It’s Just Life!
Growing up as a young girl in central Florida, the writer, Zora Neale Hurston, wanted to walk out to meet the horizon. She possessed an innate desire to leave her parochial life behind, unconcerned of the attendant pitfalls or successes, she wanted to move toward the unknown. Zora’s wanderlust perhaps speaks more to her need for new experiences than an aspiration to arrive at a specific place. She knew that she wanted more than her race, gender, and social class had prescribed for her, and the first step of what would become a tempestuous life odyssey began with the voyage within.
For several months now, I’ve set out on my own internal quest. I’ve been questioning my core principles, wondering if they are really mine or have they been superimposed by outside forces? I’ve come to terms with no longer having influence over young minds as a teacher and not being the caregiver to a dependent child. Now that my priorities have changed, I keep pondering what work is left for me to do? What happens to over 40 years of knowledge and experience gained from structured employment? How do I live the rest of my years, now that I am closer to the horizon? I recently came across Louis Armstrong’s romantically evocative, “We Have All the Time in the World.” It is a sultry, sensual song, reminiscent of the ’60s bossa nova vibe. It made me laugh because what makes for great lyrics does not necessarily transfer to life. I do not have all the time in the world, therefore I must be intentional about the quality of life I desire.
For decades, I’ve longed for the pastoral life: a cottage near the sea or in the countryside; early morning strolls to the market, returning with a basket in hand, ladened with fresh produce; a chat with neighbors; a backyard to potter around in; and a room with good light to read and write. This dream, this longing for another life has often prevented me from fully enjoying the one I was currently living. I’ve always been striving, always planning, always moving toward a goal that I believed once achieved, then I would finally begin to live this charmed life of my imagination. In the meantime, the present was always a phase to get through.
A friend recently posted an aphorism on social media that stated: “the purpose of life is just to live”. On the surface, that statement appears simple, yet I’ve realized under scrutiny it is rather difficult to just live life. As I age, I keep reassessing if I’m living an authentic life or someone else’s? How do I know if I am living fully? How does one measure a good life? Is it a year of traveling or is it staying home and baking cookies instead of undertaking a grueling commute? I have been programmed, like others, to constantly be in search of something. Something to check off a list; something tangible to achieve, something to consume, something to exceed, something to complete. To be still, to feel, to experience living without a deadline is anathema to all I’ve known.
Henry David Thoreau contended almost two centuries ago, that the acquisition of stuff is not commensurate with happiness or with having a fulfilling life. He took his two-year hiatus in the woods of Massachusetts, to contemplate the pleasures of nature, solitude, and simplicity in a spartan hut. For some, Thoreau’s musings are emblematic of the idle rich and their self-indulgence: which allows space to question the esoterics of life. While for masses of unhoused, hungry, and unemployed people the merits of the changing seasons may be lost on them. Thoreau distilled life to its essence, with his premise that simplicity, and being unencumbered, makes life and living more manageable. Yet, in reading a 19th-century writer, one still is left to ask how is simplicity found within the complexities of modern society? Is it living off the grid? Is it limiting one’s material possessions? Is it making time for family and friends?
As I continue to spend more time outside of the U.S, I have become more appreciative of the life-sustaining process of being encircled in a community filled with laughter, sharing food, and warm smiles. I’m learning that a good life is more about forging relationships. I’m seeing that there is no concrete or definitive answer to any of the questions that plague me. Living an authentic life means I can play it by ear and change my mind whenever I want. I don’t need a roadmap. I don’t have to stay on a set path. I can stop, reassess and even make an about-turn. I can create my own rules to live by.
For decades, my priority was my young daughter’s well-being, now the focus is back on me. I feel like the speaker in Aime Cesaire’s poem Return to My Native Land who longs for the land of his birth. I too miss the warm Caribbean sun, the wide expansive sea, and a community where I feel safe. But, like Cesaire’s persona, upon his arrival, finds the French colony, irreparably changed and devoid of the nostalgia of his youth. I wonder, can I go home again? Is home even a place? As I grapple with these issues of belonging, it often feels like I am not living — to use the well-worn cliche — “my best life”.
For now, I want the rest of my life to be spent being as joyful and as kind as I possibly can to myself and to others. I know that some days I will be unproductive, melancholy, and uncertain, and that’s okay. That’s Life! I want to eschew the notion that sadness or suffering or setbacks are not commensurate with a good life. I want to approach the close of each day with the awareness that if I’ve accomplished my goals or encountered failure, it’s okay…that’s life! Tomorrow, if I’m alive, I can begin again.
