What makes for a meaningful life?

Life-affirming reflections and making memories

Happy October, everyone! It’s the best month of the year, though I may be biased. 🎉

Lately I’ve been wrapped up in my art program, soccer tournaments, and warmer sweaters. A few weeks ago I celebrated my birthday by attending the When We Were Young music festival in Vegas, where I got to see bands from my teens perform. Many recently reunited, and some releasing new albums for the first time in years. I guess nearing forty (*ahem* the new 20) gives people the perspective they need to figure out how they actually want to spend their time, and the confidence to do it.

It has for me, too.

On the plane ride there and back — only an hour and a half each way — I read a book cover to cover called When Breath Becomes Air by Paul Kalanithi. It’s a posthumous memoir about a neurosurgeon in residence who becomes a patient. He talks about the intricacies of surgery, and throughout the book struggles with pushing through to graduate by completing his residency hours while in pain from lung cancer, to “taking it easy” by staying at home to pursue writing a book (his undergrad and Masters were in English). He oscillates between both worlds, some parts of the book wanting to feel more “alive” when he knows others rely on him and other times the pull to spend time with his wife and newborn daughter. Some scares (a medication not working, or chemo failing) push him to one direction for a few months. Then something else would happen that pushed him the other direction. To him, it was the philosophy of mortality that intrigued him along with the lived experience of knowing his patient’s minds and identities, their motivations, before operating on them. That was his why that he honored throughout.

That morning, I made a decision: I would push myself to return to the OR. Why? Because I could. Because that’s who I was. Because I would have to learn to live in a different way, seeing death as an imposing itinerant visitor but knowing that even if I’m dying, until I actually die, I am still living.

— From When Breath Becomes Air

Earlier this month, I came across another book — The Art of Making Memories: How to Create and Remember Happy Moments by Meik Wiking. The juxtaposition of these two stories were interesting for sure: dying versus feeling good; memoir versus a compilation of research studies; philosophical and reflective versus witty humor and practical how-tos.

Yet, I see the two both needed in figuring out the meaning of life. In addition to Dr. Kalanithi’s reflections on how he chose which paths to travel in life and what one thinks about when they know they’ll be dying sooner than later, as well as Meik Wiking’s insights on which parts of our lives we’ll be able to remember much more easily than others — it all comes together to form a “why” and “what” of a life. A why and a what that we each have control of: how we decide to take action in one direction, and how we navigate our circumstances. How we decide to change course. How we interpret the situations we experience, and which ones become engrained into the retelling of our life story to others.

A few ways we can intentionally remember happy moments:

1. “Treat happy memories as you would your date” by paying attention. When you truly observe the moments — the colors, smells, sights, etc. You will be able to recall it better. I’ve done this many times when my kids were newborns, because even though those days went by fast, I slowed time down by trying to memorize the rolls on their arms, the shape of their chubby cheeks, their smell (baby smell!) and the sound of their baby giggles. Of course, a lot of this is one quick season in their lives. But some of my most clear memories in that time of my life include the ability to recall these newborn features, in what would have otherwise been a very boring, monotonous memory of diaper changes, messy feedings, and interrupted sleep.

2. Celebrate milestones. Just like how I went to that music festival — a few years from now the grueling hours of standing and walking in packed crowds won’t be as memorable (other than one blip of a bad thing) as seeing the sets of Something Corporate and Simple Plan, the latter guest featuring a new singer, Jax, that I really like. The excitement, nostalgia, and having these new memories attached to every time I listen to their songs, you can bet I’ll remember that I was there in person at the same time they were, only a few yards away.

3. Do something that scares you. This one is tried and true, but if you move out of your comfort zone, you will make more memories. Maybe it’s taking up a new hobby, or doing that thing everyone fears: public speaking. I joined Toastmasters at my first job, worked my way through ten speeches to get the “Competent Communicator” award, won a humorous speech contest (and I really am not that funny) and that confidence has helped me so much in life. Whether it’s doing group journaling, zip-lining, or something that takes you out of your element, try it!

4. Think about what you’ll remember in ten years’ time. When I look back at my memory of Google — where I spent five years at — I can probably only recall five distinct memories. The rest is a “routine” of heading straight to one of the Google cafes in the morning, getting a lox bagel and a mocha (yes, for free; I realize how incredibly ridiculous this sounds), catching up on emails, heading to my desk, joining a few meetings, walking back to the cafe for lunch with coworkers, maybe there would be some fun event (a lecture, a band playing in the quad, etc.) then more meetings before I made the commute home. The memorable times included traveling to Berlin and Dublin to conduct research studies. In Berlin, I had the opportunity to sit in local German homes, get fed cookies while we asked them about their technology preferences. It was surreal and probably an experience I’ll never have again. In Dublin, I met up with my sister and we found our way to the Guinness Storehouse and drank a beer at the top floor.

5. Find a peak worth the climb. You will remember uphill struggles more than mundane moments. Maybe it’s battling with nature, or rooting for a team you expected to lose. There was a study about folks whose happiness seemed to coincide with how well the soccer team they rooted for was doing. Similarly, over the months I’ve found myself to be very invested in my son’s soccer games…I used to see them as a time sink: they interrupted the weekends, took me from my cozy reading and art time, and I’d get bitten by mosquitoes. With a few adjustments including investing in lots of bug spray and long-sleeved clothes, carving out art time on weekday evenings for myself and leaning back from a lot of volunteer work in this season of my life, as well as being more emotionally invested in each boy on that team and how much effort they put in, has made me look forward to these matches like Christmas morning.

To me, the good life— a full life, a rich life— is a life both of purpose and pleasure. It is when life offers satisfaction with the present, hopes for the future and peace with the past.

— From The Art of Making Memories: How to Create and Remember Happy Moments

So there you have it. Now that I’m 39 and am starting to see the next half of my life horizon approaching, I want to be so much more intentional about it. And I have already.

Here’s what I’ve started to do more of:

• Connect with loved ones more frequently (Zoom and in-person coffee chats, “I’ve been thinking about you!” texts) …what better way to outsource memories than to share then with others? :)

• Take more risks (be vocal in my career about where I want to make an impact and what I’m seeking, and make sure I remember what I’ve done work-wise in ten years)

• Investing my time in what matters in this present season of my life (art and soccer :)

• Constantly assessing parts. of my life that don’t feel so life-affirming, and being intentional about my decisions (yes we have piles of laundry, but am I okay with doing it tomorrow?)… I’ll admit the house is more messy than I’d like, but I wouldn’t trade it for where I want to spend my time now.
  

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Once again, I had traversed the line from doctor to patient, from actor to acted upon, from subject to direct object. My life up until my illness could be understood as the linear sum of my choices…but now I lived in a different world, a more ancient one, where human action paled against superhuman forces…

— From When Breath Becomes Air

Having gone through grief, I remember being jolted out of the bubble of the world I lived in, to really see the unpredictability of life for what it is. Ever since then, I’ve been determined to live each day of my life striving and thriving: I refuse to be a bystander in my own life. I’ll continue to choose to take life-affirming actions, even if I’m the only one who knows the intentions behind what I’m doing. My hope is that the energy I express out into the world will be positive, memorable, and meaningful, and that I’ll continue taking steps towards a life well-lived.

Cheers,
Lia