Only the very lucky get to age. That applies to all creatures, all species, even plants, because no matter what any individual human may think, experiencing life is a wondrous thing, especially for us. We get to laugh and cry. We feel pleasure and pain. We can think deeply about what it means to be alive. We can create, respond emotionally to beautiful music, experience taste, and recognize the innocence of a child.
Sadly, our connection to these experiences is often inhibited by damage to our emotional lives. Yet there is hope, so much hope, and it is not necessarily found in the usual places. It is not buried thousands of pages deep in any single philosophy. It is not contained in the performance of rituals or in the fulfillment of every dream.
It is found in giving and sharing, two of our deepest and most misunderstood instincts. Most of us must clear away an extraordinary amount of wreckage in the mind before we can reach the gratitude that comes from giving, protecting the innocent, and teaching the young something worthwhile. In my view, this instinct to share and care for others is aligned with the natural world and with what I see evolution doing.
Evolution relies on us to teach the next generation what we have learned, but what is the most important truth we can pass on? It is compassion. It is softness, helpfulness, and non-harm. It is the realization of what those qualities require from us, moment by moment, often hidden inside a single slow, deep breath.
We often cannot feel the beauty of life because we are too busy judging, striving, and doing. When we are young, we take time for granted. We take nearly everything for granted. We believe the body will last and that the world around us will remain more or less the same, but everything is fleeting. Everything you know is here for only a brief moment in the grand scheme of time. That can make life seem pointless, but it is not.
Each brilliant moment of your life is a single note of music written on a page, contributing to a song so subtle that it may take an entire lifetime to learn how to hear it.
You might hear that song while listening to Debussy or a great piano concerto. You may see it in a landscape, a rose, or a newborn child. You may taste it in a strawberry or feel it against your skin in a warm summer breeze. Perhaps you recognize it intuitively in those moments when you feel connected to everything around you. Perhaps it appears in the relief of deep breathing or in your favorite form of movement, whether ballet, yoga, dancing, or ice hockey.
Maybe you will look back at your castle, your car, or your mansion and feel something, but I doubt that is where the real glory will be found. The real glory is looking back at a very long life and being able to say that it was worth it. It was worth the lessons, the grief, the pain, and all the changes you never asked for but somehow survived.
We stumble through life because of our defects and defenses, and because life itself is so imperfect, but finding our way through the maze is part of our purpose. I do not believe life is a test. I believe living it, learning from it, and helping others find their way through it is the purpose.
When we find our way through the maze, the information we gather becomes embedded in our chemistry, our behavior, and the things we create and share. Somehow, it finds its way back into the collective, and perhaps that process is endless. Perhaps, in some strange way, the way you taste a strawberry influences how the universe slowly unfolds into the dark and endless cosmos. Maybe.
Perhaps the meaning is also contained in your deepest tears, when you are forced to say goodbye to someone or something you love. Maybe it is present in the inhalation that gives you the strength to continue and to say thank you for all of it: the sunshine and the rain, the noise and the quiet, the pain and the pleasure, the loneliness and the togetherness.
At fifty-seven, it is obvious to me that if I want access to the full range of joy I am capable of feeling, I must also allow myself access to pain, fear, and tears. Nothing can remain permanently blocked without diminishing everything else.
I did not always love my experiences. Throughout my teenage years, I was anxious, frightened, angry, and lonely. There is too much there to explain every detail, but you probably understand because, in one form or another, you may have experienced something similar.
I tried hard to tempt fate. I hurt myself, and I hurt other people because my character was damaged and my defenses were strong. Still, something inside me kept pushing me to improve. I did not take the shortcut, but most people do not. We are stubborn that way, and sometimes we have to suffer much longer than necessary before we become willing to change.
Eventually, I found my way, and what is that way? I write. Then I breathe. Then I exercise so I can get out of my mind and return to my body. I help someone so I can get out of myself. I learn something. I listen to classical music, pop, and rock. Then I create something.
Afterward, I crawl back inside those strange spaces in my mind, into the haunted mansion of my past, and search for the beautiful moments hidden there. Many of the most beautiful moments of my life came through my connection with nature and my recognition of free will. Whatever happened yesterday, I can still make the right choice now.
I spent a year or two feeling deeply sad that life eventually begins to fade. Then I reminded myself that the terms are equal: everyone and everything must fade. Nothing is permanent, so I have to learn how to move with the changing phases of life rather than exhaust myself fighting them.
There are two kinds of people: those who know they will age and eventually fade, and those who remain in denial, fighting against what cannot be stopped. I am still going to work hard to keep myself going. I am going to work hard to give my children something good and to help my wife feel great about her life. Perhaps one day, someone will read what I have written and hear music in it, a theme that helps carry them through their own life. That possibility feels deeply hopeful to me.