Bits of my brain are busy trying to engage the rest in an existential crisis. I tend to them when I’m stressed. It’s a bit of a quirk. We all have our maladaptive coping mechanisms, though I seem particularly blessed in that regard. I’m old enough to feel my inner Kraken wanting to speak to some kind of manager.

My brain is also busy trying to convince me that all would be smooth sailing if I could perhaps see my way clear to losing ten pounds, which is a definite “Danger, Will Robinson” moment in my eating disorder recovery. I’m not beating myself up about it, but I’m attending to it. Fall is a particularly triggering time for me, anyhow.

There’s always a bit of inertia when I have to adapt to changes, ships don’t shift course on a dime, and neuroses are opportunistic beasties that look for the pause. Luckily, I’m not a neophyte. This isn’t even my first existential crisis this year.

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My current struggle with the meaning of life and nihilism is brought to you by the changes I’m experiencing in my home sphere as my daughter moves back in with my two grandkids. I tend to the existential when there are changes in my routine, good, bad, or neutral.

There’s a certain life rigidity to the bohemian that embraces the whimsical I periodically imagine myself to be, evidence to the contrary notwithstanding.

Though if by “bohemian,” we mean “not overly concerned with the opinion of others,” every woman going through perimenopause or in menopause qualifies. We suddenly aren’t bothered by a lot of things, and what other people think is one of them.

Menopause should come with better tongue control in reaction to the lack of caring, though I digress.

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My mother’s death, a little over a year and a half ago, also tends me to philosophical contemplations on the meaning of life. What is the meaning of any of this? What does any of this matter? Why are we here? Isn’t everything ultimately pointless?

(Both yes and no, to that last one, by the way.)

There are answers big and small to all of the ‘meaning of life’ questions. There are essays and poems, songs and skits, and answers that are funny and profound. Some people write philosophical and religious treatises, others engage in contemplative debates, and people like me adorn their vehicles with the stickers they use to communicate their personal beliefs and bent.

The philosophy, religion, and science sections of the library are also an extensive and useful resource. And yet, even as we build our answer kits and belief systems, uncertainties remain.

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I struggled with the not-knowing – with my inability to obtain concrete answers to philosophical questions – for a long time. I can find ambiguities irksome at times. I like to be sure about things, but to comprehend the existential purpose of our existence is a big ask.

It’s like thinking about eternity. It hurts the brain a bit.

I came to realize, however, as I waded through the waves of existential exigencies that ebbed and flowed with the years, that while abstract runs of thought have their time and place, one can become so trapped in looking for the ‘deep meaning’ that minutes, moments, and years are lost.

I also came to realize that I can, at times, use existential crises as a bit of a crutch. “Don’t bother me, I’m struggling with the meaning of life, the universe, and everything” gets one out of much, especially if the recipient hasn’t read any Douglas Adams.

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I like reading, and I like movies, and one can find much in the way of truth therein. Profundities can show up in the most unexpected of places as well – you find moments of deep thought and lines that make you think in even the most throwaway of content.

I like the 1993 movie Tombstone, the western starring Kurt Russell and Val Kilmer, among others. I wouldn’t consider it a “throwaway,” but neither do I consider it high art, for all that I love it. It veers a little too close to camp too often to be awarded that accolade.

Still, it has produced a plethora of memes, and “I’m your huckleberry” has been quoted so often, I believe it’s achieved “I’ll be back” status, though I prefer, “You’re no daisy,” myself. And while I do enjoy a good shoot-out, it was a rewatch of the movie a few years back that had me re-evaluating my favourite scene. It also provided me with an “out” for when I start spiralling into metaphysical crisis.

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I’ve come to believe over the years that “what is the meaning of life?” is the wrong question, though I often forget that when in moments of crisis or distress. Fortunately, the moments of forgetting get less frequent with practice. The question most of us are really seeking to answer is, “How am I supposed to live my life?” We want the instruction manual. We want the blueprint. We want Customer Support.

There are none of these things. There is also no ‘supposed to.’ “Supposed to” is closely related to “should,” and neither of those turns of phrase seems to serve us well. There’s no requisite life. There’s simply life, until there isn’t. Live it.

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Don’t let questions and uncertainties get in the way of you living your life. Time passes while you’re waiting for answers. Time doesn’t wait for you to be ready. Time marches on, regardless.

Make the most of every moment. Live, laugh, love. Live large. Better a life of regrets than a life of never tried.

There’s a lot of truth in the bumper sticker slogan.

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What did you want, Wyatt?

Just to live a normal life.

There’s no ‘normal life,’ Wyatt, there’s just life.
Now get on with it.

I don’t know how.

Sure you do…you live.

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Prompt: Share a lesson you wish you’d learned earlier in life.
Summary: The meaning of life is to live it. People have tried to hammer that lesson home to us since forever. We’re very resistant.

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