Life.

Whatever You Turn up the Loudest, Wins.

I think I finally figured out the meaning of life—it’s whatever in the hell you want it to be. Since getting off the treadmill of a deeply fulfilling and meaningful job and then immediately having to work my ass off to dig out of the hole that PTSD threw me into and then taking on triathlons and being in constant motion for fifty four years, I’ve been wallowing in what am I going to do with my life and what should I do with my life. I’ve been looking for a train to jump on and get moving. Sometimes I stop looking and think about this weird life - like we work and strive and go through deep pain and suffering and then joy and worry and strive for meaning and a path and then…we die. It’s all over. Whatever you learn or accomplish or earn or acquire, you can’t take it with you. Regardless of what you believe happens after you die, you can’t take anything with you.

I think about my life and how lucky I am to have had a full and long career, have the same amazing partner for thirty years, and a very comfortable roof over my head, and all the other good stuff —but if I am hit by a bus tomorrow, I can’t take any of that with me. And what about the people whose lives have been cut short so early? Were their lives less meaningful because they had less? Hell no.

So, the meaning of life, in my opinion? It’s all about the moment. Let’s say you are at a great party or vacation. Both will come to an end. You are there on the beach or on a snowy mountain with a cocktail or cup of hot coffee or hot chocolate or whatever your happy drink is in your hand. You can think about the pile of crappy work you have waiting for you, or fret about what in the hell you want to do with your life, or how much your back hurts, or how you are a shit person for forgetting a friend’s birthday, or…you can actually see the scenery around you. You can feel the crumbly dirt or the warm sand or the cold water. You can smell the pine trees or the ocean air. But you won’t feel or see any of it if your attention is on the crappy pile of work. You’ll never even taste the cocktail or the hot chocolate. You’ll drink it down and then want another because you never even tasted the first one. Maybe the first sip pulled you away from your crappy pile of work, but then you went right back.

This shit isn’t easy to do. That crappy pile of work is LOUD. I have to tell it to shut up. I have to tell a lot of crap in my head to shut up. All the stuff is so loud that it overrides all the other senses and keeps me from actually tasting that hot cup of coffee or feeling the sand. Sometimes when it’s extra loud, I walk in extra cold water because the coldness becomes louder than the stuff. It’s like turning up my car stereo, so I can’t hear the knocking in the engine.

The trick is to quiet the stuff in my head rather than finding something that is louder—that’s where I will find peace. So the meaning of life really is whatever in the hell you want it be, you just have to actually be there for it.

While standing in this very spot, I could either tap into all my senses and listen and feel and see and smell, or I could just stand there and fret.