Any moment might be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we are doomed.— Homer; The Illiad
Fuck. Is it normal to have more care for another human’s life than your own? A part of me still tells me that I’m not doing this right- living. This dependency on things outside of my self and my control for meaning and happiness is a perilous philosophy to have.
I’m not naive, I know that you need to love yourself before you can love somebody else. I know that giving a person everything is the thing you should never do. You can’t let an only person be the cause of your euphoria. Because then what happens when they leave? Right, they take everything with them, including your joy, leaving you where you were at the start; unhappy, lonely, helpless.
But surely it’s okay, beneficial even, to have something worth living for that isn’t a person? Books, music, a changing of the seasons; these are things that are concrete and dependable. They won’t pack up and leave when they find it convenient. I find myself frequently reprimanding myself to ‘just hold on until the weekend’ or to ‘just get through these last few hours’. Or alternatively ‘but think of all the new albums you’d miss out on’ or ‘imagine the works of literature you’d never get to read.’ Staying alive with hope for new and better things cannot be a weakness, can it?
I would tell myself to consider the music that I wouldn’t be able to experience. But that doesn’t mean I was living for the songs themselves. I was aware that in the end, I would fall out of love with them. And I’d have to wait for a new one to come along, and maybe it would take a long time, time that I would spend simply waiting. The point is, I wasn’t living just to listen to a certain song. It was the concept of it. The idea of knowing that even when life feels empty of meaning, there is and always will be more out there to experience, more that can move and inspire, more love for you to give and be given in return. And she reminds me of that.
She is like every month rolled into one. Instead of waiting and counting down the days for the changing of the seasons, when I’m with her it’s just contentedness. Everything I need is right there. She keeps me calm, she keeps me bright, she keeps me warm, she keeps me living. And in saying all of this, I realise that she is helping me to love myself. But she is doing it in the same way that music does, reminding me that there is so much yet to come. And I want to experience it all, the good, the bad and the ugly, I really do.
She is hope personified. I feel like I’m listening to all of my favourite songs, desperately trying to get close to them, but it’ll never be close enough, no matter how long or how loud I listen to them. And that is okay, there will always be a gap, whether it be between music, books, a person. You will never be able to completely fuse your being to what makes your life worth living. And that is okay, I am at peace with that. It is up to you to fill that gap, it is up to you to anchor yourself to life in a way that is secure, you must fill that space with yourself.
Ultimately, no matter what aids you along the journey, we still create our own meaning. And I think that is what makes life beautiful.