Our lives do not have linear plots, dear reader, and this makes them tricky to analyze.
We may be inclined to look at our lives like films–to look first for meaning and marked change. We could choose to measure our lives over distance–like a straight line from “then” to “now” that could somehow show us our own heartbeat. All the climactic hills and valleys leading to some ultimate lesson–but again, lives do not have linear plots.
So, what do we do to understand films or novels with nonlinear plots?
We look for symbolic repetition, baby.
Lives are not cleanly organized; aside from birth and death you can count on quite the clusterfuck. “Meaning” feels like too big of an issue to tackle here, but I’ll suffice it to say that, in my opinion, if we want it (meaning), we have got to make our own. We have to accept the crazy, stupid, rock and roll nothing that we’ve got, and decide that our lives matter anyway.
In our silly, nonlinear clusterfuckery, how the hell do we reflect on the meaning we’ve made? Well, my darling reader, I’m so glad you asked. We can start by looking for repetition.
I don’t want to stay too long in hypothetical nonsense, so as always, here’s an example:
Roller Coasters.
Until I was 22 I didn’t know how it felt to ride one. I was so afraid of feeling something new and potentially uncomfortable that I avoided the loop de loop completely. I was the friend who held everyone’s water bottles by the exit; a performative sacrifice that kept me safely on the ground.
I did this song and dance when I was 18 and at Six Flags with friends, when I was 8 with my family on the pier, and 14 at a shitty county fair. I never even tried it. Roller coasters just weren’t worth feeling for.
And in the spirit of Making Meaning, OF COURSE this is symbolic. You get it, dear reader, you’re smart. I was afraid of doing anything, because I was afraid of feeling something. It just wasn’t worth the risk. When given the choice, I would always choose to feel nothing instead of not knowing an outcome.
But! Someone lovely took me to ride a roller coaster last October. Oh I was sweating through jackets; I was shaking uncontrollably; there were tears in my eyes. And you KNOW I asked someone in a nametag and polo shirt to double check that I was clicked in. Triple mother fucking check homie I was going upside down.
I shut my eyes.
I didn’t think I’d like the feeling of falling to potential death. It’s very human, actually–to avoid falling at like, all costs. But, my sweet reader, I fucking loved it. I loved it. I lived through it, and it made me happy. It had taken 22 years to choose it.
I would have avoided everything until the bitter end had I not reached a point of frustration with myself; had I not been so tired of feeling empty.
I would have missed everything had I not gone to treatment for my eating disorder; had I not started writing; had I not said hello.
These things will keep showing up, dear reader, until we address them. They’ll keep digging holes in our chests and we’ll try to fill them–oh will we ever try. Groundhog’s day, except you’re at a Six Flags for some reason? It’s all very poetic.
It becomes impossible to ignore the lessons we need to learn, not because of the “all knowing universe”, but because our own flawed selves will keep making the same mistakes until we do something differently.
The only way we can overcome our fear of emptiness, is to stop feeding it.
What keeps repeating for you, dear reader? Look there, instead of from start to finish.
I love you so much.
I love you so much.
(see, repetition)
Girl Seeking Peanut Butter 