It’s a link in a chain, some might say. Or a journey on a road. It’s an adventure or an obligation or like surfing a wave. It’s a force given power by one’s ability to connect with their true reason for being. I’ve often felt it’s like a great mystery that only reveals itself according to our willingness to venture into the abyss of our inner landscape.
The Buddha is attributed with saying something along the lines of, “The purpose of life is to search for the purpose of life.” That’s a good one, because as I’ve spent much of my life searching for the purpose of this life, the search alone has led me to live more in accordance with the truth of who I am.
Maria and I have been listening to Brené Brown’s podcast episodes on our drives to and from Gallup and Albuquerque. Aside from the obvious fact that Brené is just plain awesome, there is so much richness to her content — the guests she brings, the questions she asks, and the context she provides for the conversations.
In one of the episodes, she sighted a not so well know quote by Carl Jung, “The greatest burden a child must bear is the unlived life of its parents.” This quote hit both of us right between the eyes. It feels like we could write an entire volume from this one quote. But let’s just unpack one piece of it, “the unlived life.” What does that mean exactly?
Well, we feel it relates to our ability (or you could say courage) to live our lives in accordance with the truth of who we are. The guest of this podcast, Glennon Doyle, who is also pretty amazing, said that when she got sober many years ago that she was never “fine” again. That ever since, she’s been everything but fine. Another not so little truth bomb during our lengthy drive.
Yes, and yes again. Living a sober life, whether it be related to substances or habits, means we get to feel everything — all the good with all the unpleasant, all the beauty with the ugliness, the love and the fear, the meaning with the confusion.
What is a life? It’s living it. It’s being it. It’s embracing it. It’s boldly stepping into the fire of our deepest emotions. It’s facing what is right in front of us with the courage of a Jedi Knight. It’s digging deeper into the abyss seeking to understand the great mystery. It’s saying, “Yes, I f’d up, and I’ll try to do better next time.” It’s saying, “I love you just because.” It’s, “I feel fear and I’m doing it anyway.”
What is a life? It’s not about 401Ks or building equity in a home or career advancement. It might be that (in part) if a career direction pushes us to connect more deeply with who we are. Or the career thing might just be a big distraction from our reason for being.
I often reflect on my past. Not to avoid the present by living in the past, but rather to understand it, to unravel it, and draw connections. How did things affect me? How did I feel about things in the past in contrast to the present. Mostly what I perceive is how there was always a current that ran through my life, even from an early age, which gives context for the present.
There was always this strong desire to understand the Great Mystery, our reason for being, and the reason for existence itself.
Each of us has something like this. Something deep within, and yet revealed by the connecting threads. What did we most like to do as a child? What did we completely lose ourselves in while in play? What career directions appealed to us? Did we always want a big family, or a small family, or no children at all? Do we prefer dogs or cats or no pets? Did the Bible always have some appeal to us? Or has it been Buddhism or Sufism or finding God in nature?
Sexual orientation or gender identity doesn’t seem important to me. What does feel important is what kind of life partner we feel drawn to. What makes them sing or cry or laugh? Do we seek a partner with kindness and gentleness, or drive and ambition, or something else? It’s not about the gender, but the relationship. What do we seek?
I met Maria after being separated from my first wife for two years. I hadn’t dated in that time and couldn’t see myself being with a woman merely for companionship or to have fun with. But as I got to know Maria, what appealed to me the most about her was the depth of her spirituality. As we came to know one another it was like our souls knew each other and there was no question that we were to be together.
We have two friends, two gay married men. They met over a random phone call that turned into a three-hour conversation. They met sight unseen. A phone call was enough to realize that their souls knew each other, and they immediately formed a relationship. Later, when New Mexico passed the law to allow for same sex marriage they made a b-line to the Justice of the Peace to add the legal commitment to their spiritual and life commitment.
What are we driven toward? What makes us laugh or cry, or sing or dance? What kind of people feed our souls or leave us feeling drained. Some people love the fast pace of living in a big city. Others, like Maria and I, prefer the peacefulness of a rural life. Some people live in the same house for 50 years. Others move around a lot. Some seek adventure while others seek stability.
What do these things say about us? What are the connecting threads we can identify about our lives that tells us about who we are?
What is a life? It may not be what you think. It’s not about the choices we’ve made. It’s not about whether we’ve focused on career or family, or sports or religion, or hobbies or service work. It’s not about the money or accomplishments, or failures and disappointments. Or whether we’re a God-fearing Christian or a celibate monk or a body builder or a job hopper or homeless on the street. It’s something much deeper than all that. And it can be found in the connecting threads, the subtle clues that speak to the nature of our being. For it’s in the clues that we find our reason for being.
In my teenage years I was really into sports. I was too short for basketball and too scrawny for football, but I wasn’t into the typical sports anyway. I was into long distance running and cycling. The solitary sports. Writing is solitary. Living off grid where I can throw a stone as far and hard as possible and not come close to hitting a neighbor is solitary. This is a clue to my reason for being.
No one can say what your reason for being is, only you can do that, and it can take a lifetime to figure it out. But here’s a clue: It may just be much more than you think. And finding it will surely lead you to a more fully lived life.
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