I think, for perhaps the first time in my life, I am coming to understand life and its meaning. It’s a ponderous notion that I’ve contended with to no avail for almost as long as I can remember. My intentions to understand it have changed, matured, and evolved as I have but the quest has largely remained the same. And I think I may have actually done it.

Imagine a person who knows all there is to know about their world. It would stand to reason that this person could be cocky, overly confident in the certainty they have about knowing all there is to know. Their ego, as baseless as it was, would likely be taken down a peg or even shattered upon learning that there is much beyond their world and their perception of it.

 

An analogy I’ve used in passing but has come to largely shape the conclusive points I’ve started to make is one I’m having a hard time framing in a way that conveys the message I want it to, but here is my attempt.

 

Let’s say that the physical representation of all that I knew when I was a teenager was the Earth. As small as I am as just one person, I at least knew the entire range I could travel. As my knowledge and sense of wisdom expanded, I began to learn about the moon, Mars, Venus, the Sun, and everything in the solar system. The more I learned, the more I gleaned that there was even more beyond that. That the unknown unknown was and would likely always be infinitely larger than what I knew.

 

It would always be a chase that could never end. There’s no end to pi. Even with all of man’s technology, we have no certainty that the known, observable universe is either 20% or .000000002% of what’s out there. We’ll likely never know.

The ratio of what I know, what I know I don’t know, and what I don’t know that I don’t know has at best stayed the same as I’ve grown up and become more mature. In some clear instances the ratio’s has skewed heavily into the second and third portions. The more wise I become about things the more I’m aware that I don’t know much of anything. And yet if I compared myself to the person I was thinking the Earth was all there was I am so much further ahead.

But the feelings of loneliness, uncertainty, and isolation feel the same now as they did back then. Augmented some, sure, but not entirely gone.

 

I look back on my life when I was 20 and compare it to now and the difference is night and day. My life, as it stands today, is so much cooler than I imagined it could be. I have more ‘things’, and have learned more lessons than I ever thought possible. But the feeling that I haven’t done enough, that I’m not good enough for what I perceive to be on the horizon and out of my reach is just as alive and well.

 

The growth of who I am as a person, the things I’ve been able to accomplish, and the things I’ve come to possess today were once unrealistic and wild ambitions of a kid daring to dream about a better existence than he currently had. I’ve blown past checkpoints and mile markers that once seemed like a pipe dream. Living entirely on my own? Feeling like I can be myself and not feel like I’m just setting myself up to be laughed at?

 

I don’t feel the sense of pride that I once knew, with all my heart, would be there if any of these things did become a reality. There’s just the next mile marker. The next horizon, and the disappointment I have in myself not being there yet. The thoughts so perfectly twisting every objective point into confirmation of my failure. That I’m not a good person. That I’ll never accomplish anything.

 

It’s this unending cycle. Where I am never feels good enough. Where I want to go seems impossible to attain or like it’s something I’m not capable of. Where I’ve been is just… Where I’ve been. I almost become detached from the past in a way, like I’m just remembering someone else’s life because I hardly feel like that person while also feeling like I haven’t changed at all paradoxically.

 

I say all of this to make the point that in my life I have a clear trend of valuing the destination far more than the journey. I can see an instance where someone grows old, doggedly trying to strive for more and more only to look back and realize that in their want to accomplish they didn’t appreciate the journey there nearly enough. Someone spends their whole life working towards something without actually enjoying life itself.

 

I imagine it’s a realization many people often experience in their older years. People not appreciating the short time they have on this Earth.

 

I’ve read a number of books over the past couple of years that have a central theme urging the reader to find a ‘Why’ of sorts that acts as a form of inspiration. Why are you here? What’s your purpose in life? What do you want for yourself? That sort of thing. I’ve always kinda skipped over those parts because I didn’t put much stock in the notion. At least I thought. Maybe I’ve just been scared to answer it. Maybe I was scared to learn that I didn’t have an answer.

 

Not being able to answer something seemingly so simple has had a huge part in how I’ve valued the destination over the journey, I feel. If I accomplish this or do this then I will feel… Whatever. Validated. Happy. Like I matter. Like I can look at myself in the mirror. Like I can feel proud of myself. But past the immediate moment where an accomplishment is relished or enjoyed, it’s still just me there. Accomplishment is not the third act of some movie. It’s not the end of A New Hope when medals are passed out, a riveting score swells, and the audience feels fulfillment in a sense of adventure as credits scroll.

 

There’s just the next day, and the newness of it all fades.

 

It’s an addiction in a way, I could extrapolate. Chasing a high of sorts. Needing more to get the same high, but sooner or later you need even more.

 

The ratio just stays the same or gets worse.

 

So, what’s the conclusion? I honestly am not sure. But I can say that I feel like more meaningful, lasting happiness could come from just appreciating any given moment or chapter for what it is. To appreciate each moment, each accomplishment, each relationship, as almost a nostalgic memento in time as it’s happening.

 

I’ll never know all there is to know, accomplish all there is to accomplish, or likely even the things I set to accomplish. But, if I allow myself to, I can have a fun adventure along the way.

 

On my last day, I don’t want to feel like I wasted my life not appreciating it. I don’t want the pursuit of a destination to rob me of relishing in the journey. I don’t want the ratio to take life away from me.

 

I just want to feel like I did something with my life and the chance that those that came before have given me. And I want to feel okay with myself. I suppose that, in and of itself, is a destination too, but…

 

I feel like when it comes to existential philosophy baby steps are worth celebrating.

 

So, this is me, feebly attempting to enjoy this part of journey that can only be lifelong. The destination just gives me something to do. The mastery of how it’s done is where the real enjoyment of life is.

 

Maybe.