MeaningI’ve visited New York City four times now, and every time I’m there, I pretend that I’m on the set of a movie. I can’t seem to help it. The island of Manhattan is basically a geographic facilitator for a game that I already enjoy playing in my head on a regular basis. In this game, I am the heroine of a story, and every thing that I do is part of that story’s intricate, well-crafted plot. I do this in my home city, Nashville, all the time, but New York makes my physical surroundings match the movie background sets that I’ve seen in countless major films and television shows. When I’m in New York, I feel like a Trekkie at a Star Trek convention – it’s the perfect place to let my pretending run amok. Of course, it gets even stranger. I also like to pretend that an audience is watching me – that’s part of the game. They’re watching me and rooting me on. Often, my incentive for partaking in a certain activity or going to a specific place is motivated by the fact that it looks/sounds/feels similar to a scene in a movie. This is more than just something that I do to entertain myself in my own head – it’s almost a way of life for me. For years, I’ve tried to figure out why I do this all the time. Is my ego really that huge that I must be the star of a major motion picture 24/7 in order to feel fulfilled? Is my real life so empty that I can’t just sit still and absorb the everyday details without extrapolating some larger story on top of them? Is this merely the natural consequence of growing up in a generation of people that has been inundated with visual entertainment media from the moment of conception on? Last week, I visited New York again, and this time, I realized something. I thought about the reason why I watch movies and television in the first place. I want to be entertained, and I want to live vicariously through other people while sitting in a safe, cozy environment - definitely. But most importantly – I use various methods of storytelling to help me find meaning in my own life. That’s what storytelling is – people have done it since the beginning of our existence as a species. We make up myths and fables as a way of saying: this is the big picture, and this is how the everyday simpleton fits into the big picture. Stories become a bridge between an average, aimless person wandering around the planet and a larger reason for existing (love, courage, tragedy that makes other people appreciate their lives, etc). I want to walk across that bridge. I want my life to mean something really important. It sounds simple, but as soon as the thought crossed my mind, I knew it was dead on. (I’m sure that a big ego and the whole TV-generation thing have something to do with it, too, though.) I’m looking for meaning. Movies and television are a way that I, personally, access meaning and truth, so it makes sense that I’d want to bridge the gap between the screen and my actual life.
Like most people, I take a lot of everyday beauty for granted. And when I do actually sit up and take notice of the smell of honeysuckle, the sunrise, the way the light changes throughout the day, dew on the grass, summer nights, the smell of flowers, laughter, clean sheets, children riding bicycles, etc – when I DO stop and “smell the roses,” I have to admit that sometimes the thought pops into my head, “is this all there is?” As nice as the smell of flowers is, sometimes I get frustrated with the idea that my appreciation of that smell is the highest meaning in life that I personally can experience on a microscopic level. And so my mind starts searching for ways to extrapolate meaning on top of the actual experience. This morning, for example, I woke up extremely early and decided to go for a walk to try and find a good place to watch the sunrise. Some walking and a little bit of trespassing later, I found a great spot at the top of an overlook – gazing out over a neighborhood, with the rolling hills of Tennessee behind everything and the sun creeping up higher and higher to shine its brilliant shimmer over my little corner of the world. I was completely alone; everything was perfectly still and peaceful. I stood there, knowing that it was a special moment and halfway appreciating it. But I wasn't appreciating it quite enough to be fulfilled without trying to mentally paste some ‘meaning’ over the event. I started thinking about all the people before me that had possibly stood in that spot, or close by, and watched the sunrise throughout history. Then I started thinking about how, it doesn’t matter where you live on the planet, you still see the same sun rising every morning. Then I started thinking of sunrises or other natural events as great equalizers. Then I started thinking about how the sun was seen as divinity to most early tribal societies and how it still symbolizes hope for me. Then I started thinking about how I could draw strength from that moment and take on the day with a better attitude. The wheels in my mind continued to turn like that on and on and on and on. I’m not saying that any of these thoughts were necessarily WRONG in and of themselves. They seem benign and possibly even capable of making the moment more special. However, the simple truth is that they didn’t. They distracted me, even as I was trying very hard not to be distracted and appreciate things to a greater degree. They paraded through my head leaving dirty footprints instead of existing seamlessly with the beauty of the sunrise. Indeed, I pushed them through because somehow the sunrise wasn't all that I wanted it to be. I had to try and make it take on more significance by over-thinking it.
There are times when I am driving down the street, or sitting alone at home, when all of a sudden – “meaning” exists. It doesn’t come because I’m imagining myself as the star of a movie, ruminating about my purpose in the world, trying to work out my philosophy on life, or defining my spirituality in concrete terms; rather, it simply arrives. It’s difficult to explain in words, but it’s as though every good thing that I’ve always tried to churn out mentally via fantasy or philosophy or introspection suddenly coalesces in my mind and becomes real internal experience, rather than tiresome mental wheel-spinning. I see my entire existence as one cohesive journey that makes sense. I see other people as innocents accompanying me on that journey – no matter what perceived injustice or transgression I believe them to have committed. I’d be perfectly willing to genuinely smile at Adolf Hitler in these moments, if that gives you an idea of the extent to which I feel at peace with humanity and all it’s ugliness. Perhaps this is what people mean when they talk about communing with God or having a religious experience. All I know is that this doesn’t happen to me often (maybe two or three times per year, if that), but when it does happen, it’s pretty amazing. And these moments are the only ones in my life that I can honestly say – I was fulfilled. There was no need for fantasy or my endless efforts to intellectualize my way to a higher state. I didn’t want to supplement the experience with good food, entertainment, or any kind of sensory pleasure. And although I’m writing about it now, I’ve never felt the need to try to describe these moments to anyone after they happen. I also haven't felt the need to keep them secret, but I don't usually discuss them in common conversation because the whole thing seems too weighty, and in truth, it's very hard for me to explain. I mention this now because, the experience allows me to say, with certainty, that there is a such thing as an organically fulfilling communion with…. the universe, for lack of a better term. Maybe it’s God, maybe it’s just some random caffeine induced chemical reaction in my head (a Starbucks iced Chai Latte was sometimes consumed by me just before these little revelations, I hate to admit!). Whatever it is, though, I’ve experienced it, and I know that I can be fulfilled. I can find meaning in the everyday space of my life, without casting myself as the leading role in the movie that plays in my head. The only problem seems to be that this occurs extremely rarely, and I can’t seem to control its occurrence, either. I’m fairly certain that I’m not doing anything or thinking anything to bring this about, and that’s kind of the point. It comes to me, rather out of the blue. I don't think that it's self-created. I don't think that I "earn" these experiences. I think they just arrive for their own reasons, beyond my understanding. The Hole In my previous entry, I talked about my incessant worry and anxiety and the hole that I believe to exist somewhere in the space-time continuum. I have a strong fear that if I stop worrying about things and if I stop incessantly planning for the future instead of living in the moment, then I’ll fall into this hole and be lost forever. I imagine the bottom of that hole to feel something like inescapable laziness, or crushing loneliness, or, most often, simply BOREDOM. Lots and lots of boredom. Boredom similar to the feeling that I have sometimes when I smell a rose and think, “this smells really good, but is this all I have to look forward to in life?” That kind of feeling makes one feel slightly unhinged – like there’s a perpetual level of dissatisfaction and malcontent that runs underneath the surface of everything. It pisses me off and makes me wonder if I could be doing more to access my own TRUE contentment or if all of this thinking and writing and fantasizing is just serving the same purpose as the constant worry. Is it ALL taking me out of the moment and manufacturing the illusion of footholds and safety in a world where there are no true footholds? Life is short, so lets get some more genuine fulfillment in a hurry, damnit! I WANT to fall into the hole, but I don’t at the same time, and that’s a problem. I don’t know the answer to all my questions – especially the questions about what I could or should be doing differently to get back to that internal place of infinite understanding and love and beauty more often and more consciously. I do know this: I’m human. I have limitations, and whenever I do reach that state of complete contentment again, I’ll be unconditionally accepting of those limitations and even think that they’re lovable and precious. I’m pretty much cognizant of EVERYTHING, in a weird way, at those times. In the meantime, I have to keep watching sunrises, and I have to accept that I may not appreciate them fully. Halfway appreciation is better than nothing. Regardless, I know that true, unshakable fulfillment exists somewhere within myself, and it will fill up my heart when it next decides to (or possibly whenever I water my Starbucks thirst). Everything that I see and do and say…. Everyone that I kiss or yell at… every feeling that runs through me (including insidious boredom when nice things happen)…. Maybe all of it is needed to make things make sense, in the grand scheme of life. You know, in the big picture. In the place where everything means something and is utterly important and beautiful. I have a feeling that all of the sunrises add up to something. All of the courageous effort to let go of the make-believe idea that I can prevent myself from falling into a hole…. It adds up to something. If nothing else, it adds up to me living my life, accumulating experience, building skills, and learning things about the way I work and how I can be a more loving person. Life is short, after all – learning is valuable, even if the process is a little tedious or frustrating. Perhaps this entire entry is another attempt to attach meaning to my everyday thoughts about meaning itself? I think it’s safe to say that this is just how I roll, and that’s ok. And right now, knowing that those moments of infinite understanding exist even though I’m not having one now, and I can’t see them or touch them or even fully explain them to others – that sounds a lot like faith to me, which is something that I’ve always had trouble comprehending. I understand it better now, and for that, I am grateful, even though my gratitude is severely limited and flawed at present – like everything else about me.
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