Cautiously peeking out
Like a turtle retracting arms and legs, people retreat into themselves when stressed.
I was surprised that my mother took shelter in the mundane routines of home life while she was in remission. I didn't expect her to draw up a '100 things to do before you die' list, but I was taken aback by just how little interest she had in getting out and about.
With a few more years of life experience under my belt I've come to appreciate my mother's perspective. One doesn't need to fill every moment with things to DO, it is enough to simply BE. It is true we enjoy new experiences for their novelty value, but when we need comfort we seek the familiar patterns of our day to day life.
My mother was a staunch atheist. She did not believe in god, nor an afterlife. When she knew she was dying she lost interest in the future that beyond her own lifespan. In her case I suspect a little existential nihilism was at work. When life has no intrinsic meaning or value the experiences of a single human or even the entire human species is insignificant. Curiously this didn't appear to cause suicidal thoughts. She resented that she was slipping away, despite her determination to live.
My mum once said the purpose of life was to raise the next generation and propagate the genome. I do rather like this philosophy, after all every living species on the planet will procreate given the right conditions. When I was a young adult I decided my philosophy of life was to be happy and live without regret. It was a good philosophy for an optimistic youth, but it didn't fare well against the calamities of life.
I enjoyed the companionship, camaraderie, and opportunities of being in a couple. When we separated I struggled to adapt. In hindsight I’d obviously picked the wrong person as a life partner, but the regret I couldn't shuck off was that I was childless with my best reproductive years behind me when we broke up. It didn't seem probable that I would have time to get over the break-up, find a good man to settle down with, and start a family with the clock ticking on my fertility. I guess I did subscribe to my mother's philosophy to some extent after all.
The world spun and danced around the sun for a few years. My tattered philosophy of life lay neglected in a corner, while I mellowed into my singledom, and became accustomed to the idea that I wouldn't be raising babies.
When I developed lymphedema a little over a year ago I was in pain, and I was struggling to see a reason to carry on. I felt I needed a new philosophy of life – something I could use to fend off the nihilism. I didn't really gain any insights on this topic during counselling sessions. In the end I decided to just 'muddle along and see what happens.' It turns out to be a fairly decent philosophy, and the more I muddle along, the less important the whole question about the meaning of life becomes.
Meanwhile, like the turtle in his shell, I'm cautiously peeking out at the world, having a good think before I tentatively stretch my neck out, extend my legs and waddle off.
I was surprised that my mother took shelter in the mundane routines of home life while she was in remission. I didn't expect her to draw up a '100 things to do before you die' list, but I was taken aback by just how little interest she had in getting out and about.
With a few more years of life experience under my belt I've come to appreciate my mother's perspective. One doesn't need to fill every moment with things to DO, it is enough to simply BE. It is true we enjoy new experiences for their novelty value, but when we need comfort we seek the familiar patterns of our day to day life.
My mother was a staunch atheist. She did not believe in god, nor an afterlife. When she knew she was dying she lost interest in the future that beyond her own lifespan. In her case I suspect a little existential nihilism was at work. When life has no intrinsic meaning or value the experiences of a single human or even the entire human species is insignificant. Curiously this didn't appear to cause suicidal thoughts. She resented that she was slipping away, despite her determination to live.
My mum once said the purpose of life was to raise the next generation and propagate the genome. I do rather like this philosophy, after all every living species on the planet will procreate given the right conditions. When I was a young adult I decided my philosophy of life was to be happy and live without regret. It was a good philosophy for an optimistic youth, but it didn't fare well against the calamities of life.
I enjoyed the companionship, camaraderie, and opportunities of being in a couple. When we separated I struggled to adapt. In hindsight I’d obviously picked the wrong person as a life partner, but the regret I couldn't shuck off was that I was childless with my best reproductive years behind me when we broke up. It didn't seem probable that I would have time to get over the break-up, find a good man to settle down with, and start a family with the clock ticking on my fertility. I guess I did subscribe to my mother's philosophy to some extent after all.
The world spun and danced around the sun for a few years. My tattered philosophy of life lay neglected in a corner, while I mellowed into my singledom, and became accustomed to the idea that I wouldn't be raising babies.
When I developed lymphedema a little over a year ago I was in pain, and I was struggling to see a reason to carry on. I felt I needed a new philosophy of life – something I could use to fend off the nihilism. I didn't really gain any insights on this topic during counselling sessions. In the end I decided to just 'muddle along and see what happens.' It turns out to be a fairly decent philosophy, and the more I muddle along, the less important the whole question about the meaning of life becomes.
Meanwhile, like the turtle in his shell, I'm cautiously peeking out at the world, having a good think before I tentatively stretch my neck out, extend my legs and waddle off.
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