I’ve been doing some soul-searching, I guess, these past few weeks. Waiting for a visa (yes, still) does that to you. Also, I suppose my previous post (about life and death) reflects my mood: thinking about what’s really important. And so, without further ado, here is…(drumroll, please)…the meaning of life. I suppose I ought to capitalize the ‘M’ and the ‘L’, respectively, but I’m not convinced this is my “final answer”. So, this is the lower-case meaning of life, according to me. This morning’s version, at least. And, no, it’s not forty-two. As always, your mileage may vary.

Okay, now these are the important bits, so I will capitalize them…

• LOVING
• LEARNING
• LAUGHING (aka BEING HAPPY; aka Being present; aka Experiencing the joy of the moment)

(Easier said than done, you may say? Well, that may be true, but it’s also true that these are done by doing, not by saying.)

I think it’s all about the heart. Loving, learning and laughing from the heart, not from the brain. For example, while I do find book learning and gaining new knowledge rewarding, it’s the experiential learning – doing things, seeing places, meeting people – that is even more satisfying. To me, that’s more of the heart than the mind.

So what makes life worth living? I think it’s our “Aha!” moments that hold the key. And when do these moments happen, for me? At first, I struggled to think of a few cases, but soon the ideas began flooding in. It turns out: a lot of things! Here are a few examples, and all of the following can be classified into one or more of the categories above: Loving, Learning and Laughing.

• Being in nature. Rising out of the trees to witness an unexpected vista. Feeling that I’m one tiny part of a vast landscape. Experiencing the beauty of the natural world: thundering ocean waves; towering mountains; subtle-hued deserts; ancient forests; living, speaking ice; everchanging cloud formations; sunrise and sunset; elusive meteors; auroras and the humbling stars. Rain and the sunshine; the caress of the most gentle breeze and the whipping of a gale that leaves me breathless.
• Attending celebrations, the coming together of people to honour a marriage, a birth, a death. Or simply being with good friends, for no reason other than to enjoy each other’s presence, to reconnect our separate lives.
• Singing with others; playing an instrument in a group; playing with children, hearing them laugh and seeing life anew, as they see it for the first time.
• Receiving the gift of connectedness through art and books; sharing thoughts and emotions with someone from another time and place, someone I have never met.
• Learning something new. The moment of realization, after ages of slow and frustrating progress, that I can now do something I never could do before.
• The pleasure of experiencing anything done with extreme skill and attention: the fine work of a craftsman, a virtuosic music performance, the perfectly arranged words of a poem, the staging and acting of a great dramatic work, the physical mastery of a top athlete and the magical grace of a dancer or Cirque du Soleil acrobat. Knowing that nothing we do can be perfect; nonetheless, experiencing something and being convinced: “this is perfect.”
• Feeling physically tired and satisfied, for having achieved something. The simple pleasure of doing. Climbing, walking, running, building something with my own hands, even the simple act of shoveling snow.
• Holding someone, touching and being touched, sharing love physically and emotionally.
• Doing anything selflessly for another. Paying attention; noticing someone’s need, even something as simple as holding the door.
• Comforting someone who is suffering. Putting an arm around a shoulder, giving a hug, listening.
• Giving. Discovering that I need far less than I imagine.
• Laughing. Not cruelly, not at the expense of another. Laughing for no reason, at absurdity, at silliness. Laughing because another is laughing; without knowing why; or because you don’t know what else to do.
• Smiling at a stranger, seeing the surprise on their face, and having them smile back.
• Being moved to tears, by any of the above “aha!” moments. Receiving that private upswell of emotion, and letting it run its course.

Many thanks to “chocolatina”, who handed me two of these three “secrets”, simply in the way she signed her letters. She would close them with: “Tons of love and laughs!” What a wonderful wish for someone to make, reflecting her joyful perspective on life. It just took me a while to clue in to how profound these simple words were. (-;

Further thanks to my grandmothers, who taught me all about unconditional love. My maternal grandmother, though physically frail and mentally very far down that one-way road called Alzheimer’s, continues to inspire her children, grandchildren, and (although they may not realize it yet) great-grandchildren. One of her most wise sayings, which I am told she still repeats regularly, is: “You just have to love and love and never stop.” And, recently, she said to my aunt who was visiting: “I am just sitting here adoring you.” I, in turn — though physically far away — am sitting here thinking about her and adoring her.

Earlier this week, I was reminded of the importance of living life to the full, and of doing it now, and every day. I know of Randy Pausch (a virtual reality and computer education pioneer) through the work I used to do, and have seen him present academic papers on several occasions. I hadn’t heard that he was dying of cancer, nor that he had made a remarkable, inspiring (and now quite famous) “last lecture” back in September (you can see the lecture in full on YouTube or Google Video).

Happily, Randy has outlived the doctors’ forecasts from last August, but he is still dying of cancer (his treatments now are to slow it, not cure it). In the meantime, he speaks openly and inspiringly about it, is living a remarkably full life, fulfilling many childhood dreams and enjoying every remaining day of “bonus time” with his wife and three kids.

Then today, on CBC’s Tapestry podcast, I listened to a rebroadcast interview (recorded in 2004) with Irish poet and scholar John O’Donohue. This inspirational man died unexpectedly at 53 years of age, on January 3, 2008. His words (in the interview as well as in his poetry and essays) often touch on death, eerily enough.

At one point in the interview, he addressed the idea of dying as possibly being similar to birth. If you could present a baby in the womb with an account of what would happen to them: they would be forced to leave the familiar comfort of the womb; they’d go through a frightening, possibly painful and claustrophobic tunnel, into a blinding light; they’d have their connection to the only life they’ve known permanently severed and then…into the unknown. Likely the baby would be terrified and beg to stay put. But…guess what? They would miss out on the chance to experience life in this world. Could the “rebirth”, that is death, be similar? Certainly it is similarly scary, but perhaps this parallel, knowing what we know “on this side” of birth, may be similarly comforting.

One beautiful and simple poem, with which he closed the interview, seemed to sum up his philosophy perfectly (humble apologies if the formatting is incorrect; I’ve only heard it recited, not seen it in print):

I may be one of these, soon. That is, a patient (in a mental asylum), learning how to reintegrate into society. Because for now, all I can do is go loco en el coco, trying to be Zen and learn patience… What doesn’t kill you just makes you loopier. Likely what I need is a good dose of what they pray for in AA: “the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; the courage to change the things I can; and the wisdom to know the difference.” Serenity has never been my forte.

Waiting isn’t fun for anyone. (Actually, I’m a little suspicious that perhaps it is fun for those who are making you wait, like they’re playing some malicious mind-game. Though this is likely just my paranoia that goes hand-in-hand with the insanity.) If you know precisely when what you’re waiting for will happen, it’s not so bad, because then it’s not waiting but anticipation. The torturous/pleasurable excitement of the inevitable. Like a kid, trying to get to sleep on the night before Christmas. Or a miserable office drone in the dead of winter, counting the days until his (free?) Caribbean vacation. In these cases, we say: “I just can’t wait.”

I can wait. I have to. It turns out I’m pretty good at it, which is just as well, because my residence visa application is now past its six-month anniversary (supposed to take three). A maddening situation, because I have absolutely no control over the process, and no way of knowing how long it will take. (I try to pressure a bit, but it doesn’t pay to get overly upset with the people who hold your fate in their hands. The person I speak to at the consulate claims he has no influence over the decision, anyhow. Seems he’s just waiting, too.)

To add time-killing insult to thumb-twiddling injury, there’s the tale of UPS (pronounced “Oops!”). I ordered a camera thingy a week before Christmas from a U.S. shop. I opted for the priciest, “Worldwide Express” delivery (UPS was the only option), supposedly next-day. Well, the thing miraculously crossed the border and cleared customs within a day. But then a huge fiasco ensued, and I couldn’t get them to explain what was going on. Every day the tracking info claimed it was on the truck, “out for delivery”, but they never made their first delivery attempt until a week later (Murphy’s Law dictated that I had stepped out of the house for a very brief and essential trip to the grocery store at that moment). More mixups ensued, then Christmas interrupted (humbug!), and I finally got my precious thingy almost to two weeks after it was shipped. And no, UPS wasn’t interested in reimbursing my money or anything. On top of all that, I had a guest visiting me, and the airline lost her luggage, so yet another day of waiting ensued…

I know my problems are not not life-and-death, but these feel like the worst cases: when you have no control, you can find out no information and have no idea how long you’ll be waiting…you truly do feel trapped.

Well, it’s a new year. My friend’s luggage arrived, with its two bubble-wrapped wine bottles still intact. UPS finally came through and I received my package (also intact, hurray!). After complaining to the store (these were the truly wonderful folks at Katz Eye Optics — thank you!), they convinced the American UPS folks to reimburse me for the shipping (even though, as far as I can tell, it was the Canadian side that blew it). So, is all well that ends well?

Almost. Now all I need is that visa… Stay tuned; I still am, receiving on all frequencies. And no, Mom, don’t worry. I’m not actually going crazy.

Whoop-whoop-nyucka-nyucka-DING!

UPDATE: Just read the latest from the Barcelona World Race (see my earlier post), and a relevant quote popped up, from one of the sailors, Andrew Cape on the Hugo Boss boat: “You can’t worry about the things you can’t control, you can’t let it drive you nuts. You just look for the next opportunity and the cards you’ve been dealt and work it to the best advantage. Over time – which I’ve got! – you get used to taking the rough with the smooth.” (seen here)