The meaning of life

Sometimes I wonder about the meaning of life. What is life? Is it being born, living it as best you can and die? Is it something to be totally spent in the service of God? Is it something to be enjoyed? Should it be spent in the service of other human beings? Or is it just something that is and we have to go along with it like everybody else?

You know how there are little drops of dew on the roof of the car in the morning, after a cold night? Have you ever just taken your finger and swiped it through the dew? It makes a line in it. When the sun comes up and the dew melts, you can see traces of the line you made; a faint imprint where your finger brushed away the dew. After some time, that too vanishes. It is replaced by dust or, if you clean your car daily, a shiny imprint free roof.

Our life is like that little finger swipe. The roof is the world; the droplets of dew, the people. Each person has a unique presence, just like tiny drops of dew. When we touch the lives of the people we know, we leave an impression on them. Even if we only meet them once. They remember us, even if it is for a tiny fraction of a second. They talk about us, laugh about us, tell their friends they want to be like us or unlike us, think about us and smile, secretly admire us, love us, hate us, say our name in sleep, think of us when they open their eyes in the morning, or completely forget us after a few moments. But just like the swipe we make with that finger; we make an impression on them and, in turn, on their lives.

Eventually, our impression fades away. If they know us deeply and intimately, it takes a lifetime. If they only happened to glance at us from across the street while buying fruit, it takes only a second. I look at the stars and wonder if these planets exist anymore. Scientists say their lights reach us millions of years later. I wonder, if I put a very powerful telescope to my eyes which could see that far, what I would see. Maybe a civilization at the pinnacle of its life, or a star just being born. Maybe a world destroying itself, or one just waking up.

But what if there is an alien out there on one of the stars I see as just being born? Millions of years later, it has evolved and now has a thriving population. And that alien, being scientifically advanced enough, sees the dinosaurs walking around on our planet. Maybe, someday, someone from a far away galaxy will see me lying on the grass and staring up at the sky; wondering about the meaning of life. And my life, just for a second, will impact his. He may turn around to his friend and tell him about the human he saw today.

I guess what I want to say is, our life does have a meaning. We just have to live it as best we can. Maybe long after we die, we’ll be remembered. Maybe our stories will be told to others. Maybe they’ll smile at the jokes we told or at the way we talked or how we used to tell a story. Maybe we can live long after we die.

You can always run away...

I have never been a very committed man. Although the people around me are rarely aware of it; I hardly ever make major commitments. And when I do, I always have an “escape clause” in my mind. But my fear of commitment doesn’t mean I’m not decisive. Quite the contrary; I’m a very decisive person. I look at the situation, I measure my chances and I take the leap of faith. Thinking of faith made me say a quick prayer. But even as I prayed, my subconscious reminded me I could always flee.

Ever since I was a child, and be asked to play a game I would think what if I lose? Or what if my team loses? My mind would always reply with this: you can always run away. And if I knew anything, it was running. I ran so fast I was in every school and college running team. I always made the squad. And that always made mom and dad proud. And when I would stand on the little stair – the one with first, second and third written on it – to receive my trophy and have butterflies in my stomach, I’d tell myself “you can run away Jack, you can always run away.”

So I ran all the way through school and I ran through college. When it was time to get a job and move into an apartment in the City, I felt uncertain, afraid, nervous; anything but confident. But my mind again sprang out the old piece of advice. Now it was like second nature to me. I trusted that advice. It had got me through twenty-three years of life! Never once had it failed.

Then I met Liz. She was the secretary of the Area Manager of the company we both worked for. We dated for a year. I had never felt anything to be so right in my life. She was smart, funny and beautiful. Her eyes sparkled every time she smiled and her cheeks had the sweetest little dimples in them. But my old commitment issues came up again. I started questioning whether I was ready for marriage; whether she was really the right girl. But with my old problem, my old advice returned too. Even though I had no intention of running away from Liz or the wonderful life I knew we were destined to lead, I told myself the option was still open. There was always an escape hatch at the back. I couldn’t help myself. It’s just the way I was made. Kind of like a manufacturing fault.

And, so, Liz and I got married on a sunny spring day in April. She looked so beautiful; I had no words to describe her. I still don’t. The two years of our marriage have been the happiest two years of my life. The sheer joy of waking up every day to the sound of my wife humming ‘What a Wonderful World’ makes me wonder what I did to deserve her.

The car behind me honked. The light had turned green and I hadn’t realized. Nothing like a traffic intersection to make you reflect on your life. I quickly turned right and headed straight toward the hospital. I parked in the parking lot, got the ticket and ran straight in. I asked the nurse at reception for my wife’s room. She was on the second floor. I couldn’t wait anymore so I ran straight for the stairs. Reaching the second floor, I told the nurse at the station my name. She smiled and told me everything was okay. I tried to smile too but something was wrong with my facial muscles so I grimaced instead. The nurse took me to my wife’s room.

When I saw the little bundle in Liz’s arms and the smile on her face, complete with the dimples and the twinkling eyes, I felt waves of relief flow through me. Liz mouthed “boy” and handed me the bundle. I took it carefully. It was tiny. It – he – was my son. He would be my legacy; my future. He was my son. The baby opened his eyes and his little closed fist touched my finger. I held it out to him. He opened his fist and closed it around it. My subconscious told me I could not run away; not now. And you know what, I didn’t want to.