Meaning for two
Mary’s death has forced me to look into the mirror. Forced me to think more deeply about who I am, who I’ve been and who I want to be.
When you look into a mirror there’s a layer of pretence that falls away. You can’t pretend. You can’t maintain a deluded image of yourself, because there you are.
Daniel Batson’s experiments into “moral hypocrisy” found that people are able to hold certain moral views about themselves and yet act in certain other (less moral) ways. One of the few ways to change this behaviour and make people’s actions consistent with their values was to sit them in front of a mirror while considering their decision to act.
Mirrors are confronting. Difficult to hide from.
My mirror is a trigger for finding meaning again in my life. I look and wonder “what the fuck are you going to do now”. It’s a question, challenge and accusation. I don’t think I’ve ever really looked in the mirror before and interrogated myself so. Is my life meaningful? how do I find meaning? I don’t remember thinking to ask or consider these questions when my meaningfulness glass was full… well I assumed it was full. I never thought about it.
If you’re asking the question about meaning in your life I suspect your glass of meaningfulness elixir has just been sucked down some.
But here’s the thing with Mary’s death. It’s not just meaning in my life that I’m trying to rediscover anew, I’m also seeking ways to enhance the meaning of Mary’s life. That felt like a mini revelation and has made it easier to understand the things I feel I need and want to do.
I finished reading “Meaning in Life and Why it Matters” the other day. The author, Susan Wolf, doesn’t claim to have an answer to the big question, just a way of approaching the question. Her premise is that meaning is derived from “active and loving engagement in projects of worth”. As she herself then discusses: which projects? of worth to whom? There’s an objective element to this. An element, for example, that may potentially only be fulfilled after death for the unappreciated, misunderstood, generally unhappy, but great before her time, artist.
When I first read this I recoiled from the notion that there’s any form of objective component to meaning. If I lead a life that’s meaningful to me, who gives a rats what anyone else thinks. Why do I need to appeal to an objective arbiter of meaning?
But the objective arbiters are there. This time I’m not talking about an imaginary scorekeeper, I’m talking about people. Judging. Not just me, but Mary too. Who cares? Quite a few I suspect. Harry and Cara certainly. Maybe not now, but later.
I sense Mary’s stocks rising and falling with mine, Harry and Cara’s. I can’t escape an intuition that I have a power to either imbue meaning or see it fade from Mary’s life – especially for Harry and Cara. You could call this simply a respect for someone’s legacy, but it feels like more than that.
I’m not sure I’ve worked out how to define what I mean by meaning in any meaningful way, or where to find it. But I feel it’s important to name it and try to understand it. I can feel the topic will occupy my thinking and typing for a little while yet.
The mirror doesn’t go away and I will keep looking and trying to find things that help repurpose my life. But I’ll do this understanding that – at least for the moment – there is still someone walking with me who’s life had a meaning that needs protecting and remembering.
Maybe this is me still holding on; not ready to let go. I’m ok with that for now. I’m ok that Harry and Cara are my focus and that maybe – slowly – the colours in other parts of my life will start to emerge. Someone messaged me with this idea of colours returning the other day, and I liked it. I think and hope the meaning in Mary’s life will help them shine brighter.
I’m a dad to the awesome Harry and Cara, a widower, and a learner; slowly attempting a fools errand to make sense of the world, and writing about the thoughts and ideas that pop into my head along the way.
You’re a brave man Trent. What you’re doing requires tremendous courage. Many people would run away and “hide”.
Many people don’t run and hide. Jonathan Haidt in The Happiness Hypothesis recounts a conversation with his friend, who experienced family trauma. “Referring to the sad and moving solo that is at the heart of many operas, he said: ‘This is my chance to sing the aria. I don’t want to, I don’t want to have this chance, but it’s here now and what am I going to do about it? Am I going to rise to the occasion?” I think there are many people that do rise to the occasion. But I also tend to think these people are the ones who got lucky – their brains just happen to be wired in a way that helps them to keep singing.
It’s a process and good to see you are on to it. Without wanting to sound too ridiculous, I suggest you see a psychologist to help you work through it; I found that helped me. In the end she suggested that I was helping her more than she me, so we ended our sessions. I still found that I was in this boat floating around on the ocean looking for direction in life, and probably still am. My family and friends were very patient with me and a great help and my new partner has helped a lot. In the end it came down to me. My faith has been a great support and trying to be very active and doing things that I and others enjoy also helped. All the best. Our prayers and thoughts are with you.
Thanks Tony. There are no ridiculous comments and have no fear I’ve been boring a physiologist with my thoughts and worries for a while now. It does help.