It’s best to hold all things loosely in life
It’s my birthday, and Chicago is in the midst of its biggest snowstorm of the season so far, so I had no plans for today except to drink some beer and try to update my blog, which I haven’t done for nearly two months. (I used the word “try” in this opening statement, because when I started this, I had serious doubts as to whether I’d actually finish it.)
I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced such an extended phase in my life when I’ve had so many thoughts and yet so few words to put to them. I think this might be what I’m suffering from.
Despite our successful removal from the White House of a malignant narcissist, pathological liar, admitted sexual predator, remorseless criminal, and enemy of liberal democracy, there are still daily outrages on the political front. There was a time when I’d write about political issues several times a week in this space; anymore, I have no desire to do it. It’s exhausting and soul-depleting, and I can’t keep up with it. Even if I could, my words wouldn’t be anything new or groundbreaking. They’d do nothing to change the untenable position in which this country finds itself.
On the personal front, last weekend marked one year since I had returned to Chicago—the metropolitan area of my birth and upbringing—after nearly a decade and a half of living on both coasts (9.5 years in Seattle; 3 in the D.C. area). I had every intention of putting words to a long, thoughtful reflection on this milestone, but of course I ended up just reading and watching Netflix instead, and at the end of the day I deleted the draft I had started. It wasn’t close to my satisfaction, and I had no idea what I was trying to say anyway.
Speaking of milestones, as I add another year to my time on this planet, it’s worth noting that I still haven’t done many of the things that are considered rites of passage for people by the time they reach my age — getting married, having kids, buying a house, just to name a few. I used to suffer all kinds of anxiety watching the years go by with so many of these contrived boxes still unchecked.
Not anymore. Why? Well, each of these is easily worth a full blog post of its own, but here’s a woefully inadequate summary: Traditional marriage is an antiquated, falsely elevated social institution that far too many people (particularly those who are still far too young) turn to simply because they’re insecure and terrified of being alone, and for that reason, many people fuck it up so badly that it’s clear they should never have done it in the first place. (I probably would have been one of them.) Having kids, regrettably, is something that some people do just to try to find purpose in life, which obviously by itself is a terrible reason to have a kid. Home ownership is another status symbol that carries enormous pitfalls of its own.
For those reasons, among others, these sorts of things don’t really bother me anymore. What I tend to focus on these days instead is the age-old question that has confronted humanity since the beginning of time: What’s the point of it all?
What’s the point of it all?
It’s obviously an especially poignant question in the age of a multi-year pandemic during which, at least for me, one day can feel like a replica of the day before: I wake up, make some coffee, flip open my laptop, and start work for the day, all without ever going outside or coming into physical contact with another soul. When the workday is done, I force myself to go for a 3–6 mile run, even in the frigid winds of the Chicago winter. Then I come home, eat something, and waste time on the internet or watch television for an hour or two before going to bed and waking up the next day to do it over again.
Needless to say, the harsh answer to the aforementioned question is that purely at face value, there is no point. None at all — at least not if you don’t believe in anything greater. I mean, how can there be? If the existentially alienating life we have now is all there is, and we simply cease to exist after natural death, then it’s tough to argue that value, purpose, or significance lies in…anything. Especially in times like these, where one day to the next might as well be sand through the hourglass.
Which brings to bear the question of faith, another realm I’ve wrestled with for a long time now. I haven’t gone to church since before I left Seattle, and I have deeply ambivalent feelings about the whole idea of it. But this does not mean my faith journey is dead or that I don’t think about it all the time.
Particularly for Americans, lots of emphasis is placed on finding happiness in life, and happiness is often equated at least in part with those milestones I’m speaking of. But happiness for me has always felt like a far more complex topic than most people give it credit for. What does it even mean to be happy? Does it mean that everything is going well? Or does it simply mean that things are good enough?
By the former measure, I’m not happy at all; by the latter, though, I’m pretty close.
What does it even mean to be happy? Does it mean that everything is going well? Or does it simply mean that things are good enough? By the former measure, I’m not happy at all; by the latter, though, I’m pretty close.
In any case, the older I get, the more convinced I become that the purpose of this ephemeral life is to find not happiness, but wisdom. Indeed, if it’s true that something greater is at play—some greater force, some deeper meaning—that we can’t possibly fully grasp in the space we presently inhabit, then there has to be some dynamic at work that prepares us for that greater reality of which we’re currently ignorant. Perhaps that dynamic is…the here and now, as unsatisfying as that might sound. Could there be something sacred in the mundane, some meaning in the hollowness?
The older I get, the more convinced I become that the purpose of this ephemeral life is to find not happiness, but wisdom.
I hope so. If nothing else, maybe it’s to remind us that we are meant for something bigger; that eternity is written into our hearts, even though eternity is not yet.
Maybe I’ll find love in life, or maybe I’ll die alone. Maybe I’ll own a castle someday (I really hope not), or maybe my golden years will be lived out in a humble one-bedroom apartment or condo (I’d be fine with that). Maybe what I’m doing now vocationally is how I’ll spend the rest of my career, or maybe there’s an as-yet entirely unwritten chapter.
The answers to these sorts of matters are not ours to know, and if the past year should have taught nothing else, it’s that no one in this mortal life is entitled to anything, much as we might regularly act otherwise. People, places, and things all come and go in life, some far too quickly and others not fast enough, often well beyond our control. I, for one, should focus far less energy on striving for whatever seems better than what I have now—or holding on too tightly to the things that are already mine, because they might not be for long—and instead prioritize understanding how the present is shaping who I am and who I will be.
It’s funny—I just got an email from my dentist in Seattle wishing me a happy birthday. I haven’t visited this dentist in almost six years, and barring life circumstances that I couldn’t possibly fathom at this point in time, I likely never will again. Still, it’s one of those subtle reminders that my identity—the full story of my existence and whatever it ultimately means — is far, far greater than just the current circumstances. We can’t hold onto the past, and we can’t predict the future, but we can seek to find significance in this very moment, for whatever it offers us, even if it doesn’t seem like much.
As trite as it may sound: Hold loosely but learn and love deeply.
Here’s to the year ahead, whatever it may bring.
