Why I'm Here

Standing at a bus stop and watching, instead of waiting.  Seeing the world from that spot, observing the people rushing by on foot, on bicycles, in cars.  Seeing something, if ever so little, of what each of them sees as I catch expressions on their faces, cues from body language.  Snippets of their stories, hints of who they are.   For a while – I don’t know how long - it’s all about them, not about me.  Until the bus surprises me with its arrival, its doors jerking open.

Walking on the pale, crunchy dirt of a mountain trail, and for a moment, experiencing a break from my usual absorption with the inner dialogue that occupies my thought.  Hearing the call of a bird.  Stopping, turning, looking.  Wondering, then giving up on trying to remember the name of the species of the bird.  Just listening, following the notes and tones of its song.  Really paying attention to that song, maybe for the first time? But for a moment the time doesn’t matter.  For me, for then, it was just about the sound.

My tentative conclusion about the meaning and purpose of life is this:  I am here to notice.  To be awake to the living beauty and fascination that surrounds me in everyday life.  I’m here to watch, to listen, to feel, to be, to let be.  To empty myself of my self-absorption, and make room for other things, other people, the divine Other.

And, by contrast, I am not here to be successful, not here to achieve things.  Nor am I here just to put in time – to finish the day or the week or the year, to make it to retirement. I’m here to be and to see, not to do and get through.  

It’s strange to write such a paragraph, focused as I usually am on projects, swept along in the torrent of stuff that runs through my mind.  Mostly, I act as if achieving my goals, and the getting the resulting social approval, is the purpose of my life.  Mostly, I don’t step back to carefully consider the thoughts or urges that motivate me toward these goals.  I don’t notice them any more than a bike notices the road on which it is riding.  Unexamined expectations, assumptions, and desires: these are aiming the bike down the road, not I.  No wonder, then, that when I wake up and take hold of the handlebars, sometimes I’m shocked to see where the bike is headed.

If life indeed is about waking up from the sleep that usually passes for wakefulness, and then paying attention, this is a purpose that can be fulfilled anywhere.  I don’t have to wait to discover the meaning of life.  I don’t have to strive long to find it.  The point of life is right in front of me in each moment.  I can find its meaning in special, satisfying moments of my career, or just as much in the routines of my workday.  I can find it by taking a walk in the neighborhood around our home as much as I can find it on an exotic vacation.  A person unable to rise from bed in a nursing home can still pay attention and experience the purpose of life.  

I worked as a nurse’s aide during my college years.  A memorable few of the people for whom I cleaned bedpans and drained catheter bags were possessed of a serenity that greatly surprised me.  They seemed to have learned the fine art of simply being there, noticing and appreciating what and whomever was around them.  Their example taught me that what worked for them in dying might work for me in living.

Is there any purer form of worship than simply noticing how the Divine is manifested in the everyday miracles that surround us?  Do we not serve others best when we carefully notice who they are and what they are doing and saying?  The first line of the Westminster Catechism is this:  “Man's chief end is to glorify God and enjoy him forever.”  I interpret it thusly: my one task above all others is to be in a state of reverent awe as I lovingly appreciate the people and the world around me.