Search for a Pulse

It seems like anyone who takes his life seriously would have to, at some point, ponder some pretty heavy questions.

  1)      Does God exist?
  2)      If so, what’s He like and what does He want from me?
  3)      Can we prove G-d’s existence?
  4)      Would I want to?
  5)      Do I need to?
  6)      Does Justin Bieber have a middle name? If so, what is it and what does he want from me?

Is it cold in here? Did I forget to get dressed again?

I use to think that I took life seriously. I mean, I cared about my life. I wanted to be happy. I wanted to be “successful”. I did, in fact, ponder many of the questions above (Justin Bieber wasn’t famous at the time), although, perhaps, not so deeply. But if one were to ponder these questions deeply, how would the answers affect his life?

If one were to divert all his energies to a new way of life, a new career, new friends, and, most importantly…a new belief system, one would think that he (or she) would have spent some serious time soul-searching. I get the feeling that this is generally not the case. We will, of course, have to ask why not, but that will come later.

I can pinpoint the day when my worldview, or weltanschauung (for crusty, old German philosophers) shifted. And by shifted I mean fell off the precipice. My late teens and early twenties were always underscored by a force, growing in strength and pitch, of disturbance and disorder. I always felt like life was missing that essential ingredient, simply put, meaning. I always struggled to understand why anything I was doing held particular significance or why it was so important for me to do it.

The best answer I could come up with, and I think it is the best answer most of us come up with, is that I did what I did because it was enjoyable. It seemed like I was good at what I did and it made me happy, at least relatively.  Yet, below the surface was the scratch, the nagging sowhat that lurked below. Sowhat. Sowhat. What have done to contribute to this world? How have you helped society? Why should anybody care, especially you?

It is astounding that we get so focused on doing something with our lives that we sometimes lose track of what it is or why we do it. More so, the many deeply held ideals we once had of saving the world get trampled underfoot of our degrees and jobs and company picnics (with free T-shirts!).  Surely we all feel the scratch, the "sowhat" scratch, but most of us ignore it, probably because we don’t know the answer.

A Nagging "Sowhat"

So, at that juncture of my life, I was certainly a walking target. A festering, open sore of confusion and anger. A microcosm of anarchy. A boiling cauldron of poetic metaphors to be applied liberally to a blog. In other terms, I was 22. I was successful. I was popular. I was driven. I just had no clue where I was being driven to. And that was the hardest part. Feeling like something wasn’t quite right but feeling like I had no control over my direction.

So when someone gave me an opportunity to eject, I took it.

My first encounter with a Golden Ticket holder was on a coast to coast flight.

(Metaphor definition: A Golden Ticket is an unknown opportunity. It’s a gateway to something foreign and exciting. It’s a train in a different direction.)

His timing was right on. I had just attended my brother’s wedding and was deep in a world of thought. Among the many elusive goals of a boiling cauldron are finding a soul mate and building a home. It’s establishing a good name for yourself and a having a meaningful career. It’s killing the “sowhat”. I knew I wanted all that, just like others, like my brother, seemed to have gotten them. But how could I get there? Why were the doors locked in front of me? My brother’s path was his own, too foreign and awkward for me. My circle of friends was certainly not focused on those goals. I was open to hearing new ideas.

A slick young feller sat down next to me. He double checked his plane ticket. He looked up at me and smiled. His smile was packed with information. Thoughts, plans, premonitions. I had no access to them. We began a conversation, some topics new, some I’d thought about before and kept generally agreeing that the way things are going in this world could really use some improvement. The world is crazy, check. We don’t know how to stop it, check. We don’t want to be crazy, check.

Then he did something no one had ever attempted. He offered me a Golden Ticket, a golden chance to make my way. But like Charlie, it meant leaving my parents and my aging grandparents behind. I shunned it. It was too bright to behold. Besides, I had a full weekend planned. One that was sure to be a great time. I shoved the Golden Ticket back into his hand. He smiled that smile again and promised to be in touch. I felt something brush up against my life.

I had unwittingly crossed into new territory. The Golden Ticket holder from the plane sensed a kinship with me. He slipped my name to a local GTH who wasted no time in scheduling a meeting with me. I’m not one to play with fire, but I’m not one to deny destiny either. If I could just get a glimpse in the factory without walking through the door maybe I could learn enough about myself to change this world in the way I wanted without taking any risks, without leaving the comfort of my own world.

Outside the Happiness Factory (I though it'd be more colorful)

Providence arranged the perfect meeting. Me and this new GTH had some serious free time without interruption. We met for 2 hours, and at the end I was offered that Golden Ticket again. This time, I couldn’t resist it. This time it’s sheen was intoxicating. I had to know what was behind those doors. I had no plans for a while. I had everything to gain and nothing to lose, because, let’s face it, what does your average 22 year old have to lose already?

You should know that Golden Tickets are powerful. They break down barriers. Would I be ready for whatever poured through? Yeah, why not? I guess I’d better update my parents about my plans. I bet they'll be so excited.

Me: Hey, Dad. I got a Golden Ticket.                                                                                         Dad: Why would you want a thing like that?                                                                               Me: Well, I was sort of hoping to use it, you know, break down barriers, see what pours out.     Dad: You’re a fool, son. You have no idea the kind of power you’re playing with.

Was he right?

Me: Come on, Dad. What could happen already?                                                                     Dad: They’ll brain wash you, son. They’ll change you.

I let my steely gaze meet his. It loses a bit of drama through the mouthpiece of a phone but I employed it regardless.

Me: Maybe my brain needs a good washing.

I meant it. I’m not sure my father realized what a lifetime of television had done to me. I lugged about a massive landfill of useless secular knowledge with me everywhere I went. I was the scourge of “Scene It!” Entire rooms of people trembled at the roll of my die.

Me: (continuing) Besides, I’m not some backwater yokel. I’m an educated, sophisticated, thoughtful young eccentric. No one is going to brainwash me unless I want them to.                                                   

Dad: You’ll pull the entire family apart.                                                                                       Me: Dad! You’re being fatalistic. We’ll be fine.                                                                           Dad: Your mother and I will support you in every decision you make, if it doesn’t kill us first.     Me: (shrugging as I hang up) Parents!

I turned to my friends for encouragement. I wouldn’t say they discouraged me but they certainly were no more optimistic about this Golden Chance than my father was. Was I wrong? Was everyone else right? Why were my friends not jealous of the Golden Ticket I held? Do you believe that other cultures or philosophies could give you greater meaning and connection? Would you ever explore them?