On one of those blistering hot days a couple weeks ago, one of my girlfriends and I were in belly-deep water in a backyard pool, sipping spiced cranberry mead and bobbing on floaties. “So I’ve been thinking about the meaning of life,” I said. “Do you know what it is?”
“I’ve been asking that very same question!” she said, smacking the water.
“Well, do you have an answer?” I said.
“No, I was hoping you would!”
For the first (almost) fifty years of my life, my purpose has been mostly predetermined. As a child, teen, and young adult, my purpose was to grow up, get educated, and gain my own freedom. And then for the last twenty-plus years, my family — building it and then tending it — was what gave me purpose.
But now I can do whatever I want and so I’m asking, What’s it all about? What do I reach for? How will I know they are the right things? How do I check myself? It’s not the specific choice that matters as much as the underlying motivation, so I’ve run through a list of all the things that, at first glance, appear to motivate me.
Here’s what I think the answer to life’s meaning is NOT.
It’s not fame or popularity. Whenever one of my little YouTube videos does extra well, or I get a bunch of comments on a blog post, or I get a flurry of compliments, I feel like I’m lifted, speeding along on a lovely little wave. But then the wave breaks and I’m deposited (rather indecorously, I might add) on the beach and, welp, ride’s over and that’s that. The truth is, all that good will doesn’t give me meaning. Which actually, now that I think about it, is a good thing, because the same goes for the bad will, whew! My meaning and drive and purpose needs to be internal if I’m gonna stay grounded.
It’s not money. I’ve never been driven to make money but I have toyed with the idea of devoting myself to the pursuit of it, and while it’s be an interesting diversion, I’m sure, I also know that no matter how much I’d make, it’d never be enough.
It’s not relaxation. I love my down time with the fiercest of passions (when I’m not chilling on the couch, I’m looking forward to chilling on the couch), but give me more than a couple hours of popcorn and Netflix and I begin to die inside.
It’s not freedom, simply because people who lack freedom, however you might choose to define it, are still able to have deeply meaningful lives.
For awhile I thought that maybe relationships were the answer, as in life is meaningful only in as much as we find connection with others. Or maybe it was generosity, not so much the act of giving but being invested in something beyond one’s own perspective? But no, relationships are constantly breaking, and generosity can be a selfish and draining act.
Here’s something else I’ve been thinking: If I were to die tomorrow, my death would upset a bunch of people, yes, but it would only disrail a handful of lives. And then, just a couple generations later, my very own descendents will probably not even remember my name. This is kinda depressing, of course, because I am the world (to me), but it’s also kinda grounding, or at least clarifying. My existence really doesn’t matter all that much.
So then, I ask you (myself), what’s it all for?
At long last, I’ve finally settled on the truest, simplest thing I can think of. See, I’ve noticed that the more I value what is, the less frenetic I feel. When I stop chasing projects, people, deadlines, to-do lists, and obligations and instead simply focus on appreciating the little things around me — my bare feet on the cool, leaf-strewn concrete porch, the laser focus required to get these thoughts into a Google Doc, the messily abundant pantry shelves, the bodies of my children obstructing my way around the kitchen — suddenly, it is enough. There is enough. Life is enough.
Appreciating what is has two benefits. First, it removes the pressure to achieve — boots me right out of the ratrace hamster wheel, it does — and second, it gets me outside my feelings because there’s no need to like something in order to be grateful for it.
Example: I don’t like running. It’s hard work, I can’t breathe, my thighs ache, my hair sticks to my sweaty skin, my body wants to stop. And yet, I can run! My body is strong! The air is fresh! The views are stunning! My heart beats! I am alive!
Example: I don’t like a messy kitchen. Stuff’s in the way. I run out of space. Cleaning up takes time. And yet, I can cook! I have instant running water! Look at all my tools! I can make whatever I want! We have food! I have a freaking KITCHEN!
The shift is subtle but the impact is huge.
So regarding the meaning of life, this is where I’ve ended up: gratitude. It’s so simple, it sounds stupid, but I’ve yet to land on a better, truer answer.
What’s yours?
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This same time, years previous: nine fun things, with the cool kids, yogurt: the water bath method, on putting up a BLM sign, a fantastic week, fried, in the kitchen, the quotidian (8.1.16), my deficiency, a pie story, babies, boobs, boo-boos, and bye-byes.
