My Obituary

It was a dreary day. The type of day fitting for such an occasion. The visitors shuffled in out of the rain, and shed their coats by the door. The room was well-lit. Perhaps too well-lit. The sniffling of noses and soft sobs could be heard, seemingly coming from nowhere and everywhere at once. A man in a dark grey suit rose from his seat and walked to the front of the room.

Behind the man lay a casket.

The man spoke.

Hello, and welcome friends and family.

We gather here today, to celebrate the life, and grieve the death of Adam Taylor.

Today, a few of his friends and family will say a few words about him.

As the first man stopped speaking, another man rose from the front row, and walked toward the front of the room. The man paused for a moment at the podium. Taking a deep breath, he spoke:

My father was a man of passion.

His infectious zeal for life was apparent from the first moment you met him. His passion was evident in his friendships, his businesses, his relationships with people, and most importantly—in his family. Anyone who has ever had the pleasure of a Taylor-household dinner knows what I mean. My father warmly welcomed people from all walks of life into our house to serve and fellowship with them. He knew that the value of life rested not in the “what”s, “when”s, and “where”s, but in the “who”s. Indeed he raised me to understand that a life worth living was a life of service, suffering, and simplicity. My father loved me and my mother passionately. He was a patient, but firm man who always began with the end in mind. His discipline was decisive but fair. He never let me wonder what the standard was, nor did he ever fail to strive for that very standard himself. Of course he would fail, as all men do, but he never languished in his failure. He was quick to apologize, quick to learn, and quick to try again.

My father was a common man, with an uncommon hunger for consequence.

The man stopped. Holding back tears. He turned and walked back to his seat. The woman sitting beside him, embraced him, and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

She sat for a moment, as if gathering herself. She then stood and walked to the front.

My husband was the most intentional man I’ve ever known.

He had a knack for taking complex situations and breaking them down into basic principles. His ability to look through the obvious and into the heart of a matter made him an incredible problem-solver. Of course, many a man are problem-solvers. Yet, not so many are capable of humility and selflessness. It is upon this trait, that I often reflect. In a world surrounded by inflated egos, and personas jockeying for clout, my husband was a man of quiet, confident, humility. He often would spend hours helping people and talking to them, for no payment other than the joy of serving his fellow man. He understood that ‘We wrestle not, with flesh and blood’, taking great care to separate the sin from the sinner. Adam knew that ‘the greatest of these is love’, and though not perfect, spent countless hours pondering how to love others well. Lest you think Adam a doormat, his greatest love outside of people was training: jiu jitsu, guns, lifting—Adam loved the idea of “being ready”. It didn’t matter what life could throw at him, he wanted to be “ready” for it all. And ready he was. Adam never wasted a moment of his life. He knew how to work like a dog, and rest like a cat. He balanced periods of unparalleled work ethic, with long thoughtful bouts of rest and reflection. And finally, Adam was a man after God’s own heart. He wrestled with purpose, love, meaning, and consequence. He fought and prayed to understand how he could best leverage his innate talents to bring glory to God. He was obsessed with ensuring that his actions and deeds did not reflect poorly upon the Gospel in which he so fervently believed.

The woman looked up, tears streaming down her face. She forced out a small laugh, sniffling at the same time.

If you knew him at all, you already knew all this. Adam lived a life of inspiration, passion, and zeal. He was the love of my life, and I thank God for every single day we had together.

The woman, took another look back at the casket, tears streaming down her face, and returned to her chair.

Another man stood, and walked to the front, his brow furrowed. He held back tears as he spoke.

Adam was a leader, a mentor, a friend, and a father to the fatherless.

He demanded excellence from you, but gave you room to fail. He balanced the dichotomy of leadership, both inspiring you to greater heights, and supporting you if you fell from those heights. His compassion for the downtrodden and his faith in their ability to rise up, propelled him to trust those undeserving of such trust. He believed in you more than you believed in yourself.

He laughed, with a tear in his eye.

Yeah, he definitely believed in me more than I believed in myself. He always saw things that weren’t there. He saw what you could be, especially when it was not there yet. His unwavering faith in you, actually gas-lighted you into believing you were wrong about yourself. You thought you couldn’t do XYZ, but he made you believe you could do XYZ, until you actually would do it.

Looking around the room, people from all walks of life could be seen. Friends, family, and seeming strangers all gathered around to celebrate the life of Adam Taylor. Adam elevated those around him and strove to love others as Jesus had first loved him.

He was a man of intense drive, committed to his circle of influence, never concerning himself with matters outside of his control.

He loved deeply, and never forsook a moment of his life.

What’s going on here?

If you’ve read much in the #productivity space you’ve likely heard about “Writing your obituary”. Upon first hearing this, I thought it quite strange and dismissed it pretty quickly. However, the first time I heard this I was either late in high school or early in college. I didn’t have much by the way of life-changing, highly-important relationships, such as my wife and my son. I might also add I didn’t have a fully-developed frontal lobe, so imagining dying was pretty much impossible. Reading this advice some years later, I’m nearly 28 and realizing just how much of my life is relationship-driven.

As I read The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People for the 3rd or so time, I began to really understand how much leadership matters. In this context, the leadership is “personal” leadership—are you doing the right things?

It matters little how productive you are, if you’re going Mach 6 in the wrong direction.

So what better way to understand if you’re going the right direction, then to begin with the end in mind?

I wrote this obituary to reference from time-to-time. I’m sure I’ll come back and modify, update, or clean up things as I ponder on it more often. But the important part is having a rough idea of what I want my final impact to be on this planet and to those in my circle.