Fragility

The cliche that life is precious is often tossed around in common conversation, but often the full weight of this statement isn't appreciated by those uttering the phrase or those listening.  In a casual conversation with friends or family the occasion may arise to repeat the cliche, but the current circumstances of our lives or our own psyche's need to maintain optimism in the face of our own mortality allows us to shrug-off its constant presence.  On the one hand this is a blessing to not be cognizant of our fragile existence, but on the other it may result in a habit to "fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way".

Yesterday I was reminded again of our mortality in two distinct and different ways.  First, my father called (my nickname for him is the grim reaper, because he is always the one to call with bad news) from his cell phone, which he never does, always from the landline, to tell me that my mother had been in a car accident.  She was driving to the store just a few miles from her home when another woman t-boned her, forcing my mother's car off the road, through a fence, a shrub, and into a tree.  My mother sustained a broken rib, broken hand, and the car was totaled.  Coincidentally, my brother totaled my first car at this very same intersection over 20 years ago.

This reminded me of my own brush with death nearly a decade ago, when a tractor trailer rear-ended me, the car in front of me, and 3 other tractor trailers in front of them on an interstate highway.  Two people in the car in front of mine were killed instantly.  I was knocked unconscious, with a concussion, multiple cuts, bruises, and with damage to my shoulder and back that bothers me to this day.  My car was totaled, and my girlfriend at the time was left with PTSD, she stayed conscious through the whole ordeal while I remember nothing.  The last thing I do remember from that day was my girlfriend telling me she needed to use the bathroom, and I told her I would stop at the next rest area or exit.  We never made it that far, but that could have been the last thing I ever communicated in my life and I never would have known.

The second reminder was the film The Impossible, the true story of one European family, on vacation for the Christmas holiday in Thailand, who were caught in the Indian Ocean tsunami on December 26, 2004.  The film was quite moving in the intimate details of one family's ordeal, separation during the event, physical and emotional pain, and eventual reunion and escape.  It was stark in its depiction of the suddenness and overwhelming power of the tsunami, complete destruction of the coastline, immediate mortality and long-term suffering of the injured, overwhelming of the healthcare infrastructure, and the survivors' desperate searches for sometimes living, but frequently deceased relatives.

Imagine, in the course of any normal event in your life, going to work, school, the store, vacation, or just at home, and an act of nature wrecks complete destruction on everything natural and human-made in your surroundings.  Vacation for the holidays and 230,000-280,000 people are killed around you and a paradise is swept out to sea.  Driving to see your family for vacation, and a tractor trailer slams into the back of your car, forcing it underneath another semi and removing your head from your shoulders.  These are the everyday realities we live with on this planet.  Earthquakes, tsunamis, hurricanes, tornadoes, fires, car accidents, firearms...

Our brains are adapted to compartmentalize the fear of pain and mortality from the day-to-day living of our lives.  It is perplexing that we are such intelligent creatures, able to collect data, long-term memory, language to communicate events around the world, knowing the constant risks we take and uncontrollable events that may occur, but we can so easily ignore the undeniable fragility of our existence.  We take constant unnecessary risks with our lives, driving, drinking, smoking, drugs, the search for an adrenaline rush, living in earthquake or tsunami prone locations, or places prone to hurricanes, floods, or tornadoes.  But we are able to compartmentalize fear of pain and mortality so that we can take risks to survive, improve our situation in life, contribute to our society, and enjoyment.  Where would we be if humans never took risks?  We would be hiding in a hollowed-out log, or a hole in the ground, only peaking out when we were sure all was safe.

Our lives are insignificant against the size and time-spans of the universe.  Births and deaths make no impact on the billions of light years of space and millions of millions of stars and planets.  On the one hand, one might then conclude that since life is inconsequential on the grandest scale that we could take any risk we please and take meaninglessness to a mortal conclusion.  Of course this is a fools conclusion, because it only increases the probability of a shortened existence and a self-fulfilling prophecy of an inconsequential meaningless life.  On the other hand, it puts into perspective how short our lives are, and how we should try everyday to wring out of life every last drop, living constantly for now, living to the fullest while we can.  Wasting nothing, especially our time on the foolish.  Always striving to make our lives have the greatest meaning to ourselves as we possibly can.

How much are you willing to risk and energy are you willing to spend to die satisfied that you have created as much meaning out of your short days as your mind and body would allow?  Will your risks be foolhardy and wasteful, or strategic and productive?