Photo by Nathan Cowley: https://www.pexels.com/photo/shallow-focus-photography-of-man-wearing-red-polo-shirt-920036/ What is the point of this human life? We know how it’s going to end – 100% of the time for 100% of us, at least as far as I know. And when we face pain, challenge, or loss personally or feel discouraged about the state of the world, it can be easy to ask, “What are we doing? What’s the point? What’s this all about?”
I hope you didn’t start reading because you thought I’d have the answer, ‘cause, here’s the thing… I can’t have your answer. That question is one for each of us to ask, over and over, and explore and discover answers that ring true in our hearts and souls.
As I muddled around with what to write this week, knowing that something was brewing but also that what I had wasn’t feeling cohesive, Maggie Smith popped into my inbox and let me know that Mary Oliver’s birthday was this week! I found my thread! Mary Oliver, the great contemplative poet who has opened many hearts and minds brings it together for me.
One of her poems springs to mind immediately (though admittedly there are many that have touched me over the years).
“The Summer Day” with its compelling lines:
“Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?”
Don’t these words address this inquiry head-on? Yes, everything and everyone dies at last and too soon. So, what is it we plan to do with the time we’ve been given? Why are you here?
I’ve come to the conclusion that my life isn’t about what happens in it, but how I respond to what happens. This isn’t just some simple teaching. It’s what I know to be true based on the life I’ve lived.
I’ve had some devastating losses in my life, and each one has taken its toll. Each one has brought me to my knees. And, somehow each one has also called me to keep on going.
One of my closest friends, Michael, died in my first year in college. He was 19. I sat in the funeral home for 3 days straight with my friends, trying to make sense of how this gentle being, who’d been living his dream in Hawaii, could be lying lifeless in a box.
My dad, who would not drive a foot until everyone’s seatbelt was safely secured, ironically was killed instantly in a random car accident while he was still in his prime, starting what he probably thought were the best years of his life with his new wife and new freedom. I was 21, finishing my senior year of college.
My mom, my best friend, died at age 83 (the age she had told me years before seemed like a good time to go) when I was just 39, raising 2 young boys who missed their Mima very much. I thought I’d curl up and disappear myself, but I couldn’t. I didn’t have time to let the pain of grief take me down which I suspect was both a gift and unfortunate.
My dear Mary Lally, my person, the Christine to my Meredith, died far too young just a few years ago – right before Nate was to be released from prison. I didn’t get to share that joy and hope with her, and I still miss being able to call her and laugh and cry about all that life has brought in that time. In the aftermath of her passing I had time and space to feel the loss of my friend, something the world doesn’t understand the devastation of, and it ripped me apart. It also revealed to me the grace that is also available even in grief. I wrote about that time in Good Grief, Gratitude, and Grace and Swimming in the Messy Stages of Grief.
Maybe all of these losses were the dress rehearsals for the most crushing loss of all – my beautiful son, Nate, died just a few months before his 30th birthday, just 6 months after being given his first real chance at living on his own. When the call came, a wail unlike any other came out of this mouth, over and over and over as I doubled over, trying to make sense of what I was being told. Numbness and shock settled in as we moved through the days and weeks, feeling little but pain and agony. Again, I said goodbye to a beautiful young man in a box, something I needed to see but never wanted to do. Somehow even then I knew I’d go on, but honestly there were times I didn’t want to. There may be times again. Sometimes the immensity of his absence lands like a sledgehammer on my heart.
I know some people don’t like the words lost and loss when we talk about death, but I use those words because these people have been lost to my day-to-day life and their absence is a loss that I feel deeply. It makes sense to me, and you’re free to use whatever terms make sense to you, of course.
After Nate left this earth, even though I saw him in the dramatic sunset that very evening and I felt his presence with me immediately, his absence in our life still hits me. There are still times I want to pick up the phone and talk with him or Mom or Mary, and the things we won’t get to talk about face-to-face hurt, leaving a big void in my world.
So, if we’re all going to die in the end, what’s the point of being here in this not-so-easy human reality? I’d love to hear your answers to this question – sharing our ideas is one way we learn and grow, which I do believe is the point of this Earth school.
We’re spiritual beings having a human experience, so we’re here to experience human – to feel all the feelings, and to grow as a soul. This is what makes sense to me. We’re here to live and to love, even after we’ve lost people who are so dear to us. We’re still here, and so we go on, trying to make sense of things that might never make sense, trying to find a purpose.
One thing I know for sure is that the lives of those gone before me matter, no matter what they looked like on the surface – these people touched lives and left a mark. Part of my purpose is to carry on the legacy and lessons I’ve learned from Nate, from Mary, from my mom. These lessons revolve around love and compassion and giving it freely. Michael and my dad showed me what it’s like to follow your dreams and listen to your heart, even if others don’t love that you are. Mary and my mom showed me what it meant to live, even when dealing with a disease that would ultimately take them out prematurely.
As I pondered this, “What’s it all about?” question, here’s some of what arose for me at this time in my life (I am quite sure our answers change over time):
The point of this life is to learn and grow so that we can serve others. The point is to be present for it, with it, to live it fully and to feel all the feelings that human brings with it, including joy and deep sadness, love and loss, and to not hold back on one for fear of the other. Life is here to be lived, and we are here to bring love, compassion, and healing to ourselves, to one another, and to our planet. That would be today’s answer, I think.
To show up for life. To embrace it. To be who we were born to be. To give what we have to give, and to keep asking the question, “What’s the point?” To listen and open our eyes, minds, and hearts to fresh insights, new understanding, different perspectives. To love. Above all else, to love and be loved. To challenge that which is not love.
I asked Love what she would add to these thoughts, and here’s what she offered:
Life is here to be lived, to breathe into your whole being. Life is within you and all around you – a mighty force to be honored. Life is a gift that was never promised and is never promised again in any moment. It is to be savored and cherished, for it is truly a precious, sacred journey of the soul. You are here to be and experience human, which includes pain. And, you are built to learn and grow from that pain so that you can deepen into love, connect more deeply as a soul, and open your heart even more. Let your heart be broken open.
In the times when you feel like you’re facing an unending battle, feeling lost, confused, alone, or scared it can be hard to see the point or to remember that things will shift. When you can’t see the way forward, maybe the point is simply to take that next breath… and then the next. I know people who have overcome dark, dark times and deep, deep hardships. They show me what’s possible when I find it hard to keep showing up.
And, so, I invite you to reflect and consider, what is the point of this life that is yours? How do you want to live it? How do you want to show up? Who do you want to be? Who can help you when times are tough? There are choices, even if life has been shitty.
As we honor Suicide Prevention Month and National Recovery Month, this feels like a relevant exploration. If you need help and don’t know where to turn, text or call 988 or chat https://chat.988lifeline.org/ . You don’t have to face your hard times alone.
Nate’s life was chaotic and tormented for much of it, but I am clear that his life mattered, and I’m touched by the way he lived – resiliently, passionately, loudly, creatively, curiously, joyfully, and painfully, and always with love.
May you know that you are loved. May you know that you matter. May you be supported to make it to another day. Because, you’re here for a reason, and we need what you have to share. May you know laughter and beauty. May you cry your tears and scream your rage as you feel the impact of your losses and pain, as you fully embrace your humanity.
I’ll close with my favorite Mary Oliver poem that always, always, always moves me to tears:
The Journey
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice –
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do –
determined to save
the only life you could save.
Can you hear this new voice arising within you? What does it call you to?
We’re here to live. Of this I am certain.
What does it look like to you to live? What helps you keep going when times are hard?
If you’re in crisis, please call or text 988 – support is available.
There are also many resources that might support you on my Resource Page.
#RecoveryMonth
#RecoveryIsPossible
#SuicideAwareness
#SuicidePrevention
#MentalHealthMatters
#MentalHealthISHealth
Here's a playlist I created that I hope you enjoy - Life...
Please share your ideas and reflections with us - help us keep on going and remembering we're not in this alone! Much love to you as you keep on showing up.
I hope you didn’t start reading because you thought I’d have the answer, ‘cause, here’s the thing… I can’t have your answer. That question is one for each of us to ask, over and over, and explore and discover answers that ring true in our hearts and souls.
As I muddled around with what to write this week, knowing that something was brewing but also that what I had wasn’t feeling cohesive, Maggie Smith popped into my inbox and let me know that Mary Oliver’s birthday was this week! I found my thread! Mary Oliver, the great contemplative poet who has opened many hearts and minds brings it together for me.
One of her poems springs to mind immediately (though admittedly there are many that have touched me over the years).
“The Summer Day” with its compelling lines:
“Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?”
Don’t these words address this inquiry head-on? Yes, everything and everyone dies at last and too soon. So, what is it we plan to do with the time we’ve been given? Why are you here?
I’ve come to the conclusion that my life isn’t about what happens in it, but how I respond to what happens. This isn’t just some simple teaching. It’s what I know to be true based on the life I’ve lived.
I’ve had some devastating losses in my life, and each one has taken its toll. Each one has brought me to my knees. And, somehow each one has also called me to keep on going.
One of my closest friends, Michael, died in my first year in college. He was 19. I sat in the funeral home for 3 days straight with my friends, trying to make sense of how this gentle being, who’d been living his dream in Hawaii, could be lying lifeless in a box.
My dad, who would not drive a foot until everyone’s seatbelt was safely secured, ironically was killed instantly in a random car accident while he was still in his prime, starting what he probably thought were the best years of his life with his new wife and new freedom. I was 21, finishing my senior year of college.
My mom, my best friend, died at age 83 (the age she had told me years before seemed like a good time to go) when I was just 39, raising 2 young boys who missed their Mima very much. I thought I’d curl up and disappear myself, but I couldn’t. I didn’t have time to let the pain of grief take me down which I suspect was both a gift and unfortunate.
My dear Mary Lally, my person, the Christine to my Meredith, died far too young just a few years ago – right before Nate was to be released from prison. I didn’t get to share that joy and hope with her, and I still miss being able to call her and laugh and cry about all that life has brought in that time. In the aftermath of her passing I had time and space to feel the loss of my friend, something the world doesn’t understand the devastation of, and it ripped me apart. It also revealed to me the grace that is also available even in grief. I wrote about that time in Good Grief, Gratitude, and Grace and Swimming in the Messy Stages of Grief.
Maybe all of these losses were the dress rehearsals for the most crushing loss of all – my beautiful son, Nate, died just a few months before his 30th birthday, just 6 months after being given his first real chance at living on his own. When the call came, a wail unlike any other came out of this mouth, over and over and over as I doubled over, trying to make sense of what I was being told. Numbness and shock settled in as we moved through the days and weeks, feeling little but pain and agony. Again, I said goodbye to a beautiful young man in a box, something I needed to see but never wanted to do. Somehow even then I knew I’d go on, but honestly there were times I didn’t want to. There may be times again. Sometimes the immensity of his absence lands like a sledgehammer on my heart.
I know some people don’t like the words lost and loss when we talk about death, but I use those words because these people have been lost to my day-to-day life and their absence is a loss that I feel deeply. It makes sense to me, and you’re free to use whatever terms make sense to you, of course.
After Nate left this earth, even though I saw him in the dramatic sunset that very evening and I felt his presence with me immediately, his absence in our life still hits me. There are still times I want to pick up the phone and talk with him or Mom or Mary, and the things we won’t get to talk about face-to-face hurt, leaving a big void in my world.
So, if we’re all going to die in the end, what’s the point of being here in this not-so-easy human reality? I’d love to hear your answers to this question – sharing our ideas is one way we learn and grow, which I do believe is the point of this Earth school.
We’re spiritual beings having a human experience, so we’re here to experience human – to feel all the feelings, and to grow as a soul. This is what makes sense to me. We’re here to live and to love, even after we’ve lost people who are so dear to us. We’re still here, and so we go on, trying to make sense of things that might never make sense, trying to find a purpose.
One thing I know for sure is that the lives of those gone before me matter, no matter what they looked like on the surface – these people touched lives and left a mark. Part of my purpose is to carry on the legacy and lessons I’ve learned from Nate, from Mary, from my mom. These lessons revolve around love and compassion and giving it freely. Michael and my dad showed me what it’s like to follow your dreams and listen to your heart, even if others don’t love that you are. Mary and my mom showed me what it meant to live, even when dealing with a disease that would ultimately take them out prematurely.
As I pondered this, “What’s it all about?” question, here’s some of what arose for me at this time in my life (I am quite sure our answers change over time):
The point of this life is to learn and grow so that we can serve others. The point is to be present for it, with it, to live it fully and to feel all the feelings that human brings with it, including joy and deep sadness, love and loss, and to not hold back on one for fear of the other. Life is here to be lived, and we are here to bring love, compassion, and healing to ourselves, to one another, and to our planet. That would be today’s answer, I think.
To show up for life. To embrace it. To be who we were born to be. To give what we have to give, and to keep asking the question, “What’s the point?” To listen and open our eyes, minds, and hearts to fresh insights, new understanding, different perspectives. To love. Above all else, to love and be loved. To challenge that which is not love.
I asked Love what she would add to these thoughts, and here’s what she offered:
Life is here to be lived, to breathe into your whole being. Life is within you and all around you – a mighty force to be honored. Life is a gift that was never promised and is never promised again in any moment. It is to be savored and cherished, for it is truly a precious, sacred journey of the soul. You are here to be and experience human, which includes pain. And, you are built to learn and grow from that pain so that you can deepen into love, connect more deeply as a soul, and open your heart even more. Let your heart be broken open.
In the times when you feel like you’re facing an unending battle, feeling lost, confused, alone, or scared it can be hard to see the point or to remember that things will shift. When you can’t see the way forward, maybe the point is simply to take that next breath… and then the next. I know people who have overcome dark, dark times and deep, deep hardships. They show me what’s possible when I find it hard to keep showing up.
And, so, I invite you to reflect and consider, what is the point of this life that is yours? How do you want to live it? How do you want to show up? Who do you want to be? Who can help you when times are tough? There are choices, even if life has been shitty.
As we honor Suicide Prevention Month and National Recovery Month, this feels like a relevant exploration. If you need help and don’t know where to turn, text or call 988 or chat https://chat.988lifeline.org/ . You don’t have to face your hard times alone.
Nate’s life was chaotic and tormented for much of it, but I am clear that his life mattered, and I’m touched by the way he lived – resiliently, passionately, loudly, creatively, curiously, joyfully, and painfully, and always with love.
May you know that you are loved. May you know that you matter. May you be supported to make it to another day. Because, you’re here for a reason, and we need what you have to share. May you know laughter and beauty. May you cry your tears and scream your rage as you feel the impact of your losses and pain, as you fully embrace your humanity.
I’ll close with my favorite Mary Oliver poem that always, always, always moves me to tears:
The Journey
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice –
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do –
determined to save
the only life you could save.
Can you hear this new voice arising within you? What does it call you to?
We’re here to live. Of this I am certain.
What does it look like to you to live? What helps you keep going when times are hard?
If you’re in crisis, please call or text 988 – support is available.
There are also many resources that might support you on my Resource Page.
#RecoveryMonth
#RecoveryIsPossible
#SuicideAwareness
#SuicidePrevention
#MentalHealthMatters
#MentalHealthISHealth
Here's a playlist I created that I hope you enjoy - Life...
Please share your ideas and reflections with us - help us keep on going and remembering we're not in this alone! Much love to you as you keep on showing up.
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