Solutions, and Spark Change pdfdrive com

What are the high points of your life?
Greg talked about the jobs he’d had, the places he’d been, and the people he
knew. Meeting Missy was a high point. And despite the divorces, he was close
to his extended family. “I’m a brand-new grandpa, so I’m passing the torch,” he
said.

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What do you want to say to that grandson of yours?
“Seize life,” Yaden responded instantly. “Just go get her. Have fun. Be good.
Be a good human being and go have fun. Don’t hurt anybody else. Be good. If
you want to do something, just go do it.” He told me he had narrowed down and
written his rules to live by: “Don’t be afraid of failure. Be a kind human being.”
I will never forget this ordinary man who was so thoughtful, courageous, and
composed. He had never been in politics and wasn’t an advocate, but he was
devoting his waning energy, and some of his precious remaining time, to
advocate for this law and share this story with me. He needed to make a point, he
said. He wanted people to know about control and dignity. And about the
journey. “I am a great advocate of choice,” Greg told me. “Oregon and the
voters have given me the opportunity to end my life with some control and
dignity. I’m in good company because death is inevitable for all of us. That’s
pretty comforting.” This last mission—standing up for a belief—helped lend his
life greater meaning. Greg wanted to talk. He had a lot to say. All I had to do
was ask.
Greg died two months after I visited. He didn’t need the medicine.
Asking for Life
We do not need not wait for the deathbed moment to ask about the meaning of
our lives. Legacy questions travel with us. If we have the courage to ask them,
they help us get our bearings and write our story. If we listen closely to our
answers—even if they are not clear or uncomplicated—we gain perspective. As I
was working on this book, my daughter shared an email she’d received from her
friend, Jen. At twenty-five, Jen had led a pretty darn interesting life. She had
traveled the world, gotten a terrific education, and had more options in life than
most. But she had paused to ask about the meaning and the priorities of her
options, where they would take her, and what she would get out of them. Her
questions would have made Gary Fink, Ken Doka, and Greg Yaden proud.
What are we supposed to do?
Should we all have jobs that mean everything to us?
That consume us?
There are wonderful occupations and careers out there that offer
rewarding and fascinating experiences. But is that the dream?

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What else is there to devote one’s life to?
What do we give most to and receive most from?
Relationships?
Is a relationship supposed to be your whole life?
What do you escape to when you’re not at work?
A cause or a mission?
Try to save the world?
Call it the indulgence of youth, but I know a lot of forty-and fifty-and sixty-
year-olds who ask—or should ask—variations on these questions. Jen just
started early. Even if she never comes up with definitive answers, she will
appreciate and consider her choices more thoughtfully for continuing to ask.
Legacy questions serve as signposts.
What are you proudest of?
What is the most important life lesson you have learned?
What is your unfinished business?
What is your story?
I never got a chance to ask my mother these questions. Not that her feelings
were much of a secret. She was never short of opinions. But I should have asked;
she would have answered. She would have said she wanted to be remembered
not for being nice but for having principles. She believed the world needs more
fierce advocates who fight for what’s right. Mom was proudest of Lora, who
despite her Down syndrome defied the odds and just about everyone’s
expectations. Mom spoke often about the moment, soon after Lora’s birth, when
she threw the doctor out of the room. He had said he was sorry she had given
birth to a “mongoloid” child and offered to contact an institution that would put
her away.
My sister Lora has lived semi-independently for nearly forty years. She has
traveled on her own, participated in the Special Olympics, and become adept at
caning chairs and making pottery. Her work adorns our home. She talks to her
dad every week. She still misses her mother.
Lora will read this story, and she will ask me a whole lot of questions.

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