A Life Well Lived
Sand Art ; watercolor and Cray-pas on art paper, November, 2020
“Life” has been on my mind this week. To be fair, it’s not an entirely new thought. Maybe I’ve always been a bit existential with wonders about the wider “meaning” of things swirling around in my body like those sand art pictures you flip and the sand mixes with water as it slowly slips down the clear glass frame building up a design or image reminiscent of deserts and mountains or the ocean and tides as it settles.
As a child I think this “need to know” fueled much of my curiosity and interest in cycles, science and how things worked. At some point, I became aware of a yearning or longing for the whole. Often I felt more connected to ideas if I could visualize the larger picture and I could definitely follow through more easily when a strong “why” resonated inside for the things I did or chose.
In hindsight, I recognize this need as a necessary “echo” for my intuition to bounce off of.
The desire to “know” sometimes drove incessant questioning; which was taxing on those around me. I can remember an algebra teacher looking at me with an exasperated expression when he saw my hand in the air and once admonished me for asking so many questions imploring me to please put my hand down. I also wasn’t great at timing my queries or considering the levity of some of the subjects I wondered about. My habit of interrupting others or blurting things out at inopportune times didn’t win me many friends and likely was a contributing factor in earning a label of being “too intense”.
Somewhere along the way, I traded in my curiosity for approval and opted to quiet my natural inquisitiveness in an effort to make others more comfortable. I don’t think this was exactly a conscious decision, but rather a more gradual change as the need to fit in outpaced the need to know. The dialogue never ceased, though, it just became internal; where it felt safer and free of judgment.
Earlier this week, I was surprised to hear my voice return while in conversation with 3 women who are part of a wonderful virtual community I belong to. There is an open invitation weekly for community members to gather with each other via Zoom with a cup of tea (or the preferred beverage of your choice) and just connect. Conversation usually begins with the open ended simple question of “How are you?” Something about the setting or perhaps the age/stage of those present (all women in their middle years varying in number from 10 or 15 to 2 or 3 from week to week) pulls out authentic answers and we quickly venture beyond the polite “niceties” of typical conversation in day to day life.
This week was a small gathering; the intimacy of which I’m practicing at being comfortable in. I think I find the vulnerability of eyes staring at me to be intimidating in small situations. Maybe it’s more that the intensity of my own authenticity can be a bit overwhelming when there aren’t more people around to temper things. At any rate, the topic of happiness came up and I could feel a flutter in my heart as we meandered into familiar territory for my inner dialogue.
How do we find happiness right now when things are all turned on their head?
It’s not lost on me how quirky it is to actually be referring to the EASING of restrictions and reopening of businesses and restaurants along with the increase in the number of people who can safely gather as opposed to the TIGHTENING that came with the great “pause” over a year ago now.
Perhaps I don’t feel so thrown by the ups and downs of the pandemic and sea of transitions we are trying to stay afloat in because I am well acquainted with chasing happiness since my life turned on its head back in 2019. In conversation, one of us suggested a solution lay in being present and shared how powerful it has been to take each day one bit at at time to help her tame some of the worries and anxieties she was coping with. Another shared how she felt disconnected as she was trying to find her footing in the shift inherent to motherhood when our children become “adults” and head off to university; in addition, she is navigating under the crushing weight of grief at also coping with the recent loss of her mother. When the discussion broadened to reflect on how the cumulative effects of trauma; like living in a pandemic, can impact us, the different kinds of tired came up. (if you read my previous blog post, you’ll recognize that this was a fresh topic for me, personally)
I could feel the quaver in my voice as I ventured to share my perspective with the group. Being authentic real time; with eyes baring an inner sanctum to others if they are the type who look deeply can be really challenging for me. I am more comfortable in my body having learned to find “my people”, though it’s been a very long journey.
This time, though, I persevered because I recognized a yearning and desire to “know” what other people felt and thought about this topic. At the age and stage of 50, perhaps I feel the shift happening more consciously, and this time, perhaps the need to KNOW outweighs the need to fit in.
So what do I think about how we sustain and maintain during difficult times?
What exactly do I consider to be a life well lived?
I’ve thought about this a lot since I used to define a life well lived with external factors. At the top of my list were 4 things:
Having a job that is fulfilling, challenging and makes a difference (teaching definitely checked those boxes)
Being a good parent. (measuring the outcome for this is seriously challenging. By whose standard? How good is “good” and is “good enough” on par with a life well lived as far a parenting is concerned? The labyrinth is large and never ending when trying to find an answer to this, thus leaving me undecided at the moment of whether I’m feeling fulfilled and successful here or not and do I even get a say? Isn’t that for my child to judge?)
Being part of a loving network of family and friends (what happens when LOVE isn’t enough; even when we all “mean well” ? What can be done when relationships strain and crumble under the weight of various dysfunctions while trying to navigate the systems of racism and sexism we simmer in? What happens when boundaries have to be drawn to protect those who are vulnerable? Is that all part of a life well lived?
Having a partner to share life with. (Box checked at one point, and then, well, life happened I suppose. What if you grow apart? Is it a life well lived if you’ve had to drop back and punt when your “forever” relationship ends and you are left picking up the pieces trying to keep flying while reassembling the plane?)
I know it’s a many layered answer for lots of people. What I shared during our conversation was not anything related to the 4 things I used to measure my life by because my experiences in life have proven that those things are not guaranteed or stable. What I have learned is what I shared. Though it wasn’t this cohesive because while writing, I have the benefit of monitoring my words to better match my intention.
I shared that If I can wake up each day and look toward the small moments that lie ahead, then I know that I am living a life well lived. I know that wherever I look, I can find beauty, if I just take a moment to see. I also know that I can string together a full day by holding these small moments and letting them fill me up. Each one affirms my place in the greater jumble of humanity and nature.
Walt Whitman speaks of this in his poem, Song of Myself.
“I exist as I am, that is enough,
If no other in the world be aware I sit content,
And if each and all be aware I sit content.
One world is aware, and by the far the largest to me, and that is myself,
And whether I come to my own today or in ten thousand or ten million years,
I can cheerfully take it now, or with equal cheerfulness, I can wait.”
He says it far more eloquently than I did. Out of my mouth tumbled something with a much more morbid slant, “If I die tomorrow, I’d be ok with that.” One of the women asked me if I felt as if my life is not so special at the moment and that’s why I wouldn’t mind dying so young.
I really paused to think about it. Having been in the place where things felt hopeless and I was tired of living the life I had “failed” at (the one defined by the four things above) I knew the feeling she was referring to. I don’t feel the same right now as I did at those points. It actually feels calming and empowering to know that all I have to do is look toward beauty to know I am on the right track. If I am anxious or stressed or disappointed or sad, I take myself out into nature as soon as I can and surround myself with beautiful things. I’m grateful that I find beauty in the imperfect because it doesn’t have to be all sun and birds chirping for me to feel grounded. Each day is a work in progress and sometimes it is enough to know that we are all part of an imperfect world and it is through these imperfections that we find the path to connection.
Each day I strive to remind myself of this and with practice, I am learning to loosen the grip on some of my old beliefs. I think those beliefs are ingrained from a young age as we receive lots of external messaging about what it means to be successful. Each finger that looses gives me more space for other things to take root and grow; like the value helping others has to rejuvenate and soothe a tired heart.
What defines a life well lived for you?, I’d love to hear from you. Please visit me over on Instagram and send me a DM or reach out through the e-mail found in the contact section of this site.
