Late in his life, Thomas Merton, the brilliant Trappist monk and author and philosopher, wrote that finally, and after great struggle, he had come to the conclusion that his highest ambition was to be what he already was. “That I will never fulfill my obligation to surpass myself unless I first accept myself, and if I fully accept myself in the right way, I will already have surpassed myself.”

Merton, like most of us, always wanted to be more. A better person, a more devout worshiper, closer to God, surer in faith; he wished to be more in solitude, to write better, travel more, find love. He always wanted to surpass himself, and he often did. But then he came to one of those epiphanies that sadly, seems only to strike older people, those who have lived long enough to see some things and learn from life, and thus, are pushed to the edges and ignored.

Merton chose to want what he already had, and to be what he already was, and his ultimate goal in life was to first accept himself before he could  really grow as a human being.

This was an important idea for me. I have always wanted to be something I was not, I was never comfortable with what I was and who I was. My books were never successful enough, my writing was never good enough, I was never honest enough, or sane enough, or smart enough, or responsible enough, I was never good enough.

Lately it has occurred to me that my highest ambition is to be what I already am. If I cannot accept myself and love myself, I can never be more than I am, and if I fully accept who I am, I will already be what I most want to be. It shocks me to think of the peace and power and simplicity of that idea. This is about letting go, in the most fundamental way, of the heavy baggage I have carried around on my back.

“The beginning of love,” wrote Merton, ” is the will to let those we love be perfectly themselves, the resolution not to twist them to fit our own image. If in loving them we do not love what they are, but only their potential likeness to ourselves, then we do not love them: we only love the reflection of ourselves we find in them.”

If I cannot be perfectly myself, even to me, then I do not love myself, only my own reflection.

The human psyche – at least my psyche – seems to be afflicted with punishing people who are different, with conquering or killing or hating people who are alien to us, with failing to accept people as they are, rather than as we would wish them to be. This idea, that we must always be more than we are, seems the ultimate hubris, the most potent kind of arrogance.

Each morning, I sit in bed, or out in the pasture with the dogs and the sheep, or out on the Adirondack chairs  and I work to fully accept myself, and in this way, will surpass myself in the most important way. I want to be what I already am. Then I will be free.