07 October, 2013

42

if the meaning of life, as i strongly believe, is to make more penguins* then what do those of us who have opted out of penguin-making have? well, i for one am perfectly happy** with no overarching meaning. just as i am happy to have no god or fate of big fat sky fairy of any sort guiding my actions, throwing stones or roses under my feet based on its mood of the day, i am perfectly happy to live an existence whose entire meaning, or lack thereof, rests upon my own shoulders. yes, tis a heavy burden, but you know what? at least then i have nobody but myself to blame when things go bad.

wait, that doesn't help, does it? and yet, strangely, it does. i like the idea of being responsible for my own meaning, for being responsible for my own choices. today, as i walked home from school, it was this very notion that managed to yank me out of a deep funk - the idea that things simply happen. they aren't meant to happen, they aren't fated to happen, they don't mean something, they just happen. what i do with it is my own damn choice. for some reason it lifted a rather heavy burden from my metaphorical shoulders and made me feel far more optimistic - that the road is a mystery, that it is littered with surprises good and bad, and that there isn't some Special Path that i need to be looking for, that wherever i am, is where i am meant to be, because i am my own meaning.

you know what, kittens? boring to you all this amateurish philosophising might be, but hot damn, i am finding it really pertinent. at this rate, i might just psychoanalyse my own damn self out of this depression. i wonder what the end result will be? a better, slicker me? i know for a fact i'll have better ass muscles with all the running i've been doing, and if nothing else, strong ass muscles can come in very handy on the rocky path of life.

over and out.



*i blogged this in the mist-shrouded past that will evidently remain shrouded in the aforementioned mists because i can't find it. the gist of it is based on a really depressing nature film narrated (natch) by sir david attenborough, wherein penguins huddle in big groups for the duration of a particularly nasty and stormy and loooong winter, holding their eggs on their feet, taking turns inside the marginally warmer huddle, with the express purpose of protecting their eggs to let them hatch in the spring, thereby making more penguins who will then repeat the whole dismal process, just to make more penguins.

**well, with the obvious caveat of me not actually, at the moment, being perfectly happy. but it's a minor quibble.

6 comments:

Tom said...

Hot damn, Agnieszka, I don't find this amateur(?) philosophising in the least bit boring. I find it quite fascinating. Once one breaks away from the idea of an anthropomorphic deity, (or even mildly anthro.) - and that isn't as easy as one might expect - one sees one's life centred much more on something deep within ourselves. We also see that it isn't only that we are responsible for our own choices, but that we do have choices.

I truly wish you well on your journey out of depression.

polish chick said...

thank you. i still think there is a readership out there that is disappointed by my foray into the deep waters of my psyche and out of the shallow waters of my drunken escapades and random hilarity. just look at the drop in my comments! if not for you and zhoen, i'd feel i was talking to the air itself, not that it would stop me, but still.

oh well, one must be true to oneself, as the man said, and this is my truth at the moment.

Lucy said...

When I was young there was a daft kids' programme on telly with Michael Bentine (the least known of the Goon Show team), most of which which I remember little of, but he did a kind of presentation about a fictitious crop plant which looked a bit like rhubarb, which at a certain point in its growth cycle was too tender and at risk of being destroyed by the sun and rain, so the people who grew it sheltered it with awnings made from little woven mats. Then the plant matured, was harvested and its toughened stems were made into fibres, which were then used to make the little woven mats which sheltered the growing plant. This stayed with me, and I remember recognising, if not at the time very soon afterwards, that this was very largely a fable for the human condition, and as such it has always comforted me (albeit rather coldly) at any moment when I've had doubts about being childless. Along with Philip Larkin.

Please don't think because I've not commented I've not been reading or interested - though it must be said I've been a bit generally neglectful of on-line friends altogether, and rather lazily relied on my spouse to give me an overview of what's going on in some quarters, which is sort of combined with a disinclination to have it appear that we are joined at the hip, so I've left him to it a bit.

But what is happening with you, and the care and honesty with which you write about it, matter to me, be assured. Take care.

polish chick said...

oh my, lucy. that made me chuckle - that is precisely it, isn't it?
now that i have second hand babies in my life, i realise that there is a lot of joy and love and other wonderful things that they bring, but overall, the whole process is rather like the penguins or the rhubarb, isn't it?
and worry not about commenting. i went through the same recently (as evidenced by my recent comment on your blog apologising for not commenting). i am glad to know you are reading this and care.
as i keep saying, blogging has brought some truly lovely people into my life, and you and tom are surely in that number!

Zhoen said...

Not bored, sounds about right. Give up the certainty, the magic box, and the world opens up, you feel the weight of it, then you realize you are it.

polish chick said...

yes, zhoen, now if only i could manage to remember this lesson.