Pondering the Meaning of Life as I Turn 42
42 Ideas About What Life Means, or What It Means to Me
I’m turning 42 this weekend, which has me reflecting on the meaning of life mainly because of the book and film Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, where a supercomputer declares that the meaning of life, the universe, and everything is 42.
Below are 42 ideas about what life means, or what it means to me, in honor of my 42nd birthday:
Going outside on a warm spring day to lie on my back deck and listen to the birds.
Writing this journal entry /Substack story.
Recognizing your imperfect nature and trying to be as good as you can be.
Telling your story, especially if it might hurt to do so.
Watching, listening to, and reading things that make you laugh, cry, hope, think, change your reality, or make you better appreciate your reality.
Getting to a place in the woods where you can’t hear human civilization anymore. The Malcolm Preserve is excellent for this.
Eating fried scallops at Woodmans.
Recognizing the futility of it all and still enjoying life as much as possible.
Telling Rocky he’s a good boy.
Talking to Dad for two hours each time we call each other.
Hugging my brother Rob.
Watching and making fun of romantic comedy trailers with my husband Inky.
Listening to Taylor Swift.
Writing what you want.
Telling shame to go fuck itself.
Honoring my Mum with my work in mental health and human services.
Telling people what kind of flower, bush, tree, or bird they’re looking at.
Singing unabashedly. Singing is life. It’s how we best convey our joy and sorrow.
Laughing, especially when things are sad. I require that people I love laugh heartily at my funeral and/or celebration of life, as if I’m still alive and laughing with them. Laughter can soothe pain like nothing else.
Being inspired by my brother Sean’s recovery and sharing his wisdom with others who are on a similar journey.
Walking in cemeteries, like some Buddhists do to remind themselves of impermanence. I also walk there to see the trees, flowers, birds, and other creatures.
Seeing great world sites and then wandering into inexpensive, unpretentious, random pubs and restaurants nearby.
Visiting your ancestral home (Ireland, maybe a sliver of Spain for me) and knowing in your heart that you belong and that the stories are true.
Wondering about the mysteries of your life, others’ lives, the world, and the universe. I love wondering about things, even though it might be nicer to have an answer.
Hanging out at psychiatric hospitals and learning the greatest lessons of your life.
Not wasting so much time on your damn lawn.
Processing your shit in therapy.
Naming the local wildlife and domestic pets that aren’t your own, like Murder Kitty, Leonidas the bunny, Phil the groundhog, Mr. and Mrs. Fox, and treating them as though they are part of your family.
Losing your nose in lilacs and wisteria.
Communing with the ocean.
Maintaining solid eyebrows.
Forgetting your troubles at Marshalls.
Being a person of substance. Don’t just be another person you see on social media: vapid, self-absorbed, and fake.
Seeking knowledge and wisdom and learning from it. Then spreading the word.
Being present. Try to not be on your phone when you’re with other people in-person.
Watching the young ones grow, including nieces, nephews, friends’ children, children in the community, and teaching them what you can.
Trying to have as much joy as Jonathan Van Ness.
Seeing as many Van Goghs as you can.
Valuing yourself and working on the love part.
Taking ridiculous photos that aren’t selfies.
Taking the pay cut and doing what you love if it pays your bills.
Abiding.
