Mankind’s Search for Meaning
As someone who often contemplates the purposes and reasons behind everything from culture to fingernails, it’s not uncommon for me to wrestle with the meaning my own life might have, not just to me, but to the world as a whole. (I don’t shive a git about the multiverse because they don’t shive a git about me.) My conclusions range from the very selfish–ownership and enjoyment of things, to the interpersonal–making and maintaining connections with people I care about. Unfortunately, both types of meaning were first eroded and then systematically eliminated by someone who claimed to care about me back in China. So, now it’s time to slow down my mind, take a breath, and re-evaluate my life’s meaning and determine the best way forward with an emphasis on that meaning.
As recently as April 28th, I was kind of a big deal; a big fish in a small pond. I was the only remaining foreign teacher at a high school whose main objective is preparing Chinese kids to study in western universities overseas. Every single student at that school knew my name, and about 90% of them would say “Hi!” as they passed me in the hallway. No matter how rubbish my day was, their greetings would always make me feel good. That’s long gone.
Now that I’m in exile, I’m no one, working nowhere, and I feel I’ve become practically invisible. Invisible is growing on me. I think I could get used to this. When I go back, I’ll be the littlest fish in the biggest of ponds, and I think that’s exactly what I need.
At some point, I’m going to start looking forward; not yet but soon. To help me with this task, I’ve started watching Louie, the dark-ish comedy series by Louie C.K. that sarcastically deals with life after his divorce. I’m finding it very
voyeuristic therapeutic watching someone go through some things I’ll soon be dealing with.
When you zoom in too far on any digital image, you invariably encounter the jaggies, those ugly little squared-off corners and edges that no longer appear clear when viewed up close. The same phenomenon happens when you look closely at a person’s life.
I like to open the messier parts of my life in Photoshop and begin lopping off all the ugly corners I see until I begin to feel like Voldemort must have felt as he carved off chunk after chunk of his miserable soul to make his horcruxes. That’s what I’m doing too. I’m sweeping together and collecting all the dusty excised shards of my life that caused me pain, all the barbed memories of people, razor-wire moments, and experiences that hurt me, compacting and compartmentalizing, rounding off the biting sharpness, the poky, angular, jabby bits which would otherwise open old wounds. And I’m stashing my little horcruxes away where no one will ever find them.
Some day, for all of my polishing and re-shaping, I might find happiness again.
Have you ever been stalked? Have you ever had your privacy and freedom so violated you’ve had to leave the city you lived and worked in to get away from the perpetrator? Have you ever felt like your life was stolen from you, all of your online accounts invaded and ripped from your hands (along with your phone) by someone you used to love, used to trust? Have you ever had your apartment burglarized, every stitch of clothing, every personal possession taken, by an insane spouse with the delusional belief you’ll have no choice but to return to her when you have absolutely nothing left? I have, and that’s why I’m now just a ghost.