Life is a Mystery to be Lived

This is the first entry in my blog. A first step on a journey, and like any journey it ought to have a destination or purpose. Ideally the journey of my writing is an expression of my personal journey, my purpose.

Along those lines I pondered what I might I entitle this blog, something different than the name of my company, the meaning of which would elude most people anyway (but that’s another story). A quote that has been speaking to me of late came to mind: “I don’t believe people are looking for the meaning of life as much as they are looking for the experience of being alive” Joseph Campbell
Possibilities that showed up included these: “Awake in life, Alive at work.” “Good work on purpose” ...and a number of others. Then I thought perhaps it would be more organic if I just stopped looking for the short pithy catchy phrase and just rambled a bit in an attempt to capture my thoughts and see what there was to be seen.

A good starting point is one day years ago when my friend and colleague Eric Kohner asked me what I yearned for. What did I salivate for? What could I not, not take a stand for? What got my juices going? While my brain had no answer, when I surrendered myself, from the depths of my being I heard a shout, “consciousness!” I yearned for people to be conscious, to be awake, to be connected to whatever they were doing and whoever they were being. To go that extra step and be thoughtful, on purpose. To connect the dots and be alive, rather than be drones, numb to whatever they were there for. And there could be anywhere. Just be awake and engaged.

I had found myself increasingly frustrated as my coach training taught me to ask more questions, to be curious, gradually dissolving the veil of blissful ignorance and righteousness that had become my life. I think I always saw the insanity around me: customer service that had no intention of serving, promises of satisfaction that could only lead to more longing. A world where trust me meant watch out and business meant big brother. And the scope of the insanity was so immense and my helplessness so palpable that blissful ignorance and righteousness was just a natural cadence to slip into.

I heard it said that at some point all of us get “the call” but we don’t necessarily notice it or answer it. But nature is funny that way and patiently will call again. And again. Sometimes we become desensitized and it lives as a dull nagging we have come to tolerate, like a familiar limp that we cease to notice until life hits back and the twinge of pain reminds us that we are off center.

I don’t know exactly what to make of my call. For as long as I could remember I was always very sensitive about people, noticing more nuances than I cared to, including in myself. I was told I was smart and so it made sense to seek answers for the questions always floating in my head. I studied psychology because maybe if I understood what makes people tick I could have an impact on the insanity I sensed? On the circuitous path towards becoming a psychotherapist I vacillated between seeking answers and knowing, neither of which satisfied me for very long. Maybe it was because, as Yeats once said, “Life is a mystery to be lived, not a problem to be solved.” And what does it mean to live the mystery?