I find it amusing that an anagram for Exist is Exits. We are living in Existential times, say many articles I read these days. Some headlines scream; “It’s an Existential Crisis!” or “Our very Existence is being jeopardized!” or “Human’s will soon cease to Exist on our planet!” Certainly civilization is in a roiling turmoil, sufficient to make us feel that it’s time to seek the exits of the great theatre of life (the vomitoria of ancient roman amphitheatres come to mind).
But wait! Before we search for that way-out from our own arena, let’s consider together what defines our existence. Hamlet was right when he opined that to be or not to be was the question. I believe we must be, simply because we are. Life is precious, to ourselves and to others. I’ve known folks who have committed suicide. I’ve contemplated shuffling off this mortal coil. What held me back was that the fear of missing out was greater than the fear of what comes next.
My existence is dependent on my thoughts. I am aware of my presence because I feel things. My senses send me signals of pleasure and pain. To be present means to acknowledge the messages being received, even if they are uncomfortable. All things will pass. I can’t always relate to what’s happening around me so I find comfort in the parade. Maybe I’ll join in later, or start my own parade. We are characters in a play of our own making. All the world’s a stage.
When I read stories of people who have disappeared I wonder what their previous existence had been like. I’m going to assume here that they arranged their own disappearance. After their escape, I’ll assume they had a life, somewhere, even though the ones they left behind may do better emotionally by thinking they are dead. The story writer in me wants these vanished souls to have an alternate world; a world free of the hassles from which they felt they had to depart. Imagine being so uncomfortable that you had to get as far away from your current experience as possible. It’s hard to believe that such a disappearing act would be possible in this age of surveillance. Yet, in Canada alone, tens of thousands go missing every year.
There is no doubt that we are in an existential moment in history. The world-wide pinball machine seems to be in continuous tilt mode. Lights flash warning after warning: Climate change, Terrorist attack, War crimes, Political lies, Viral pandemic, Species extinction. Prophets are screaming end-of-days rhetoric. Please wake me up when it’s all over!
Then I see my wife smile at me. I see a sparrow land nearby and tilt its tiny head. A breeze teases the hairs on my arm. I smell a barbecue cooking. I swallow my saliva. I am alive! I exist and my existence doesn’t have to matter to anyone else but me. Each day can be better than what I thought it might be. I’ll never miss out if I hold on for one more day.
Catch My Drift? 