I have come to hate that phrase.  A “meaningful life.”  What is that supposed to be?  And is it really important to pursue one?  And meaningful to whom?  Do we have to justify our existence somehow?

I think we forget that we are creatures just like all living things on the earth.  We, as individuals, don’t have some master plan of what must be accomplished during our lifetimes.  We do.  We interact.  We work.  We play.  That’s pretty much it.

Even people we believe have made huge contributions to our culture, society, world (Einstein?  Galileo?  Michelangelo?) were just people.  People with their own demons, problems, joys and sorrows.  They were seekers, I imagine, of some greater truth and, perhaps, having found it they were happier.  But Galileo…I doubt he felt very fulfilled after his persecution.  Michelangelo wanted to be a sculptor but had to produce paintings to make a living.  Einstein has always seemed like a guy who enjoyed life but who knows?

Or, are we supposed to devote our lives to the service of others?  Is that meaningful?  I’m certainly a believer in kindness and compassion.  Of reaching out a helping hand to others but should I be doing more?  And what would that more look like?  Is it giving money?  Time?  Something else?  And then I just get exhausted if it’s something else because, shit, I’m no kid anymore.  Do I really want to organize something?  Be responsible for yet another thing?  Not really.

For a while I’ve felt that maybe art in some form is my bag.  I really enjoy making stuff but, after a while, it becomes more of a “what am I going to do with this thing?”  I have more crap than any one human being could ever need or use (although I truly feel I’ve done my part to support the economy).  But, for me, part of making art is making it for an audience. For sharing with others.  I’m never going to be an Artist (the capital ‘A’ indicating someone who makes their living or part of their living doing art).  I’m not that good and I don’t have the energy (or, probably, talent…whatever that is) to become that good.  And, let’s face it, that’s no easy row to hoe.

After having worked myself into a state of ridiculous anxiety and now, through the wonder of modern anti-depressants, feeling much better, I have to wonder.  I spent most of the Thanksgiving weekend lolling around.  Mostly reading.  Doing some puzzles.  Just hanging out doing not much of anything.  And it was wonderful except for the gnawing guilt.

I have had (and still have) a career as a “professional.”  Lucky enough to do something I really enjoyed and am good at.  But, now, it’s just a job.  Something I do because I need the money.  I still (mostly) like what I do but after 25 years…well, everything gets old. I feel kind of adrift.  Do I need goals?  Do I need purpose?  I feel like it’s wrong somehow to just spend time doing nothing much.

But, really, I look at our pets (and, yes, I know I’m not a dog or cat) or even wild animals.  They seem to spend a lot of time doing nothing.  Sleeping.  Grooming maybe.  Hanging out with others.  Finding food.  Are we really so different?  Has all this agriculture, urbanization, technology really made things better for us?  Or is it just driving us to believe that we must be constantly engaged?  Constantly doing?

I’m taking a break from a Meaningful Life.  It’s my life. I can have goals or not.  I can do or not.  There may be consequences of course.  There always are consequences.  But I’m ready to find out.  I just want to live and enjoy living whatever that turns out to mean.