I will be forgotten. This is the nature of the species. This is why we do what we do–we think that our special efforts will prevent us from being forgotten. But, we all will be forgotten.
Imagine what happens when each of the threads connecting you from one time of your life to another gets snipped until you are completely disconnected from any sort of meaningful narrative. Imagine how it must feel to wake up most days feeling like you’re reliving the same life over and over and never quite getting it right.
I suppose that I could throw my arms up in despair. I guess that I could be one of those deceitful people who love to start over again each year in a new town with a new life. I know that I’ve spent too many hours wandering down memory lane and what-might-have-been lane. I recognize that I have issues.
I don’t want to be one of those fake-it-until-you-make-it types who become convinced that we all create our own meaning, our own stories, our own narratives–and that the choice to do it and how to do it is entirely ours. I’d rather not be the kind of person who thinks they can manufacture their own happiness and wake up each morning making a brand new life that is wholly different than the life they were living the day before.
I love the idea of a massive “get healthy” campaign, where I become perfectly tuned like a great machine in every single arena of human development. It just never works. I made self improvement schedules for myself before I was even a teenager–grand plans of how I would maximize my time and become more athletic, but also practice piano and spend time with my dog.
Why does it seem that I never go anywhere? I always end up more or less in a similar office environment at an organization that isn’t well-liked by the people in that particular industry, if it is known at all. Sometimes it feels as if the only thing I did right was walk into that church, meet my wife, and make my tiny contribution to bringing forth our son. But that is one of the few things in my adult life that I did where I didn’t really feel as if I was much in control about it–a bigger Hand was guiding me to make our awesome son be.