With the years behind him stacking higher and higher, Chris had begun feeling the pressure
of time tightening in on him. He felt the tedium of days increase as they flipped like
cards being shuffled in a deck, blending into one long, obscure motion, nearly indiscernible
from one another. By most standards, his life was generally pretty good. But he struggled
to ever really enjoy it much. The tedium and anxiety and confusion seemed to gnaw at him,
and he constantly felt the sense that life should be something more.
In his adulthood, Chris frequently found himself wondering what he was missing or doing wrong,
seeking wisdom for how to best live. Chris felt all of this generally building
in the background of his life, compounded over the last several years as friends drifted
apart for no real reason, family members passed away with age, and moderate life successes
turned stale before ever really being enjoyed. It was in this moment, though, just following
his girlfriend of five years leaving him alone in their apartment for her last time, that
he felt the feeling truly and totally overtake him; her last words still echoing in his head,
“I’m sorry, Chris, but it’s impossible to be with someone who is never happy.”
Chris sat laid back on the couch in his apartment’s living room, alone, staring at the ceiling
as rage and sadness fist fought in his head. It was Sunday, and the next day, he had to
be at work at 9 AM for his accounting job. He drank from a whiskey filled glass as he
thought about his life. He contemplated more seriously than he ever, the idea of skipping
to the end of the movie. He felt a hopelessness fill him so heavily that in this moment, without
Chris being conscious of it, a few of the strings holding together his normal self snapped,
which, unable to withstand the weight of Chris on their own, caused more strings to snap
in succession. In this, a sort of death occurred. The end result: some form of Chris on a plane
on his way to China with one bag of clothes and necessities, one debit card, a cell phone,
his passport, no real plan, no real communication with anyone, prepared to spend whatever portion
of his life savings and however much time he needed in search of finding what he was
searching for. Like most people, this idea of dropping everything and disappearing into
the unknown with no plan or destination, had circulated Chris’s mind plenty of times
before, but of course, he never acted on it. Until now, it never felt like his reasons
were big enough. Or perhaps his reasons not to WERE big enough. But now he felt the seed
of the idea sprout, watered by desperation and worse alternatives. He was set out to
touch the freedom of nowhere to be and nothing to do. A complete toss of caution to the wind,
willing to lose everything in hopes of finding something else.
Once in China, Chris wandered somewhat aimlessly by himself. He visited different cities and
towns; temples, art galleries, gardens, outskirt lands, every nook and cranny he could find
and stumble across, essentially backpacking and staying in little hostels or camping along
the way. He sought places and people whom he could learn from. He talked with those
he met about matters of life and death, briefly welcomed in by some and shown their ways.
In particular, Chris was repeatedly directed by many towards one individual who was supposedly
a revered teacher and guru of sorts that many traveled great distances to seeking answers
and advice. Chris would work his way in the direction he was pointed, eventually finding
himself in a province at the foot of the Himalayan Mountains. After some time of waiting, he
met the person whom he was told about. A lovely older woman who somehow felt both small and
large at the same. Chris introduced himself and the two talked cordially for a little
while. The woman asked him where he was from, his reasons for being there, and so on. Chris
explained to her as well as a he could, and when the timing was appropriate, he said,
“If I may ask, in your view, how should life be lived? How does one make the most
of this whole thing?” The woman paused for a moment, inhaled in a commanding manner,
and then said, “Do not chase worldly pleasures or material successes, Chris. Do not succumb
to the temptation of the moment. The only real is the eternal real. Work for what is
hard but necessary. What is meaningful in the long run. Let go of yourself and dissolve
into this. You only have one chance at this life; you must take it seriously and make
something of it. Give up trivial pleasures and desires in consideration of the long game.
Live and contemplate in the garden of life beyond you, Chris. Always be growing and improving
and adapting. Leave your legacy strong and sturdy. That is what it means to live a good
life.” After a little bit longer, the conversation reached its natural end. Chris thanked the
woman and left on his journey alone. He felt a sense of immense clarity in her answer as
he thought about it over to himself. It made great sense to him and sounded appropriately
wise. He stopped along a small river while walking and wrote in one of the notebooks
that he had brought with him. Still somewhat unsatiated, Chris continued
on his travels, visiting other countries and places. After several pit stops and many moments
of difficult challenges and disorientations, Chris would find himself in the country of
Greece. Here he visited cathedrals, museums, art galleries, parks, outskirt forests, every
nook and cranny he could find and stumble across. He sought places with people from
whom he could learn from. Many directed him, in particular, to National Gardens park in
Athens. Here, supposedly, a highly regarded self-help type of writer worked and wrote
on the weekends. After making his way and forcing a seeming coincidental bumping of
paths, Chris met the man while he was working at a small table in the park. Chris introduced
himself kindly and told the man who he was, his reasons for approaching him, and so on.
They talked about this and that for a little. At the right moment, Chris said to the man,
“If I may ask, in your view, how should life be lived? How does one make the most
of this whole thing?” With little hesitation, the man said, “Enjoy the moment my friend.
Seize the day. Do not wait for what might come, because what might come is always uncertain.
Do not live for some imagined later or what might come after you are no longer here. Enjoy
and indulge the simple pleasures of life right now, while you can. You only have one life.
Do not work too hard. Do not take it too seriously. That is what it means to live a good life.”
The two talked a bit further unto the conversation’s end. Then, Chris thanked the man, said his
farewell, and left on his journey alone. He felt a sense of clarity in the man’s answer
as he pondered it to himself. It made great sense to him and sounded quite wise. He stopped
on a bench just outside of the park and wrote a little summary of the conversation down
in one of his notebooks. Chris would continue on and on. For weeks
he traveled and wandered, from Greece to Romania, from Romania to Austria, eventually finding
himself in France. At the direction of others he met along the way, he found himself seeking
a woman who was regarded as one of the great modern intellectuals. Chris found her at Café
de Flore, in Paris, as he was told he might. He timidly approached her table after finally
happening by at the right time, and cordially introduced himself, not quite welcomed by
her initially, but after some charismatic coaxing, she engaged him in a brief conversation.
At some point, when it felt right, Chris said to the woman, “If I may ask, in your view,
how should life be lived? How does one make the most of this whole thing?” With a confident
smile, the woman said, “It’s all a balance. You have to live in the now but also, be sure
to think ahead at the same time. Enjoy the pleasures of life as often as you can, but
never so much so that you neglect the future. An indulgence of the now sustained by a constant
and simultaneous reminder that there are more and better nows still to come and hold out
for. The balance of the two makes both great. That is what it means to live a good life.”
Chris thanked her for her kind willingness to spare a few moments and left her to herself.
As he walked away, he was again struck by the wisdom, convinced by the clarity of the
woman’s words. He sat at a little bench in downtown and wrote what she said in one
of his notebooks. A few days later, still somehow unsatiated,
and growing increasingly tired by this point, Chris would find himself in Germany, at a
small debate between two philosophers of whom he was directed towards. After the debate
ended, Chris approached one of the philosophers at the bar attached to the auditorium that
the event took place. He introduced himself briefly and naturally started a conversation.
They talked about this and that. When appropriate, Chris said, “If I may ask, in your view,
how should life be lived? How does one make the most of this whole thing?” With a deep,
slow, and tired exhale, the man said, “We don’t. Don’t you see? We are condemned
by our awareness of the future and the perpetual slipperiness of every moment. We are stuck
between the finite and the infinite, the now and the later, unable to ever reconcile this
balance and know how to make the most of either. To make the most of now risks the future.
To preserve the future, risks never making the most of now. To be human is to be aware
of and desire both, forced to live in between. And to live in between is to never touch either.
Wisdom is accepting this condition. Live with a pessimism and lower your expectations and
the occasional good will emerge once in a while. That is what it means to live a good
life.” The man drank from his beer as Chris somberly thanked him and continued on his
way. Although melancholic, he felt a sense of clarity in the man’s answer. It made
sense and was clearly quite wise. He sat on the ledge of a small city fountain and wrote
what the man said in his notebook. Chris would continue on and on, reading and
talking and looking everywhere else he could. Almost without realizing or planning it, suddenly,
he found himself at home, again, lied back on his living room couch. An assortment of
books that he had collected along his journey as well as journals of notes that he took,
sat next to him. He thought to himself, reflecting through the pages of his notes and memories.
He considered how he had explored different worlds and different cultures, asking some
of the wisest members of each how to best live. He received a newfound collection of
wisdoms from all of them, all of which sounded powerful and insightful and true on their
own, yet somehow, together, seemed to all contradict almost entirely. Chris wrote his
thoughts down in some of the empty space in one of the journals he still had room in.
Eventually, after plenty of mostly incoherent babbling, he wrote the following: “I went
out into the world claiming to seek wisdom. But what I really sought were answers. And
it is now perhaps my only clear conclusion that wisdom is the ability to know the difference.
There is no general wisdom of the kind I sought. The sort of wisdom that is alluded to in aphorisms
and clichés. Wisdom is knowing the limits of this wisdom. That it is entirely situational,
and rarely general, if at all. There are countless ideas and sayings and
so-called wisdoms that can justify nearly any way of living. They all sound good, because
they all are. But by the same token, none are. All ideas and cliches and wisdoms are
both true and false, meaningful and meaningless, depending on where and when and how they are
applied. Even the most brilliant thoughts and lines ever written or uttered across history
inevitably face their falsehoods, hypocrisies, and righteous oppositions. One can travel
the world and back, through books or on their own two feet, just to discover that the answers
are not out there. But perhaps one does not need answers, nor certainty, nor solace of
this form. Bad things happen. Life is an impossible puzzle, missing a majority of its pieces.
To live it in its ordinary form is courage. To find meaning in its mundane meaninglessness
is a sort of genius. To just exist for the time one has and to do one’s best, that’s
wise enough. It need not be more complicated than that. One should always be learning and
listening and considering the ideas and words of others, but I think I know now that this
wisdom is always a means and rarely an end.” Chris put the pen back into the notebook,
closed it, and sat back in his couch, eager to get back to and repair the life that
was his.