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Life is a mystery, like one of those ridiculous Rubik cubes, and no matter how many times I repeat the ingrained patterns, it remains unsolvable. Regardless, I still plan on monopolizing every damn clue I discover along the way. This is why I write. I’m trying to solve the mystery as it unfolds in real-time. The clues point me towards the part of the puzzle I’m currently working on, but I can’t piece all this shit together alone. 

It occurs to me that the emerging picture will never be complete. If you think about it, that’s the best news ever. We keep evolving. This means the future is not yet imagined or set in stone. Obviously, we’re going to die, but depending on the way in which we choose to live, the possibilities are endless. 

If this seems like good news, hold on to your britches, there might be some lumps in the pudding.

The thing about time that’s so difficult to grasp is that it is finite for humans, and how we conceive of ourselves in this framed span of existence will not only define our experience but the depth of our relationships and maybe even the breadth of our achievements. When all is said and done, which I hope is well into the future, the masterpiece will remain incomplete. Because it is not ours to finish, only to pass on to the next generation for continued curation and mastery. 

I realize the current picture looks bleak. I guess we’re going to have to depend on those botoxed, job-hopping, college-indebted millennials to find solutions to the problems we’ve created. They literally hold the future in their hands, as we did before them and all the generations that came before us. I suppose we could spread out the blame (seems fair) encompassing not only the now extinct Neanderthals but all the way back to Adam and Eve. 

And let’s not make Eve the fall gal, solely responsible for the transgressions of humanity because she offered Adam a bite of an apple. Didn’t we give them to all of our kids? 

This is what I think about when we skip the wine during the week. Makes you reconsider the medicinal value of a little plonk.

Speaking of masterpieces, my son Tony and his significant other, Thalita, have landed safely in the United States. And my joy will not go untold. 

I think sometimes that distance is just a test to see how far our love will travel because we don’t know the importance of our connection until we are separated. I learned this after my parents died. Isn’t that always the case.

After a grueling twelve-hour flight, there he is, standing behind door number three at the International Terminal, searching for a truck he’s never seen. I roll down the window, howling as if a blue whale calling her calf, and I freely admit it was mildly embarrassing. 

I don’t care. 

I finally had my handsome boy in my arms, and yes, I blubbered unabashedly. He allows for this emotional display until the police officer blows his whistle and demands we move along, or he’ll write us a ticket. So we load the exhausted couple into the truck and head to the lake, only stopping for a quick dinner. 

I’m always excited when we’re planning a weekend at the lake, but this one is special because most of my children will be joining us for our annual Labor Day celebration, except Kelley, Tim, and Nic, who were dearly missed.

Nevertheless, the house was full, along with my heart. 

After unloading the car, Dante, Tony, Larry, and I land in the soft orange chairs on the cool patio overlooking the lake. Thalita made the better choice and went straight to bed. We opened some wine and spent the next few hours catching up on each other’s lives. We didn’t solve any of the world’s problems, but we managed to change the orientation of the image we’re trying to envision. 

Sitting under a plethora of stars, we concluded that all of humanity is either caught in a giant snow globe created for the entertainment of something we are unable to fathom, or we are here due to the nature of life, which is to perpetuate the species, whether you are bacteria, insect, animal, or human. This somehow glorifies the essence of life, which I believe is love, but that might be wishful thinking.

The evening has us delineating the meaning of life under the influence of good wine, but the problem remains — why are we the only species choosing decreation instead of creation? We fail to use our technology wisely, solve our conflicts compassionately, or value our only asset — Earth. Of course, our demise is inevitable. We have a life span, and granted, it can be lengthened or shortened by the choices we make, but as a species, there will be a final curtain.

Seems pessimistic, but it could also be the only compassionate response to life, especially one that doesn’t age well.

We decided that impermanence doesn’t make us less valuable, it’s quite the opposite. In the context of our existence, we can create things that will always exist, like knowledge, art, and love. Preserving our accomplishments might be our most important task as a transient but sentient species because it could be millions and millions of years before life makes another debut, and like ships passing in the night, these life forms might never find each other.

As Wassermann says, “The future of humanity is that it will come together in love. This isn’t just the most likely outcome — it is inevitable. For humanity is love personified. The will of love, then, will naturally define our collective destiny as it was always meant to be.” I had to read that several times before it started to seep into my being. Go ahead, read it again, I’ll wait.

Okay, I think we made some valuable, if not useless, conclusions and all before midnight. Because we all know nothing good happens after midnight. 

Julie and my three granddaughters show up the next morning full of piss and vinegar, and instantly the house is filled with joy (noise). My joy. It overfloweth, and you’ll just have to deal with my obnoxious bliss spilling out onto the pages. 

A few nights later, sitting on the very same patio, surrounded by a gaggle of friends and family, I took a moment to remove myself existentially from the gathering and just marvel at the scene playing out before me. It was one of those rare moments when gratitude is all-consuming, and you realize just how lucky we are to be alive at this moment in time, with people who have grown into one another as if roots in an ancient forest.

The truth is our only limitations might be how we imagine our place in this cosmic soup, which is boiling over, I might add.

Our days were spent trying to stay cool as a heat wave is currently passing over the entire western hemisphere. It’s like the seafood boil we had the other night. We’ve been unceremoniously dumped in an enormous cauldron. And can I just say flesh takes on a whole new texture when we’re allowed to seethe for hours in the unrelenting sun? I have developed a new respect for how we cook our food. 

We did the usual when trying not to get heatstroke. We hydrated while floating in the murky water of Clearlake (hopelessly ironic) and parked ourselves on the water’s edge for the better part of the day. This is the place where land and liquid fuse, overlap, and reshape each other, just like the people. The stories come out, our dreams take form, and we add a few new pieces to that ever-evolving puzzle.

All that is required is that we keep showing up and never stop asking each other, “What are you thinking about?” It’s not about getting an answer to the question, as John Koenig notes; it’s the act of asking, of trying to reach across the gap, working through the mystery — that is what’s worth holding on to. That’s the feeling that must be kept alive, even if we never solve the puzzle.

Tony is refurbishing his career just as Larry and I are ending our labors in the world. We’re traveling while he and Thalita are both literally climbing mountains and corporate ladders simultaneously. It’s somewhat strange to be at opposite ends of our resumes and our vigor, but the beginning and the end are both significant places to encounter, and the labor required to rebirth ourselves is quite real. 

The years continue to pass, and my children now hold the stories of long days, hard work, and great joy, but my fear is that some of these stories I may never come to know. And they may never know all the things I’ve learned in this life, the people I’ve loved, the patterns I cherish, or the bruises I’ve kissed. All we can do is live each day, knowing we are no longer umbilically connected but embracing the moments when we come together. 

Life is certainly a puzzle, but sometimes the answer requires a leap of faith. 

Then it hits me.

This could be really big or total bullshit.

I’m sure you have thoughts but now is not the time.

Maybe we’re not the puzzle. What if we’re the pieces? That’s it. We’re not supposed to find the pieces so we can put them together. We are the damn pieces and what we’re supposed to do is come together. Booyah. We know the world is broken and that, my friends, might be how we stop breaking.

And this is the closest I’ve come to understanding divine love.  

I’m Living in the Gap, deciphering the meaning of life, care to join me in the comments?