Perhaps this entry is a result of the typical mid-life reflections (crisis?) many have or maybe it’s the culmination of what appears to have been a lifelong existential crisis (what twelve year-old kid chooses to study mysticism?). Whatever it is, I’ve been thinking upon it for quite some time and have finally made peace with it.
There comes a time when a person has to face the finitude of their life. It’s not a shock that we all must go, but it’s certainly not something we gleefully embrace with open arms. As much as possible, we often distract ourselves from having to face that fact that our lives have an end point. We work diligently to avoid it as much as possible, as if our efforts will somehow unlock a key to immortality (which seems to be the promise of current medical and technical research).
We all know this in the back of our minds and approach it in a multidue of ways.
Some of us ignore it, completely. We treat it as something that won’t happen unless somebody tells us.
Some of us dwell on it, constantly. This has produced a wide range of fascinating philosophical, theological and sociological discourses. Technical ones as well.
But, like all things, most of us are somewhere in-between those two camps. We know it’s coming, so what do we do with it?
Well, we can rush to achieve the greatest success possible, sacrificing everything we can to (as Steve Jobs has said) make our dent in the universe. Achieve as much as possible because we only have one chance to make it happen.
The problem with this is we spend so much time trying to achieve that we forget how to live. It’s no wonder people who fall into this way of thinking suddenly find themselves having achieved everything they want and realizing, “this is it?” It leads them to the “second mountain” as defined by David Brooks. It’s perhaps for this reason you have multitude of Silicon Valley types attracted to the philosophical discourses of Naval Ravikant.
We can stress about making every moment matter and put enormous pressure on ourselves to make sure we are not “wasting” time. I put the quotes around wasting to suggest that time is not a commodity we can purchase or use. It’s a tool of measurement we have deluded ourselves into thinking we can master, forgetting that all we have is the present moment.
We can push to make the world a better place for future generations. While we should be doing this with every encounter, I think we often have a very narrow vision of how this can be accomplished every day.
We can hedge our bets in a particular religious tradition in the hope it’s right and we will be rewarded for our efforts to adhere to its tradition. As a Theology major, I have a serious concern with an adherence to dogmatic principles in the hope of a reward as opposed to an opportunity to touch the deeper meaning of an eternal universe.
Or we can recognize that, from a cosmic perspective, our lives are nothing more than a breath in history.
The universe is over thirteen billion years old and will go on for billions of more years. It probably has no semblance that we even exist, nor care that we’re here.
That idea used to bother me. Not anymore.
How amazing is it that in the grand scope of all that cosmic history, we are given a chance to experience life. We get to witness it. The universe evolved us to have consciousness to reflect on it, thereby (to paraphrase Thomas Berry) we get to be the universe reflecting on itself.
The finitude of life is what gives life meaning.
It doesn’t call us to rush from one moment to another, but to stop and appreciate them as they come.
Given the choice between running through a museum to see as much as possible for a brief second, or slowing down to spend time at just a few exhibits, which one leaves you more fulfilled?
We may never read all the books we want, see all the places we desire or finish the laundry once and for all. But wow, for a brief moment in cosmic history, we got to experience something and the chances against that happening are staggering. And although I am saddened by the departure of many loved ones, I get to experience the pain of loss and be reminded of the importance of others in my life.
I get to appreciate the moments, recognize the bigger picture and embrace the difficulties of making it through some days.
Because in the end, even the most difficult moments come to pass. They become memories.
It takes the pressure off to make things perfect, or be angry with ourselves.
It forces us to stop comparing ourselves with others, to hold ourselves up to an ideal we can never achieve.
To connect with each other. To step back. To pause.
To ignore the multitude of distractions that keep us from enjoying what’s in front of us right now. To leave here knowing we appreciated the gift we were given, regardless of how long we had to enjoy it.
It was over fifteen years ago, I sat at McDonald’s with the Rev. Dr. Ronald Wayne Young, a close friend and spiritual mentor, who commented that something must’ve happened for me to feel such existential dread at such a young age. I couldn’t pinpoint to anything in particular, but he recognized how much it weighed on me. Then, in only the way he can, he nudged me in a different direction in the hopes I would finally find peace.
I’ve found it now, Padre. I’ve found it now.