The arrival of some sudden and deeply sad news this week has brought out an existential anxiety in me. It’s an uncomfortable position to find oneself, questioning the why, hows and wherefores of life. You’re born, you die, of that there is certainty, but what of the inbetween? What of that tricky patch of time we call life? We never know the length of our allocation, of course - perhaps if we did, we might make more of our hours, and not waste them on trivialities like bearing grudges or being angry or annoyed because someone else doesn’t meet our personal expectations. I’ve been as guilty of that in my own time as the next person. But you learn, and you bloody well grow up. At least, that’s probably the Universal Plan. Some people, of course, never do. Or chose not to.
But I’ve been struck hard by confusion in the last three days or so as to what the purpose of life is. Why ARE we here? To survive, and in (hopefully)the best and most comfortable way we can? To make some sort of a difference? But to whom or to what? To make changes, maybe? But to what end?
This global pandemic is revealing the best and worst of humanity. I’ve borne witness to acts that have made me think, ‘Human beings are great, aren’t they? So compassionate, so clever, so caring!’ And I’ve borne witness to other acts that have made me think, ‘Humans are the most selfish crocks of shite on the planet and we should hang our heads in shame.’ I’ve caught myself thinking, ‘We don’t have time for all this mess.’
And I still don’t know why I am here. I’m heading towards the end of my 55th year, and STILL I don’t know what it is I am supposed to be doing. Perhaps I’ve already done it. I’ve grown two pretty amazing children, I’ve been a reasonably successful teacher. I look after my little patch of the world by gardening and trying to be as environmentally friendly as possible. I try to be kind. I sometimes raise a smile in others.
But should something bigger be my aim? Or is what I am doing big enough? I have an uncomfortable feeling that it is not. I am hoping that feeling is stemming from the fact I am being a bit hard on myself at the moment, and I am feeling sad.
The swallow parents have three babies. They are busy, in and out of the laundry room all day, feeding their young, working for their survival. I sat and watched them from an upstairs window this afternoon, battling the gusting winds to provide for their family. Perhaps they know what it’s all about, those two swallows...
Comments
I have many faults, but I hope there are one or two people whose life has been improved by my presence on this planet. And I hope that I’m going about my everyday, mundane business I am doing so in a way that does no harm to others or to the planet - I probably fail more than I succeed at the last one, but it’s the best we can do.
I am sure that you have made a difference to the children you have taught. You’ve made a difference to your own children and your grandchildren. You’ve made a difference to some of the animals that you’ve cared for, and you do your bit to live ethically. And you have certainly cheered and entertained me and many others with your writing. I hope the sad news is something that you can come to terms with, and that it won’t affect you and Andy too much.
I think life is very cruel. We start off with so much hope and along the way we get disillusioned.
I have come to the conclusion that we are simply her to reproduce to keep the species going and any happiness we can find in between should be grasped with both hands and enjoyed in the moment.
Briony
x
KJ