A meaningful life

I didn’t note the name of the philosopher whose blog I was reading in the NY Times several days ago and so I can’t find it to quote him. But I’ve been thinking about his statement about what constitutes a meaningful life.

It was something like, “when subjective meaningfulness meets objective meaningfulness.” In other words, when the way you live feels meaningful to you, and it also is judged meaningful by others, or society.

Collecting Tiddlywinks may feel meaningful to you but society probably wouldn’t agree, so by this standard that wouldn’t count as a meaningful life pursuit, even if you threw your heart into it. Likewise, if you lead a life of service to others and are a role model to the young, but your life depresses you, it is not a meaningful life.

And maybe that’s ok. Maybe you don’t care about meaningful living but I do, and I’ve been thinking about what gives my life meaning ever since I read that. I find a bit of a disconnect between what feels meaningful and what others might judge meaningful, and I do some of both. I wonder if putting them together is what gives my life meaning, overall?

I suppose what society might judge most meaningful about my life is my work as an environmentalist and, before that, in the peace movement and antinuclear field. I have put myself in a position to do such work because it is almost a sine qua non that my professional work carry meaning. And I do it well. But I have never taken a lot of visceral satisfaction in that work. I am happy doing it part time. I am not, like most of my colleagues, a workaholic, dedicating myself to it heart and soul. Which is probably why I don’t have a lot of stellar accomplishments to point to and those I have, I don’t feel like pointing to or even remembering. I have an awful time putting together a resumé. Glad I don’t have to do it often these days.

Is this a sign that I am in the wrong line of work? I’ve often wondered but keep coming back to the fact that it is important to me to be of service to the Earth and people in my work and I do my level, humble best, as part of teams and causes greater than myself. But at the end of the day that work often leaves me tired and needing a pick-me-up.

The things I do as pick-me-ups are where life feels most meaningful:

·      Cooking a quick lunch out of nothing again today—bowls of a thick stew of Amish noodles, some beef broth from the bottom of the freezer, a huge onion, leftover squash, hot pepper, parsley, a squeeze of lemon, which Vic pronounced good. “Sort of like stroganoff without the sour cream.”

·      A skype conversation with the nearly verbal granddaughter. She laughs, uses sign language, blowing kisses, offering me blueberries through the computer screen.

·      A bike ride farther than I have gone before. 59 miles last weekend. Does society count this meaningful? I suppose, if it keeps me fit and helps me live longer. But that’s not why I do it. I’m not even sure why I do it.

·      Sitting down to write this blog, which, as far as I can tell, has a tiny but perhaps faithful readership. Hardly anybody ever comments. It probably doesn’t reach the norm of meaningful activity as far as the larger society is concerned. But it feels important to me.

These things feel good to me and they balance out my life. The whole package—the “important” stuff and the more private pleasures—adds up to a meaningful life.