we were in that dark forever—it seemed—and now we’re out and life is new and full of possibility, opportunity, do-overs. We can be bruised but healing and smiling. We can love everyone if we want.
-Jennifer Jean Rattle June 22, 2021
When I’m disciplined enough to pull my eyes away from the time-suck that is social media, I sometimes sit and read and think. This seldom does anyone any good – least of all, me. Fortunately, it doesn’t happen as often as I’d like – mostly because I’m tired, and more honestly because, well… as I suggested, I’m undisciplined. I can be exceptionally good at stretching small empty spaces of time into seasons (or at least evenings) of lethargy. The blog isn’t called TurtleSloth for nothing. This is a frequent lament of mine – often thinking I should be doing more, experiencing more, living more.
For much of this past week I’ve been nagged by the urge to live life a little more fully. Then I remember I don’t know what the hell that means… I’m not sure what that looks like. I think it involves travel. I think it also involves live music, or meeting new people, or reconnecting with people who perhaps I’ve taken for granted (friends and family). It might just as equally involve a good meal, or a glass of wine under the falling dusk of a cool evening. Lately, I’ve been asking myself – given the option to do just about anything – this minute, this day, this month, this year… is this it? Is this how I wish to spend my time? When faced with such questions, I almost always ask the follow up: when have I felt most alive? Can I identify those experiences? Enumerate them? Replicate them? Multiply them?
Last night I read a thought-provoking article in Harper’s. The subtitle was “Notes on a year without strangers.” As the subtitle would suggest, the author talks about the importance of social interactions and how she often got those interactions from strangers: people watching in airports, bars, crowded city streets. She explores the fine line between chosen solitude and forced solitude – something I’ve become familiar with over the past few years. As I read, I was reminded of my many walks along the Mississippi and how it felt good, if not inspiring, to be out in the world (even if alone). I was also reminded of this past winter – when the weather was inhospitable and I felt mostly shut in. Two very different types of solitude.
The author cites some grim statistics related to isolation. Well before the pandemic there was growing concern about the increase in American loneliness. Surveys have indicated that our social circles are shrinking, and a surprisingly large number of people have nobody with whom they discuss serious matters. There are significant health risks to this epidemic of loneliness – “Social isolation increases your mortality risk by roughly 30 percent, a level comparable to hypertension or smoking.” Prolonged periods of isolation can cause a type of hyper-vigilance and surges in cortisol – triggering the fight or flight response…
At one point the author recalls reading a letter to the editor from a mother concerned about her 8-year-old daughter who, because of the pandemic, misses her friends and her teacher and is worried everyone has forgotten her. The little girl asks her mother if she’s even real anymore. A profound “if a tree falls in the woods” type of question. The author of the essay writes, “the self cannot be too much with itself, it seems. We need to be seen or else we feel transparent, even nonexistent.”
At the risk of getting entirely too existential, this all begs the question – what does it mean to exist – to live life both on our own terms and in the eyes of others? I’m fairly certain, it means to do more than scroll social media. I’m also pretty certain, though a little less so, it means to do more than live in one’s own bubble of thought, and reading, and writing – or any other bubble. I’m not sure writing about living a good life counts for much if one doesn’t take some sort of action…. If the inspirational quotes on the internet are to be believed, living life is about loving, or maybe serving others, or maybe creating memories, or maybe following your dreams, or maybe achieving your goals, or maybe, or maybe, or maybe…
The difficult thing about all of this good life, best life stuff is that It feels like we’re taking the hardest test in the world and we’ve been convinced that we only have one shot at getting it right. Sometimes, the stakes seem incredibly high. None of us know the answers. We’re all cheating off the kid next to us and dreading the open-ended essay at the end. And we have this nagging doubt that all of the answers might really be D: All of the above.
Last night, after reading and reflecting and writing, I stepped out on the deck to look at the stars and feel the breeze. Earlier in the evening I took the dog to a park where we sat in the grass watching a group of kids playing frisbee. Collectively, we’re emerging from something – each at our own pace and many with modified priorities. We get the chance to consider and reconsider. For me, the choices can seem almost overwhelming, and I have to be mindful of shutting down in that type of paralysis – remind myself that on the big questions, it’s not a test with a finite number of questions and there’s not much difference between none of the above and all of the above. Today’s answer (if there can be answers) is wonderfully different than yesterday’s. “Life is new and full of possibility, opportunity, and do-overs.”
