To Angst Or Not To Angst?
That is the question.
By Michael Tyler
Recently, I had a phone conversation with a close friend who routinely reaches out to me as her mental fitness trainer, counting on me to always run her through thought exercises that keep her fit and able to endure the rigors of her existential angst. The breathless loquacity of this opening sentence is a testament to the VO2 max, psychological conditioning required for her to stay in shape.
An issue she raised (again) is a paradox she feels about death. Though she doesn’t fear it, she constantly thinks about it, in much the same way a homeowner is preoccupied with how to theft-proof her house. Though no one has broken in, she can’t help but think about the many ways they might, and what she is or isn’t doing to prevent that from happening. Similarly, she often wonders and worries about the many factors that can adversely impact her life, and what she can and can’t do to prevent the mental and emotional prowlers always lurking around the property of her wellbeing.
During the call, I said something that I have often said to her: “Birth is the one fatal disease we’re all born with. There’s no cure for it.” There’s always a morbidly humorous tone when we discuss that adage. I bring it up, from time to time, as a value reminder of the manner in which we live life, the purpose we assign to it, and the meaning we extract from it.
Daily, since 2016, I have reminded myself of this adage as I find, at my white-bearded age, that I can’t rest on my laurels and haunches. I must maintain a diligence and vigilance regarding my wellbeing, particularly when considering the increasing obstacles and hazards that must be overcome in the dystopia we’re living in. The current state of the United States is a Matrix version of American Ninja Warrior. Fewer and fewer amongst us are making it through the obstacle course.
My thinking about this led me to the path of my memories as I reflected on how I’ve fared through the years, negotiating the obstacles of my life. I stopped at a memory that made me think about the value of life, the manner in which it is lived, the purpose assigned to living it, and the meaning extracted from it.
I was fifteen and playing tennis at the park I spent my summers at. At one point, I overheard a very heated and profanity-laced argument taking place behind me, coming from the street adjacent to the park. When I turned around, I saw a man angrily arguing with his wife as they got out of the car to retrieve grocery bags from the trunk. The argument was so disturbing that a few of the adult men who were playing on the courts stopped their matches to intervene, fearing that the argument was about to become physically violent.
When they crossed the street to intercede, the angry man collapsed to the ground, having suffered a major cardiac event. He died before the ambulance arrived. I was struck by the immediate shift in fate demonstrated by what happened to him. I instantly had the thought that I bet he never imagined when he woke up that morning, it would be his last day. I wondered that if he had that thought, would the manner in which he had lived that day been different.
Hours later, I sat around the group of men who ventured across the street to disrupt the argument. I overheard one of them reveal what the man was so upset about: his wife had brought the wrong kind of bread. I remember thinking, “That man died over a loaf of bread.” At that time, I could buy a loaf of bread for thirty-nine cents. Ultimately, the value that man assigned to his life was worth less than two quarters. That was the cost of the cause he traded it for.
As I walked home, I went through a comparative retrospective of the causes people have died for. I thought about soldiers who have given their lives in defense of their countries; healthcare workers who’ve died fighting diseases to save the lives of others; police officers and firefighters who’ve lost their lives in service of their fellow citizens; activists who’ve sacrificed their lives advocating for a better humanity. I thought about Martin Luther King, Malcolm X and Medgar Evers, all Black Americans who died trying to make our country more just and fair. I thought about Andrew Goodman and Viola Liuzzo, White Americans who were killed for the same cause. I finally settled on Jesus. I had been taught, through my Roman Catholic tutelage, that the cause he died for was to redeem all of humanity for our collective sins. Such causes cannot be monetarily assessed. Their value is too great — immeasurable. But that man, across the street from the tennis court, died arguing about a thirty-nine cent loaf of bread.
I told myself then that I would value my life more than a loaf of bread; that the cause I would be willing to sacrifice it for would never be so trivial. Fortunately for me, later that same year, I discovered my cause after reading a quote from the distinguished educator, Horace Mann:
“Be ashamed to die until you’ve won some victory for humanity.”
As I processed that quote for meaning, I was struck by the thought that life is so profound and invaluable, to only live it for personal indulgence is to truly insult having lived; that the greatest hope for realizing the true value of a life comes from what you do with it, for others. It was that summer, at age 15, that I decided the victory I would seek for humanity was to defeat hate in all of its manifestations. From that decision, the manner in which I’ve lived, as well as the value, purpose, and meaning of my life have all been exponentially enhanced. This takes me back to the somewhat cynical adage I cited at the outset.
Adjunct to the maxim about the “fatality of birth”, I have ascribed the following belief: the greatest possibility of eternity lies in what lives on through the lives of others. What if more people lived trying to win some victory for humanity? What if well after their passing, the effort to pursue and sustain their victories continued on in through the lives of others? Would doing so alter the manner in which people live their lives? Would it exponentially enhance the value, purpose, and meaning of life for them? Conjecture being worth the measure of the thought, I’ve always concluded, “Yes,” when answering these questions.
This is something I’ve shared many times with my close friend, and I will no doubt do so many more times for as long her angst continues, and we both endeavor to live in defiance of our shared “disease”. Looking at the society I’m living in, under the administration I’m being subjected to, and in the world of circumstances being created by the misconduct of many people and nations, it is not my existential angst that increases daily. Instead, it is my existential zeal, my conviction to winning my victory. If any of this registers with anyone reading this, please, chose a victory to win for humanity. The manner in which you live your life will be altered, and the value, purpose and meaning of your living will most certainly be enhanced because of it — and likewise for everyone else.