The Time I Figured out the Meaning of Life and the Meaning of Death

I was sitting on my deck, looking out over the lake, listening to Ol’ Dirty Bastard on headphones because my co-residents were listening to some shit I didn’t enjoy. I decided to snort some ecstasy cut with ketamine ’cause it was free. Snorting extasy sucks; it was so uncomfortable I’d regretted not shelving it in my urethra. I mention this fact for atmosphere; I don’t want to give the impression I couldn’t figure these things out without chemical assistance. I like to think my practical retardation and occasional loneliness are the corollaries of some kind of brilliance – such as finding answers to questions people mostly don’t care about. (This is, of course, an exception.)

Over time I’d learned some things about what constitutes the meaningful life; partially through observing those whose lives were flourishing, partially through watching those whose lives weren’t, and partially through listening to wise people. What I new at this point went something like this (mostly familiar to you, probably):

1. We need to belong to something grander than ourselves.

3. We need autonomy.

[1] and [2] can easily clash, and I believe this accounts for much of why our race and the individual encounter so much sickness. We either strive for belonging at the expense of the individual, or we strive for individuality at the expense of belonging. How to strut this tightrope instead of plunging through the rainbow towards the deepest stalagmitic tragedy of humanity?

The answer is loving interpersonal relationships, especially of the romantic variety. Sorry to let you down. Perhaps it’d be better put this way: THIS is why love is the answer, since you already knew it was.

Love allows us to belong to something greater whilst respecting our autonomy; we are the lord as much as the lackey. Or another way to put it might be that you exchange your weakness for power over the person who holds your heart hostage.

Misery bites when the balance slips. Talking primarily about romance here, the deepest pain eviscerates us when we want to belong where we no longer can, and the most hopeless emptiness is where we want to belong nowhere. (The latter fact is often obscured by ego.)

[Via http://hunterhuxley.com]