Meaning (#7)
I am in my mid-sixties, getting where for some illusions get harder and harder to construct (for others, to the contrary, it has become the time to do so). What is real, what is important?
Byron Brown in the Editor’s Preface to Almaas’ book The Unfolding Now, writes:
Our beliefs about what will allow us to survive, or what can help us solve our problems, or what will make us happy, or even what will fulfill our desires to make a difference in the world all seem to point us away from here[1]… We are in motion, going after, seeking out, restless, never satisfied, never at peace.
This seems to be the central dilemma of human life – that is easier to desire what is over there than to appreciate what is right here. In fact, what is here seems to be so fundamentally inferior, less than, or inadequate compared to what is apparently over there, that it hardly seems worth the effort to look here. Why not just go over there?
What is written in this excerpt sounds familiar to me. And I have observed it in many. Looking to be here elsewhere, to be present at another time. Someday, I’ll get there and this is my way to live the present; probably one of those necessary illusions to cope with our limits and our eventual death.
I am not against illusions. But, for some unknown reason, I can’t keep them for long. Looking back at my life, I realize that I have left a lot of them along the way. And being in my mid-sixties makes it harder and harder to project other ones forward. It seems to me that the younger we are, the easiest it is to imagine a wonderful life yet to come – a princess or a prince knocking at your door, longing to meet you. Well, princesses and princes also grow older and lose parts of their enchantment.
But surprisingly I am in no way dysphoric or depressed; I would even say that I have never felt that well before. I have learned to live with the fact that illusions are what they are, that is illusions. But like reading poetry, you may enmesh with its content the time you read it, and get back to your human duties (or what others would call reality) thereafter. The advantage to see illusions as something similar to poetry is that you won’t have to mourn your lost illusions for long; you learn there is a life outside poems.
Here is a story (as true as a story may be) of the relationship of the young (and old) Pierre with cars. I use it as an illustration of how some partial (or illusionary) meaning builds up.
Context: My father owned a garage (gas station and car repairs) with his brothers. As youngsters, my brothers and I have been working there for many years. For different reasons, we all loved cars. It was also the only common ground we all had with the regular employees that for the most part were coming from a very different social environment.
My parents, like many other parents of that social period (context = the fifties and the sixties – French speaking Canada), weren’t very prone to physical display of affection, or compliments (an important apprehension being that we became too pretentious). And it isn’t a secret to anyone that children want to look special and unique in their parents’ eyes. This may become an invasive issue for a very sensitive child. You may guess that it was the case for me; this longing for recognition was acutely felt. My great school reports didn’t make it. Sure, my parents appreciated them, but my grades didn’t bring me the admiration I was yearning for; I didn’t see sparks in their eyes. But I did see sparks in their eyes when they were talking about people who had succeeded financially. And at that period, in our culture, one symbol of financial success was to own a Cadillac.
In fact, we had an uncle that owned a Cadillac (replaced in a later cultural period by a Mercedes). I see myself quite clearly looking at this marvel with admiration and envy. I couldn’t imagine it was really possible; you had to be in another world than mine in order to posses such a jewel. By magical diffusion, my uncle’s children had become princesses and princes. Without a doubt these people were superior to me. For many years, I had a hard time understanding why the simple sight of a luxury car made me feel humiliated – in my emotional information processing, the owners could look down on me.
I had to find a solution that would add up all the parts together and give me means to trigger sparks in my parents’ eyes. Since it was easier for me to succeed intellectually, I eventually nourished the fantasy that winning a Nobel Prize would do it. The fame would force my parents to recognize my value and I thought that money would come with it (?) so that I could buy a red “Corvette” (the idealized sport car of the time). I had this fantasy of parking my red convertible Corvette in front of the family house. Then, at last, I would exist in my parents’ and brothers’ eyes.
Since I am very sensitive to peoples’ expectations, I hided that “superficial” fantasy to my intellectual friends – in that cultural environment, looking brilliant and profound (existentialist philosophy) was a better way to trigger sparks in others’ eyes.
Well, life went on and I didn’t win a Nobel Prize or couldn’t buy a fancy sport car; and my parents died. What is, is. But a few years ago, an unexpected opportunity gave me some financial margin. And, out of nowhere (my wife was at first stunned), the fantasy of a fancy sport car came alive again. Astonishingly, one part of myself shouted “it is now or never”… And I bought a fancy sport car (but black, instead of red, and not a Corvette – my parents wouldn’t see it anyway).
The following episode of the story? It is a pleasure to drive a fancy sport car; it is somewhat like drinking a great wine. But, after a while, it loses its magical power… Back to square one – what is meaningful and important in life?
This last question is probably the real reason behind my blog writing. So the response to this question is yet to come… And this search is an extraordinary journey… La quête du Saint-Graal…
pcousineau
pcousineau 