Travel with Sharlene

“What’s it all about?”, my husband wonders aloud from across the other side of the room. He is busy making me a lychee martini. We explore small bars for fun, and I’ve tried this drink everywhere. The Mike-made version is the best. A reason for joy in itself 😉

Something happens to us around this mid-life stage, after we’ve turned 50. Suddenly the runway seems so much shorter than the previous year. It dawns on us that time is running out. And the question of whether we’ve lived the life we had intended to, achieved the things we could have achieved, starts tugging out our minds.

There is something deeply profound about these questions that speak to the heart of the human condition. We are born, we live, and we die. And through that journey we learn, we dream, we hope, we strive, we achieve or not; and then, even whilst we still yearn, we begin to decay. Our bodies start to ache, the doctors appointments and number of pills we take increase, our energy and cognitive capacities decline, and we must deal with what feels like our increasing irrelevance as our roles change and the world changes around us.  

All animals are born, they all live and they all die – but only the human animal seems to be desperately aware of the ticking of time, the inevitability of death, and the slow decay that comes with ageing.

This week we went to see Death of a Salesman. It struck me deeply this play. Even though it is 75 years old, the despair and longing tied to our desire to be important, successful and have a meaningful place in the world leaks through every word and gesture. And even the play makes clear, this longing sucks away at the happiness we could have, if only we had the capacity to view life through a slightly different lens.

(poster from https://salesmanaustralia.com.au/)

The whole cast was brilliant, but Anthony LaPaglia took my breath away. Shuffling about the stage as Willy Loman, the main character, mumbling to himself, fighting with everyone as he battles with his increasing insignificance in the wider world. Life has moved on without him, and he is no longer what he once was, if he ever was. His dreams are lost in age and decay and the churn of a society that moves rapidly, ceaselessly discarding people like chaff.

LaPaglia channels these demons so well that when I recall the show, it is our fathers I see in my mind’s eye stalking that stage, agitated, lost, depressed.

Meaningless, meaningless wailed the Teacher in the biblical book of Ecclesiastes.

In a universal sense, of course, life is meaningless. In the greater scheme of things there is no reason for, or indeed evidence that, the universe has any meaning or purpose whatsoever. Evolution has shaped our minds to see purpose and have a sense of self, but just because we long for it to do so, does not mean the universe exists for any particular reason of which we are the key players in its unfolding.  

But that is not where meaning lies. Our lives themselves aren’t meaningless. At least, they don’t have to be. We get to create our own meaning, construct our own purpose and, if we appreciate that this is a fluid and flexible thing, create lives rich in meaning and value and happiness at whatever stage we are at.

Nietzsche and Sartre, existentialists both, suggest, as do I, that life has no inherent meaning and that we are free to make our own. Even religions, where many find meaning, are constructions of the human mind.

Our life, wrote Marcus Aurelius, the Roman Emperor, in his Meditations, is what our thoughts make it. 

Whatever ancient women thought of things didn’t get written down, but I do wonder if they were just too busy getting on with it to think too hard on these matters.  

And I think that is the point. What matters is not being attached to existential meaning, or external standards of success, but to our own values, what is meaningful to us personally, and choosing to live life in the moments we have. Choosing is required, for it is not our default position, at least for those of us who battle such fears.

Today marks 12 years since my father died, at the age of almost 67. Where did that time go? It is a reminder, a stark reminder, that life is short and time passes rapidly. And it is all too easy to waste that time focused on loss, on what could have been, on what you don’t have… rather than what you do.

(Yes, that’s me sitting on mum’s lap – 50 years ago)

Choosing better requires coming to that place where we recognise life’s brevity, and (and this is the important bit) appreciate the blistering wonder of being alive, albeit very temporarily.

Because life is what you make it. The quality of your life is directed by the quality of your thoughts. We do have – even when age creeps up on us and there is much water under the bridge – the opportunity to say, this is what is important to me. How lucky I am to have this moment in time.

I think that is where we find real meaning. When we let go of our expectations and embrace where we are. When we let go of our fear and seek out joy. When we start from a point of gratefulness. Gratefulness is a powerful drug. It literally changes your mind.

This is what it is all about, I think, as my husband hands over my most favourite of drinks, in the home we’ve created together that bulges with memories and history. Moments just like this, and all the little things that make up the life we love. Partnership. Friendship. Family. Memories. Hearing from our daughter, on the other side of the world. Having our son mumble “love you” as he retreats behind his bedroom door. Choosing to love, laugh, learn, have great sex, walk on the beach, watch a play, visit a small bar, freewheel down a hill at speed, see the world, watch a sunset.

And, of course, let us not forget, appreciating the chance to eat a perfectly luscious lychee soaked in gin sitting at the bottom of a beautifully crafted cocktail in the company of someone wonderful. For me anyway, I try to remind myself when my inadequacy blues come upon me, as they sometimes do, this is what it’s all about.