The Meaning of Life by Debra H. Goldstein
One of
the first songs I remember learning as a child was Que Sera Sera – What Will Be
Will Be. I always accepted it as the explanation for life. Today, three
things made me reflect upon its application to what some may term “the long
run.”
I
received word a friend died last night. She was ninety-eight. The person who
called hastened to note my friend lived a good life. That’s true, but I doubt
in retrospect my friend would have fully agreed. She took pride in the
education she received from Northwestern, in a time when women often didn’t
have an opportunity to receive a college degree; the job she landed out of
school; her marriage to the love of her life; her children and her
grandchildren; and the volunteer activities that let her use her mind to
advance the causes she loved. But, there
also was dismay that marriage meant the end of her professional career;
volunteer activities filled her time but weren’t considered as important as
moves for her husband’s profession nor could they conflict with the ideology of
his company; unable to do anything, she watched her oldest daughter fight, win,
fight and lose a battle with cancer; and for the past two years, a series of
strokes robbed her of her ability to read and then the detailed brain function
she cherished.
Perusing
Facebook today, I came across an article about scientist David Goodall, who
recently celebrated his hundred and fourth birthday by blowing out his candles
and expressing his special birthday wish is to die. Believing he has lived long
enough, Goodall plans to effectuate his wish in Switzerland, where euthanasia
is permitted, in May. Some question why a man of his stature who devoted his
life to science started a GoFundMe campaign to pay for his and a helper’s
travel expenses, but he notes he isn’t happy watching his body deteriorate and
would be glad to die with dignity in his native Australia, but the laws don’t
permit it. He acknowledges that at his age, even without euthanasia, his time
is limited, but he doesn’t want to continue going downhill becoming more
dependent on others while allowing nature to take its course.
An
article discussing choosing between self-publishing and traditional publishing
surprisingly made me reflect on this topic, too. The article, written by a
writer who I am familiar with, noted that she began her career traditionally
published, but that nearing age eighty and with a following of her works, she’s
opted for self-publishing because of the timetables involved with dealing with
agents, editors, and publishing house schedules. She made me think of the
cartoon/joke that periodically goes around about the golden years when she
observed she can no longer get around easily, do radio interviews because of
her hearing loss, or spend years waiting for her books to become final
products.
Perhaps
because I am significantly younger, I understand the frustration delays,
infirmities, and losses generate, but I can’t help but wonder why? What purpose, perhaps unknown to them or the
rest of us, exists for their continued existence? I believe life is cyclic with
moments of joy and of sorrow, with good and with bad, but does its meaning
change at different points over the long run? Is What Will Be Will Be too simplistic? I don’t know. But as I observe
different people’s reactions, I wonder.
Do you?
