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The Meaning of Life (or mortality, part III)

I really set myself up yesterday, promising to reveal the meaning of life today. You know I was just kidding, right? I mean, I’ve got all kinds of gems of wisdom I can pull out of my ass on a moment’s notice, but the meaning of life is not one of them.

The thing I was getting at, right before I sabotaged myself with that meaning of life thing, was that knowing you’re going to die someday is very different from knowing you’re going to die someday soon.

In those dark days and weeks, I felt things I’d never felt before, and I felt them in ways I’d never imagined. They weren’t even big profound things, they were small, simple, heartfelt things.

In retrospect, I think I was grieving. It’s a strange thing, grieving your own death.

GC and I love to poke around in bookstores. One evening during the dark days, we stopped into Chapters and it was an entirely different experience for me.

I found about a dozen books I wanted to read. There’s nothing unusual about that; it happens every time I go into a bookstore. I talked myself out of buying them, which is also normal. What was different was that normally I would remind myself that I have all kinds of unread books at home, and I should check the library or wait until I see them at a garage sale, and if I need to buy them now, well, they’re almost certainly cheapter at Amazon.ca. But this time it was simply that there was no point buying books to read ‘someday.’ I should just buy the one book I most want to read today. I had reached a place where it only made sense to buy things one at a time. There was no need to stock up or save for a rainy day. Today was the rainy day. It was time to start living.

It’s not such a bad thing, living for today. But it was a startling thing to have my relationship to the future revealed to me in Chapters.

You might remember that I was busy implementing the Getting Things Done system when I got diagnosed. The irony of that is delicious. I stopped Getting Things Done immediately; it was enough to simply get through the days. The only thing that mattered anymore was knowing what really mattered.

There’s something liberating about thinking you’re going to die soon. I mean, it’s kind of a kick in the head, and you’d rather live, but if you’re anything like me, you immediately start looking for the silver lining.

For a brief moment there, during the vast unknown phase of cancer, during the information-gathering process, between the ultrasound and the bone scan, between the biopsy and the MRI, between the diagnosis and the prognosis, between life and death – for a brief moment, I faced my own death with a philosophical shrug.

It’s not so bad, I said, to be dying young. To be getting on with the business of dying rather than the business of living. To be retired, rather than laid off. To be deciding what’s important enough to bother with, and what can be left undone, forever. To write the book or the story or the poem or the blog post that will be the last. To have it all be now, instead of later. To finally live like there’s no tomorrow. It’s not so bad.

And then the test results started trickling in, and it became apparent that life will go on for awhile yet. I’m laid off, not retired. I must get on with the business of living. Of putting things off and Getting Things Done. There’s still the luxury of an endless succession of tomorrows.

If you’ve made it this far, I’ll let you in on what I’ve discovered so far about the meaning of life: The meaning of life is about finding pleasure or joy or meaning in the ordinary. It’s about loving your morning shower. It’s about appreciating who you are and what you have. It’s about not craving more all the time. It’s about putting more emphasis on the present than on the future or the past. It’s about surrounding yourself with the people and things that make you feel good. It’s about helping other people feel good. It’s about having a few things that you love, not a lot of things that you don’t. It’s about quality, not quantity, in all things, including life itself.

But you probably already knew that, right?

20 comments to The Meaning of Life (or mortality, part III)

  • To know that living in the present is key to a life well-lived, and to feel that knowledge are two different things. Clearly, your experience has helped with the latter.

  • The meaning of life is to live & sense, like the meaning of the universe is to exist. We may entertain ourselves with grand schemes, to invent the next wheel, to save humanity, but really, these are further complications in the tangled web of existence. Devise them if you like, but the more divisions you make in yourself, the less integrated, and the less happy you will be.

    We are verbs.

    tOM

  • Deb

    How did you enjoy that first shower, by the way?

  • Gail

    Even if I know all of these things, I never could have said it like you do. Thanks for your words and bringing tears to my eyes.

  • tOM… I love your last thought. Thank you for sharing it; I need to think about that for a while.

    And Zoom… though we all *know* it, to some degree, it’s the easiest thing to lose sight of until we’re forced to pay close attention. Thanks for the reminder.

  • Oma

    The really great thing about learning to live in the present is that you discover that that is where you can be really happy. No regrets about mistakes made. No worries about what is going to happen if … Just the pleasure of doing what you want to be doing now. I am glad you learned this when you were fifty rather than seventy. I wish I had understood this twenty years ago. It is still such a new realization for me that I still find myself slipping into old habits and having to remind myself that now is what matters and is likely all I can have any semblance of control over.

  • Nat

    All you have is now…

    It’s all we all have really… just we tend to forget.

  • grace

    This is all a little like my new happy Christmas. A couple of years ago I decided that if I could have something good to eat to share with someone I love I had everything I needed for a happy Christmas. This after so many of the typical ‘Mom’ Christmases (and even worse, daughter Christmases) worrying, fussing and inevitably causing misery to myself and those about me. “Simple, heartfelt things” is (and not the hokey-pokey) really what it’s all about.

  • Tom Sawyer

    Yes, I already knew that. But it eludes me still.

  • Lisa in Toronto

    thanks for the reminder!
    will keep trying to enjoy all that I have already.

  • kayT

    Just to say how much I enjoy your writing and how glad I am I found it. I hope your back is better.

  • First, zoom, you’re not going to die soon. You eventually get to this conclusion toward the end of your post, but it bears repeating!

    My mother was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumour when I was very young. She was on permanent disability for many years, over a dozen until it came back and took her for good.

    She had had quite a rich life, living in many places, and eventually getting a Ph.D in Engineering (not a common thing in Canada at the time), and eventually tenure before her diagnosis.

    While this is a simplistic view of mine, I see her story as doing a lot of schooling, only to not be able to enjoy the spoils of it after reaching the major milestones.

    She was a fighter, too. In addition to being a strong-willed woman in a male-dominated profession, when she suffered the malignant tumour, she stubbornly refused to prepare a will, as she saw that as acknowledging defeat (thankfully there were few complications to this when she did pass).

    All this to say is that I live, at most, week to week, and if a day or a week passes where I get more pain than pleasure, I make sure to get time to myself to enjoy life in the following day/week. While I do contribute to my RRSP, I am constantly aware of the chance I may not be around to enjoy it.

    Carpe diem.

    – RG>

  • I’ve never had the fact of my own mortality thrown into my face as you have so I can’t say I know how you felt. I have been a live in the present kind of person for a long time. It’s what allows me to be happy despite the shitstorm around me. I’m glad you’re going to be around for a while and now you’re going to enjoy it.

  • XUP

    I believe we had a deal? Something about meeting up when we’re 100 for some drinks or something?? I can’t remember the details, but I do remember it inspired a blog post about immortality. So if anyone tries to tell you you’re not going to make it to 100, remember it’s dishonourable to renege on a deal.

  • Isn’t it always the most difficult stuff we encounter in our lives that makes us appreciate the simple things? We all know this (and you articulate it so well, Zoom!) but somehow we need to be reminded often. So glad your prognosis is much improved!

  • Oops! Forgot to mention that life will be much improved when you can get your back fixed! Hope it happens soon for you. So what’s with Ottawa’s lack of neurosurgeons? A couple of years ago here in Vancouver I was able to see one quite quickly when I got a pinched nerve in my neck that made my left forefinger go numb (permanently, as it turned out). After tests, he recommended against surgery for which I am grateful. My case was totally minor compared to yours! Of course that was several years ago and things could have changed now…

  • “Buy the one book you want to read today.”
    Great writing, Zoom.

  • You’ve only become a greater writer & a better person.
    The darkness or dread will become lighter and the hope
    will bring you through this.
    So will GC.
    Read a funny book too Zoom!!!
    We are thinking about you & miss you at Blues Fest.
    I hope your back is a little better

  • […] got tired of waiting. I contemplated my own mortality. I revealed the meaning of life. GC and I celebrated our first anniversary. I started using a wheelchair. I got the cancer […]