On reaching the end of ourselves
Life is an endurance test. We find what we’re made of, what we’re not made of, what matters, and what does not matter to us. It’s almost cliché. Victor Frankl spices things up with repositioning the question as “What is life asking from you?” I find myself wondering if it’s haunting or invigorating to ask this question?
It’s curious for sure.
But who is Life? I can look back over the litany of events that I might say is “my life” and fail to satisfy this answer. Who is Life? That is another layer to the “full of curious” question that Frankl asks. Life is asking me questions, and Life is more than me saying that I was born in Indiana to a Swiss-German heritage and moved to Florida’s west coast and…
Life is asking me a question. That is interesting. Who is Life?
I could say that it’s my personality or soul, but that’s not it because I identify too closely with both of these. Life feels wholly separate, yet equal to me. A conversation partner over coffee at The Spoon and Stable in Minneapolis. They speak from a great tradition that defies being categorized as genetics, spirituality, or religion. Life’s voice lifts itself from the human tradition, the tradition that humans share of mustering all their energy to live and live fully.
An answer to this voice requires a pause. I sense that I’m in the presence of a “great and powerful stranger” as David Wagoner describes a tree. They have emerged from behind the thicket of “life as usual” to catch me unaware, guard down, but willing to engage if it were not for the fact that we seem to be speaking different languages. I see Life standing before me with their hands pocketed, expecting an answer, and for the moment I’m finding myself without the words.
What is Life asking me?
Photo by Chad Madden on Unsplash
What is Life asking me? Of me?
Prior to them stepping out into the open, I felt that I had reached an end. Life—that path that had led me up into this wilderness and now stretches behind me—seemed to be coming to an end. An end to my resources, dreams, failures (hopefully), best efforts. Yet, here I am facing the keeper of the path as if I’m a kid standing at the gates to Disney World, and Life is wondering if I’ve purchased my tickets.
I have, haven’t I? Doesn’t getting this far warrant entry? Apparently not.
They’re shaking their head. We seem to understand each other though I’m not aware of hearing the words exchanged. Getting this far is simply getting this far. Entry to the land beyond the end of ourselves requires something else. It’s something of great value, they say, the most valuable thing. Without it, I cannot go on.
Our conversation suddenly turns awkward. I drop my hands and look to the thickets that Life emerged from, taking a step back.
It is love. What got me this far was my own sense of duty. It’s not enough, though. It’s run out of fuel. At the end of ourselves, we find that continuing on will require love for myself, love for the people I encounter on my journey, and love for this being called Life, who is smiling before me and steps out of the way to let me pass.
Photo by Matheus Ferrero on Unsplash
