Tiny Buddha, Simple Wisdom for Life's Hard Questions. Lori Deschene

started slowly and softly, as if trying to whisper into my own ear, hoping to reach my spirit without jarring it. I watched the multiple pieces of my mouth scattered in glass along the floor. Then I hastened the pace a little, trying to make the words become unfamiliar. I mumbled them over and over again, tripping on them, spitting them out, trying desperately to forget what they meant—to forget that I'd decided years ago how little that name could ever mean. And then I fell asleep, wondering if I'd ever look in the mirror and like what I saw.

      I didn't strip away any layers of myself that night, but slammed so low, I began to learn something that has shaped and guided every day that's followed since: emptiness can be a horrible or wonderful thing, depending on where it comes from. You can wallow in misery, feeling like you have nothing to offer the world just because you haven't figured it out yet. Or you can feel a sense of emptiness that's at once terrifying and liberating, because it means you've let go of who you've been and have opened up to who you can be. It's the deep and dark cavern of possibility and light. It's freedom from what the past has meant and what the future might mean, and it's a sense that now can mean anything.

      Emily Dickinson wrote, “To live is so startling it leaves time for little else.” I've often wondered if it's possible to live this fully—if anyone can feel so in awe of the experience of her daily life that she simply doesn't have time to hurt over yesterday, worry about tomorrow, and be consumed with theories as to what it all means and what her life should mean. Just the other day, I read about a research study from Washington University and the University of Arizona that showed people who tackle the pithy topics have a stronger sense of well-being than people who keep things superficial. What this tells me is that we can't ignore our human instinct to want more. We can't pretend there's literally no room for something else. There is—there's lots of room. Life leaves plenty of time for solitude and contemplation. Even busy people have time and space to fill, if not in their schedules, in their minds. The beautiful part of life is that regardless of what it means, we can share the puzzle together. We don't have to sit alone in emptiness. Just by engaging with each other, we can transform hollow bewilderment into full-frontal wonder.

      With that in mind, I asked on Twitter, “What's the meaning of life?”

      THE MEANING OF LIFE IS TO LIVE EVERY DAY FULLY AND ENJOY IT

      Life is not the pursuit of happiness. It's the happiness in your pursuits. ∼@ac_awesome

      The meaning of life is to live life and experience this world to the fullest, from dark to light and everything in between. ∼@Jay_Rey

      Life is about learning, sharing, never giving up, and having fun. ∼@ lida4ibu

      the meaning of life is to become truly happy and to live each day based on courage and compassion. ∼@puffinclaire

      Life's meaning is to be open to all that comes your way and to pursue whatever your heart desires. ∼@mmalbrecht

      Occam's razor states that the simplest answer is usually the right one, but humans don't do so well with simple. We like to identify patterns in our lives so that we can think about what we think it all means. We get so fixated on why specific past events occurred and what we can do to make specific future events occur that we often miss being in the occurrences of now. It's not easy to accept that what is just is. We want stories—a story explaining how we got here; a story guiding the day as it happens, like the ever-wise, ever-calm voice-overs you hear in the movies; and a story to leave behind when we pass on so our lives will mean something more than the simple, solo experiences of living them.

      It's not nearly satisfying enough if the point of life is to live each moment fully, because that doesn't provide an answer as to why the moments eventually run out. A moment will never seem like enough when you pit it against the desire for an endless supply of moments. In Will Durant's On the Meaning of Life, a compilation of perspectives from Depression-era luminaries, Sinclair Lewis explored the irrelevance of mortality and religion to our everyday enjoyment. He wrote, “If I go to a play I do not enjoy it less because I do not believe that it is divinely created and divinely conducted, that it will last forever instead of stopping at eleven, that many details of it will remain in my memory after a few months, or that it will have any particular moral effect upon me. And I enjoy life as I enjoy that play.”

      I suspect it's hard to adopt this philosophy and focus on the show we're at because we know intellectually that there are an infinite number of other plays we could be at; but because of the limitations of time, we can't possibly see all of them. And then there's the reality that each play has a price, and you have obligations to fill outside the theater and anxieties about them that might drown out the encore. Enjoyment isn't solely dependent on our determination to make peace with the big things we don't know; it hinges on our ability to forget for a while all the little things we do know—the circumstances of our lives and the inevitability of struggle on the other side of fun. Even if enjoyment is the meaning of life, it's simply not possible to enjoy every moment. Does that render the unenjoyable moments meaningless?

      A friend of mine once told me that fun is the meaning of life. He's the closest to a real-life Forrest Gump I've ever met. Because he loves music, he devoted himself to his radio job and eventually worked his way up to station manager. He spends most weekends surfing, going to concerts, trying different adventures, and roaming through his childlike existence with a sense of delight and wonder. Because he believes that fun is the ultimate point of it all, he measures everything against that barometer. If it isn't fun for him, he doesn't do it; if it is fun, he does it often. This declaration seemed far too simple from my vantage point, and certainly not an effective way to be sure it all leads somewhere good.

      I've spent a lot of time through the years watching this friend, like he's a theory I want to poke holes in. I could not fathom that enjoyment could be a fulfilling purpose in and of itself. There's abundant research showing that people with a sense of individual meaning feel happier than do people who see actions as random and inconsequential. If we don't believe we have a strong driving motivation, what will push us through the moments that aren't fun?

      Then I noticed something about my friend : he has difficult times like the rest of us, but when they hit, instead of sitting around dwelling on what it all means, he goes out and does the things that make him feel meaningful. He doesn't enjoy everything in life, but he chooses more often than not to do the things he enjoys, and in doing so feels fulfilled.

      Perhaps enjoyment is a meaning of life, but only as a consequence of our doing what feels meaningful to us. By choosing to do the things we love, we shift the balance of empty moments to complete ones. When we're focused on creating and enjoying fun—immersing ourselves in the various “whats” that get us excited—suddenly it seems less important to understand the one ultimate “why.”

      CREATE MEANING THROUGH JOY.

      If you've gotten a little too serious in your pursuit of purpose:

      Make a list of three to seven things that you enjoy most in life. These don't have to be huge things. They might be simple things, like walking on the beach, riding your motorcycle, or listening to the sound of your baby laughing. Think about the activities that often leave you thinking, This is what it means to really be alive.

      Take a look at your current schedule. Do you regularly do those things? Are you making excuses about why you can't? Maybe it's your busy schedule, or your limited finances, or some other external restriction.

      Find tiny holes in your upcoming week. Even if you're busy, odds are you have an hour here, twenty minutes there, and maybe even a complete day or two sometimes. Identify potential gaps right now, acknowledging that they're available to be filled.

      Plan to do something that makes you feel exhilarated for at least a small chunk of time every day. If you love animals but don't ever spend time with them, go to a local dog park during your lunch break. If you're passionate about yoga but can't afford a class, find a free one on YouTube. Plan for a little activity every day