New Beginnings...

This was written February 2009...

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I am a nobody. I have had no great accomplishments, lead no great movements, fought no great war. My life is no more significant than a single blade of grass across the entire Great Plaines. My voice is no louder than a pin drop in a noisy city. My life will pass over this world with no greater effect than that of a single warm breath against a arctic glacier. But chances are, I'm not much different than you.

As a human being, I go on through my daily life, a slave to routine, as if order and repetition provide my existence even a slice of meaning. I fret over the smallest occurrences. I am ecstatic with the most minute fortunes. I value my life by the progress of my career path, the joy of my social relationships, and the peace found within. I do this while trying to ignore the enormity and endlessness of forever, as it has become impossible to grasp. I focus on the minute details that make up my world because I am haunted by the vastness of eternity.

It is very easy to think of men and women who we believe have left their mark on history. Looking back, some great names instantly come to mind. Alexander the Great, still recognized as one of the greatest military leaders ever to have trampled this earth. Ghenghis Kahn, the fearless and ruthless leader of the Mongol Empire, to this day the largest contiguous empire in history. Julius Ceasar, Queen Elizabeth, George Washington. But legacies are not left only to great crusaders and leaders. Think of the greatest minds: Plato, Homer, da Vinci, Shakespeare, Curie, Einstein. Think of the greatest artists: Picasso, Dali, van Gogh, Monet. To keep it simple, think of some of the great names of our day: Jordan, Woods, Phelps, Nicholson, Hilary, Obama. These are only a few examples of people much bigger and greater than I.

For me, it is near impossible to think of these names and not feel my worth at the very least mitigated. Who am I compared to these people? What accomplishments have I done that could even be mentioned in the same breath as those of this very select group? Are they not human beings just as I am? Then why do I feel that, in the end, they will live on forever, and I will simply end up another forgotten soul?

It was impossible to answer these questions until the sheath over eternity, the veil covering forever was lifted. I had always felt that their legacy would go on to the end of time because of their impact on history, on thought, on politics, on sport, on life. Their story would be recounted, their theories studied, their works enjoyed, their names remembered forever. And this seemed like a reasonable assumption, for Alexander the Great ruled over 2,000 years ago and we still readily consider his name synonymous with the word conquerer. But will he still be remembered another 2,000 years from now? 100,000? A million years? A billion years? A trillion?

I realized that every person on this earth leaves a legacy. We all have an impact, and the question is not if or how big but simply how long. In reality, any pursuit to leave a permanent mark on this world is an effort in futility. Forever is bigger than all of us and greater than any individual. But due to our ability to learn history and imagine the future, we do not exist solely and linearly between our birthdate and the day we die. History lessons mesh into memory. Dreams mold into reality. We fool ourselves into thinking that we have been around since the beginning of time and will live forever, so we try to create a legacy or impact that will match that span of time. But it's simply not possible.

Eternity, endlessness, infinity. The concept of forever is impossible to truly fathom. Some people call it God. Some people call it Truth. But whatever one calls it, the reality of timelessness renders who we are and what we do insignificant. We can all agree that our lives are a defined slice of time, and mathematically, our fraction of infinity approaches zero. Our lives approach nothing.

Is this a grim conclusion? I don't think so. The weight of legacy and worldly impact have been lifted and a lightness remains. If my life is meaningless then my misfortunes and trials and mishaps are rendered meaningless as well. If my time on earth is definite against an indefinite backdrop, then the joy and happiness and fulfillment I reap from it are all that matters. For just because something is meaningless does not mean it is not real. My relationships are real. My bliss is real. My love is real. While my hate, my sadness, and my despair are also real, their meaningless allows me to let them go. My lightness of being allows me to choose what I hold on to, and therefore endless choice is the greatest gift of a life rendered meaningless by endless time.

I recently told a close friend that I made the choice to write a book. He instantly dismissed it. Someone in his mid-20's should not be spending his time looking back, dissecting what has happened, as autobiographies often do. Looking back is for those whose clock is reaching its time, for those whose harboring sandy shores are not too far off in the horizon. But this will be no autobiography, I explained to him. No doubt, there will be stories of moments and times that I believe have shaped me into the, I hope, unique human being I am today. But it will be less backward looking and more inward and more forward. I imagine myself reading the thoughtful, youthful, and lofty words within these pages when I am withered and approaching that harbor, wondering if I lived up to their promise.

There are times when I have felt very alone in this world, mostly during the few times in my life of heartbreak, loss, and suffering. There is no one on earth that could possibly understand what I am going through, I would feel. But it is times like that during which I am reminded that "every heart vibrates to that iron string." It is our shared universal humanity that brings us together. It is why comedians can make us laugh, why movies can touch our hearts, why books can touch our soul. It is our shared meaninglessness that forces us to give meaning to each other.

So, as I embark on this journey of using written word to portray my own muddled thought, I promise to be as real and as true to myself. As in all of life, I have no specific plan in mind. But I do hope to perhaps strike that iron string within myself and within anyone willing to listen. I am a nobody and this is my story.

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I wrote this on Facebook's Notes one random evening in the dead of winter when inspiration flashed through my mind and I had a couple hours to follow through on it. I posted the essay and received immediate positive feed back from friends and had every intention of following through with its promise: to write a bibliographical and philosophical book based on past experiences and future dreams. In retrospect, perhaps that endeavor promised too much.

I don't mean to say that writing a book was something I couldn't handle in my lifetime. But this original post had a weight to it that was too heavy to bear. Even if I had an idea to write about, my drafted words did not match what this "Preface" gave preview to, and I would close the computer and divert my attention elsewhere. I began to feel guilty that I had the gall and presumption to post such a heavy handed piece and gave up on the project altogether.

I've realized, however, that I didn't overshoot, I was simply aiming in the wrong direction. I still believe the words I wrote in February 2009, but their focus on deep, introverted reasoning pigeonholed me. I don't always think or write in such emphatic terms. Sometimes I can be very light hearted. Or comical. Or somber. Or weird for the sake of weird. Or simply hungry. In life, our range of emotions and perspective can change drastically. From year to year or even day to day.

So that is what this blog will aim to achieve. My goal will still be to strike that "iron string" within me and all of us, but I'm going to keep an open mind about how to do that. Sometimes I will attempt to cut right to the core of it and sometimes I'll skirt around the issue and sometimes I'll just write because it's fun and I enjoy writing. Maybe, just maybe, you'll enjoy it too.