TLDR
- Above all else, life is about surviving;
- Cycling can be used as a metaphor for the expected bumpiness of life
Do we Survive to Live or Live to Survive? omgdeep
Philosophers across the millennia have always sought to answer life’s most pressing meta question.
WTF IS LIFE
To act virtuously cries Aristotle and his students on a Greek hillside in their fancy robes and whatnot.
Shut up and enjoy it, quibbles Camus, surrounded by his harem of lady folk.
Don’t think, just be, murmurs calm Buddha, prostrated beneath a tree or something.
It, like economics (**reminder to link here) are the issues of mankind that will never be comprehended or understood by a single being. Until one reaches immortality- I posit these questions as the unanswerables, rendered as such due to our limited time on earth. Whoever says they have definitively figured out the meaning of life and how the economy works must simply be lying or immortal. or both, if they want to be an asshole about it.
I, with a relatively privileged and sanitised upbringing am reminded of the times I have truly felt alive. I am grateful for having seen things through my travels, experienced things afforded by the wealth of time and material resource - at a relatively young age over my student years. It was a point of pride, learning and humility at a time when one is still forging the shell that will encapsulate our souls.
Now, in the last three-odd years where I have returned to the world as a grounded adult, I am stricken by a pall cast over the joys of life, certainly not helped by the pandemic this year. Neither, does our new new new modern culture derive a sustainable way of being. The glamourised pursuit of new experiences surely cannot be the way forward.
What then, is the colour that enriches life? The palette of our existence?
Some selected memories…
a fast march in the brunei jungle, carrying gear more than one third your weight,wading through muddy waters up to waist level, fixated on an order (extrinsic) to reach a boat dock by 1700h..lest we spend another night in the outdoors (heavily intrinsic). There was no time to feel pain, tiredness or hunger. only the crunch of boots snapping through nature. and the silent grimaces of your section mates.
the crisp cold water back at the camp. the first bite of soggy cold fried chicken is the best thing ever.
a young energetic kid, eager to try new things. a surf-lifesaving course. learning to swim in the sea, and its dangers. the current drags you astray. you are plunged underwater. Is this the undertow taught only moments ago? for once in your life you have never felt so powerless. you swim up but somehow the water never ends. your lungs start to strain and panic sets in . it feels like an eternity. but some how it breaks through. there is light. there is air.
as you walk back your hands are blue and you ask a passing adult whether this is normal. dont worry about it, they laugh, and they quip that the kid is a fighter. you plod on.
I surmise that these coloured moments were made up of a mix of simple pleasures and intense survival instincts. They all tap into our deepest, most fundamental human needs; when the animal mind is so intensely fixated on that singular moment of the present. It makes sense - your life or body really needs to do something about the situation.
So my take on it - life has always and will continue to be all about survival and pandering to these basic instincts, as unsatisfactory and obvious this answer may seem. It has however, helped me frame an answer in my head, and reduced the intensity of my unhealthy bouts of existential angst.
Alas, my day to day habits and vacuous work allows my mind to freely roam too much, grousing over the most mundane and trivial issues. I blame thee - the lack of survivalist stimuli - as a reason for some current struggles.
Perhaps I ought to live with the wolves. But that would oppose the every intent of a good government and/or parent to help improve one’s quality of life (extrinsic). More importantly, that would mean getting out of bed (intrinsic).
Cycling in the Rain
But I did one day, on a weekend. Frustrated perhaps at being too sedentary at home. I left in a huff, looking to eke a solid cycle out in a nearby park. To feel the breeze in my hair. The smoke and the sand. It in itself was an escape from my own mental meanderings, and fulfilling an irrational guilt to do something “productive” that day.
Soon after though, the sky opened. Hurtling down needles of water that stung my arms as I cycled against the wind. I could hardly see through my glasses tinged with rain. But the path was empty (understandably) and there was a freedom to it.
It was fine in the end, though I was thoroughly drenched. I went along my merry way though at some point, I was conscious that the further I went out, the further I had to go back. I also realised I was running late for an appointment and so had to turn around. Time was ticking and the single-man race was on.
How then, does one optimise the muscle strain of your legs against the level of anxiety as measured by each tick on a watch?
My cycling strategy inadvertently became a mantra for living:
When the roads are straight - Cycle fast, cycle hard, and take advantage of every inch of it, even as your legs complain.
When the roads are bumpy - Its ok to slow down a little and watch the pot holes.
And so I reflect on the quiet but coloured moments when life is best lived.
These are the straight moments in life when your mind is clear and I wonder how that mental state can be purposed to push ourselves to do greater things.
On the other hand, there is the overcast of gray. When the mundanity of life catches up and you wallow in a mire of guilt and shattered fantasies. These are the bumps on the road that are perhaps inevitable and inescapable, but one shouldn’t be too harsh on yourself. Don’t ruminate and don’t get stuck in the pothole.
I am still yet to find and practice this mantra in living.