Every so often I have an existential crisis. Or maybe it’s better described as a “why do I exist?” crisis. This time of year is ripe for that feeling. Shorter hours of daylight, aggravated by Daylight Saving Time. Damp, chilly weather. Another birthday.
We had a good birthday!
I know we did, 9. It’s not the day itself or what happened on it, but the questions that arose in my mind: What is the meaning of my existence? What on earth am I doing on Earth that is important enough to justify the planet supporting my human life?
You are bowling me over with your self-confidence and optimism.
No doubt I am, Lily, and thank you for the snark, it’s nudging me out of my introspective Eeyore state of mind. Also, it’s helpful to remember my time as you- -fourteen, completely fired up about the theater, and determined to find my career there!
Most days I feel fired up about life-in-general, but not so much the past few weeks, and especially not since Sunday. Maybe leading a national crusade to abolish Daylight Saving Time would reinvigorate me? But, y’know, it’s kind of cold and dark for national crusades right now.
Instead, I’ve turned to introspection- –
Digging yourself in deeper, are you?
For a couple of days I was, Lily. As recently as Wednesday night, the one valid reason for my continued existence I could identify is taking care of Hoosegow, a being who depends on me for very basic things. Food. Shelter. Sitting on my lap to steal my body heat, and biting me when he’s done.
Personal significance: Being a cat mom!
I would love to have a cat!
Being a cat mom is a high and noble calling, 9. That night I resolved that taking care of another being was sufficient justification for the space and resources I use. Kind of grim, but, y’know, something. . .
Today, I had a much more helpful insight. Today, I realized it’s not us as individuals that justifies our existence, but the part we play in the totality of existence.
Waxing esoteric. What a surprise.
I recently mentioned my belief system: Everything in the universe is part of a great whole. In short, we are all made of the same star stuff. There’s comfort in that to me, our atoms all coming from the same source, making us profoundly unified.
That’s your belief, but what about meaning?
Excellent question, Lily. A very simple form of the answer came to me today. The meaning of our lives, of all life, is what we contribute to the whole. Not who we are as individuals, but what we DO as individuals. Our relationships with and to human, plant, and animal life, and the environment. Our words, and actions, and the role we play in making the totality a better place. Or a worse one, because we are capable of doing both. How we move forward from our successes and mistakes. How we keep trying, even when times are hard, and slowly see our efforts, combined with those of others, brighten the world when it has turned dark.
The kind of darkness humans bring upon themselves, that is.
Because something larger than ourselves is driving the Big Bus. In spite of our efforts, there is much we can’t influence or control.
In short, it’s a long time yet ‘til the Winter Solstice. . .
Ah, sweetie, I’m right there with you. I tend to want to blame the Planets for this strange “questioning” that I, too, am experiencing lately. I don’t have a better answer than that, sorry to say, except to add that I think it’s a curious side-symptom of our drive to “individualize,” that demands that we question our purpose and belonging in this Soup of Life. (I mean, how can we NOT belong to that which created us from itself?) May the coming year bring new learning and a lightness of being to you, Ms. Scorpio! <3
Hi Erin, Interesting what you said about the drive to “individualize”. We really have made a shift toward feeling the compulsion to “brand” ourselves as a consumable item in order to be understood. Maybe the key is for humanity to back off a little and relax from the endless sprint of self-assertion? But the trick is, how to make that “cool”. . .Life remains endlessly fascinating. . .Cheers to you, dear friend!