Whether I like to admit it or not, I am always trying to attach meaning to events in my life. Dreams, personal interactions, road kill; all fall victim to my philosophical analyzations. When one spends hours contemplating the significance of hitting a beaver on a levee road whilst engaging in a mini road trip on their lunch, one should probably cease and desist...or have a drink.
One area where this metaphysical examination takes place is at the gas station. When 'filling up' I generally like to place the gas nozzle into my tank, latch the handle lever, and daydream for the duration of the filling process. [which is usually a decent amount of time as I tend to run the tank to 'E' just to see if I can slip in a few more miles per gallon]
When I hear that magical "click", I immediately look to see how much hard earned cash was taken from my checking or credit account. Once I have seen the figure, my mind automatically begins searching the mental databanks for a possible meaning behind that specific number.
If the total is an odd amount, I of course try to round the number out with a few precious pumps of the nozzle and then my mind begins the entire process again - attaching significance to the new amount, frantically attempting to piece together this great mystery.
Yesterday, the tank became full at 10.5 gallons - exactly $37.00.
...the wheels began to spin...
Why that number?
Why here?
Why now?
Am I going to die when I turn 37?
Should I add the numbers together and recall a memory of that age?
Maybe I should multiply.
Should I buy a lotto ticket?
What is 37 in Spanish?
As much as I adhere to reason and logic wherever applicable [everywhere and always] I cannot deny that my mind works in such a way that it is constantly searching for something more - something outside the context of coincidence and luck or rationale and reason.
And I think that perhaps I am not alone in my floundering.
As human beings, we are presented with a rather harsh reality. There is no instruction manual. There is no divine voice booming down in stereo, no HDTV images of our purpose or point. Not even an illustrated color pamphlet suggesting that in the event of an emergency, our ass will become a flotation device.
We have nothing but the rules and laws we discover and while we can't deny their existence, sometimes we even attach our own meaning to those.
The human condition is - not so much a creature bound by laws, but a creature bound by desire - the desire to fill the void within, the desire to prosper, explore, create, and control. The desire to thrive.
Ultimately, there is no fact in the fiction.
We design meaning and assign it to where we see fit.
Whether its the spiritual 'evidence of things unseen' or the empirical evidence of years of experiments, we simply don't don't know and may not know our purpose [if any] until we expire.
Until then, I'll be crossing my fingers at the gas pump with a pocketfull of scratchers.
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1 comment:
you should read some tolstoy. he's all about finding some kind of meaning in life. some of his greatest works were written out of the anguish he felt over life's meaninglessness.
then he died alone and in despair.
point and case. don't think too hard or you'll go crazy.
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