explored the irrelevance of mortality and religion to our everyday enjoyment. He wrote, “If I go to a play I do not enjoy it less because I do not believe that it is divinely created and divinely conducted, that it will last forever instead of stopping at eleven, that many details of it will remain in my memory after a few months, or that it will have any particular moral effect upon me. And I enjoy life as I enjoy that play.”
I suspect it's hard to adopt this philosophy and focus on the show we're at because we know intellectually that there are an infinite number of other plays we could be at; but because of the limitations of time, we can't possibly see all of them. And then there's the reality that each play has a price, and you have obligations to fill outside the theater and anxieties about them that might drown out the encore. Enjoyment isn't solely dependent on our determination to make peace with the big things we don't know; it hinges on our ability to forget for a while all the little things we do know—the circumstances of our lives and the inevitability of struggle on the other side of fun. Even if enjoyment is the meaning of life, it's simply not possible to enjoy every moment. Does that render the unenjoyable moments meaningless?
A friend of mine once told me that fun is the meaning of life. He's the closest to a real-life Forrest Gump I've ever met. Because he loves music, he devoted himself to his radio job and eventually worked his way up to station manager. He spends most weekends surfing, going to concerts, trying different adventures, and roaming through his childlike existence with a sense of delight and wonder. Because he believes that fun is the ultimate point of it all, he measures everything against that barometer. If it isn't fun for him, he doesn't do it; if it is fun, he does it often. This declaration seemed far too simple from my vantage point, and certainly not an effective way to be sure it all leads somewhere good.
I've spent a lot of time through the years watching this friend, like he's a theory I want to poke holes in. I could not fathom that enjoyment could be a fulfilling purpose in and of itself. There's abundant research showing that people with a sense of individual meaning feel happier than do people who see actions as random and inconsequential. If we don't believe we have a strong driving motivation, what will push us through the moments that aren't fun?
Then I noticed something about my friend : he has difficult times like the rest of us, but when they hit, instead of sitting around dwelling on what it all means, he goes out and does the things that make him feel meaningful. He doesn't enjoy everything in life, but he chooses more often than not to do the things he enjoys, and in doing so feels fulfilled.
Perhaps enjoyment is a meaning of life, but only as a consequence of our doing what feels meaningful to us. By choosing to do the things we love, we shift the balance of empty moments to complete ones. When we're focused on creating and enjoying fun—immersing ourselves in the various “whats” that get us excited—suddenly it seems less important to understand the one ultimate “why.”
CREATE MEANING THROUGH JOY.
If you've gotten a little too serious in your pursuit of purpose:
Make a list of three to seven things that you enjoy most in life. These don't have to be huge things. They might be simple things, like walking on the beach, riding your motorcycle, or listening to the sound of your baby laughing. Think about the activities that often leave you thinking, This is what it means to really be alive.
Take a look at your current schedule. Do you regularly do those things? Are you making excuses about why you can't? Maybe it's your busy schedule, or your limited finances, or some other external restriction.
Find tiny holes in your upcoming week. Even if you're busy, odds are you have an hour here, twenty minutes there, and maybe even a complete day or two sometimes. Identify potential gaps right now, acknowledging that they're available to be filled.
Plan to do something that makes you feel exhilarated for at least a small chunk of time every day. If you love animals but don't ever spend time with them, go to a local dog park during your lunch break. If you're passionate about yoga but can't afford a class, find a free one on YouTube. Plan for a little activity every day that makes you feel alive and connected to something larger than yourself—even if it's for just fifteen minutes. Then do only those things, without carrying your worries or fears into the moment. When you make time to experience pure, engaged joy, you both create meaning and open to new possibilities that may create more.
THE MEANING OF LIFE IS TO MAKE A DIFFERENCE IN THE WORLD
Leave the world at least a little bit better than you found it. ∼@ealcantara
Serve as an example. ∼@amadeoatthesun
I think the meaning of life is creation. ∼@Auraxx
Life is to live, not just to survive; for the self to express itself; to know the self, the supreme self, and to serve others. ∼@wupendram
Have it matter that you lived. ∼@RAZE502
There's this saying I used to love that doesn't resonate with me anymore: go big or go home.
I understand the allure of doing big things with a massive audience watching. It's kind of like the whole tree-in-the-woods analogy. If you live a beautiful life and no one remembers it, did it even happen at all? It's why we carve our names into trees and bury time capsules. We want a sense that even if our lives are limited by time, the memories of what we contributed to society will far outlast our own drop-in-the-bucket life span. It's an extension of our survival instincts: the drive to live on at all costs, even in spite of our inevitable deaths, and to aid in the progress of future generations, ensuring that they inherit a better world than the one we knew.
If purpose is a gateway to happiness, and happiness is inevitably impermanent, as all feelings are, we can easily ascertain during the unhappy moments that our purpose isn't good enough or else it would provide more lasting positive feelings. Worrying about whether our purpose is big, or worthy, enough can completely strip the joy from living in alignment with our purpose.
As I was searching for different perspectives on the meaning of life, I found a number of books that sought answers from highly public, influential people. There was the Durant book I mentioned before. Next there was The Meaning of Life: Wisdom, Humor, and Damn Good Advice from 64 Extraordinary Lives, compiled by Esquire editor Ryan D'Agostino. Then there was Vanity Fair's Proust Questionnaire: 101 Luminaries Ponder Love, Death, Happiness, and the Meaning of Life. The implication seems to be that extraordinary accomplishment somehow endows someone with a sense of authority as to what matters the most in life.
When I mentioned this to my boyfriend, Ehren, he commented that we also enjoy stories that show good average people finding meaning within their circumstances. As I write this, it's almost Christmas, and I've dreamed of lassoing the moon two nights in a row in anticipation of soon watching It's a Wonderful Life. Still, I can't help noticing that movies based on real events rarely feature truly ordinary people. The Patch Adamses, Erin Brockoviches, and Frank Abagnales of the world make for more compelling stories than do the real-life George Baileys. It's almost like we've decided a life is more valuable if its story somehow sticks out from all the others.
My grandfather spent a great deal of his life working as a maintenance man. Although he died more than fifteen years ago, his name lives on. Grampy coached baseball for both of my uncles’ childhood teams, focusing on fairness above all else. He had forty-four kids under his supervision, so he split them into four teams and rotated through them all in every game. Kids who didn't get to play any innings were the first ones to play next time,
