the evolution of my understanding of death/the concert i went to last night

This post could begin in one of two ways:

1. With a history of the evolution of my understanding of death and mortality, or

2. With a description of the concert I went to last night. 

The Concert I Went to Last Night

I think I'll start with the concert, as it's somewhat of a more gradual jumping-off-point.

I had the pleasure of seeing the wonderful Rich Aucoin yesterday with a bunch of lovely friends and their lovely friends. My friends had somewhat prepared me for what I was about to experience while at the same time assuring me that there was no way that I could be in any way prepared for what I was about to experience. I knew that there was to be tons of dancing, and confetti, and perhaps even a large gradeschool-style play-parachute unfurled over our heads and set aloft by our wildly gesticulating hands. I was told that the music was extremely positive and happy and that I would be in for a wild and fun time. 

I was in no way prepared for being metaphorically punched in the gut at the very outset by a frank exploration of the anxiety that is produced by the universality of the knowledge of impending death. 

Before the music even started, a black screen alighted with giant white lettering, a transcription of a monologue wherein a man went into an exposition of the idea that all of us worry about death, and particularly, the intense fear that we all have about the prospect of wasted time. I, who had come expecting sunshine and rainbows and sweet-sounding square wave, was floored. I grabbed the sides of my head and drank in every word. I grabbed my friend Kate's shoulder and yelled in her ear, "Oh my god! This is really existential!" to which she responded with a knowing smile. 

The rest of the concert carried on with similar themes - the songs, so upbeat and happy and confetti-strewn and parachute-covered, all explored existential themes, the shortness of life, the need to make the most of time with friends before they die, and in the face of death's inevitability, the absolute necessity of human connection and kindness and care towards others. The final message was a call to action to do something with what we'd heard that night: "We won't leave it all in our heads."

I was left reeling after the concert, feeling somewhat bereft, standing with my friends on the dance floor as the lights came up, confetti sticking to my sweat-slicked skin, wailing, "I have to do more! I have to be a better person!" over and over again. I was completely choked up. I didn't know what to do. "I try to be good but it's so hard!" I wailed to my friends, who were quick to reassure me of my worth as a human being. (They had seen Rich Aucoin several times before and, I think, were better prepared to deal with the existential sucker-punch to the soul than I was). 

Happiness, music, dancing, loss, anxiety, the fear of wasting time, the fear of death's imminence. All of it rolled up together and given as a gift to me.

The Evolution of My Understanding of Death

(I of course keep my mother in mind at all times during this self reflection. I lost her recently and feel her everywhere, in every word, every heartbeat that is emptier than it once was. I think often about losing the ones I love, of them dying. This may sound morbid, but in reality it allows me to further appreciate the wonderful people I have around me, the privilege I experience just to know them and the responsibility I have to care for them.)

Since I was very young I have always thought a lot about death. I have a personal essay that I wrote about Saint-Exupéry's book The Little Prince when I was thirteen. In it I talk at length about the main message of the book, in my understanding: That the joy and wonder that we experience in childhood is something that we should strive to hold close within our hearts for our whole lives, because the world is a beautiful and magical place, and to lose this to the cynicism of adulthood is life's greatest tragedy. In the essay I lament that I had done nothing with my life at thirteen, and that I felt that I had wasted a great deal of time. I wrote about my impending death and the fear that I would waste my life without ever feeling truly fulfilled. Luckily I happened to have a weird and wonderful teacher and he totally understood that it was completely normal for a thirteen year old to have such thoughts and didn't report me to the guidance counselor, but instead offered to engage in a discussion on the topic with me, peer to peer. 

I've written about time and death on multiple occasions, in songs and in pieces of writing, and on my own clothes and skin with pens and razorblades. My anxiety around the passage of time and the imminence of death was a large component of the deep and seductive depression that I struggled with throughout my life, especially in my teens when it was in its most acute form. 

I was terrified of wasting time. I was terrified of being no one, of having nothing to offer, nothing to be proud of, I was terrified of dying without doing something that mattered. I was consumed by those thoughts for many years. (I still grapple with this all the time but now I am capable of keeping the anxiety shelled up inside of my chest rather than letting it rip me to pieces in despair.)

I started coming to terms with the imminence of death when I started reading existential philosophy. In particular, Camus' The Myth of Sisyphus and Sartre's Existentialism as a Humanism were important pieces of writing for me. In their own way, the texts argue that the absurdity of life (in that we are all going to die one day) is not a cause for despair, but rather a spur for motivation and even a source of joy. Existentialism as a Humanism illuminates the absolute freedom of choice that human beings have, the absolute responsibility we have to make the most of life as we know it. In Sartre's words, "[Existentialism] puts every man in possession of himself as he is, and places the entire responsibility for his existence squarely upon his own shoulders." A terrifying prospect? Not quite. Paralyzing? Not even close. Sartre argues that "No doctrine is more optimistic, the destiny of man is placed within himself. Nor is it an attempt to discourage man from action since it tells him that there is no hope except in his action, and that the one thing which permits him to have life is the deed."  Furthermore, Sartre explains that existentialism involves absolute responsibility to others, as well as oneself. In our absolute freedom of action, we set the tone for the way that we believe all people ought to act. He argues, "I am creating a certain image of man as I would have him to be. In fashioning myself I fashion man."

The transcendental experiences that we seek lie in our own hearts, argues Sartre. We need look no further than our own selves in order to encounter the means to achieve all that we need to achieve*. Rather than this being crushing and harrowing, he argues that it is the ultimate optimism. We have absolute power to change ourselves for the better, even if it's just in a small way. 

This was the charge that was laid at my feet at the end of the concert, something I've always believed but was in need of reminding of: It is within my power to do better, to be better, to acknowledge my responsibility to myself and to others, to strive to become better, to make something of my life. This is the despair and triumph of my absolute freedom. This despair and triumph live simultaneously together, twisting like snakes, or a helix of DNA. I feel the world drop out from under my feet with the gravity of this responsibility, but I also feel the joy of being able to do good in this world and to be kind and caring towards others, with even simple gestures. 

I feel the challenge of my life's work calling me. How to be something? How to be someone? How to do everything I can to be everything I can to everyone I can? The challenge is mine and mine alone. I live with the despair and triumph living inside of me each day, and I contain the anxiety and the knowledge of my imminent death, and hold that knowledge inside of me like a precious stone. 

*He provides a perfunctory explanation of 'conditions' of living that create inequalities in lifestyle (e.g. an indentured worker vs. a bourgeoisie) but argues that in every circumstance we have the power of choice. I am sure there is a sociological rebuttal of this argument that is quite apparent (especially because Sartre himself was an upper class, white male) but I'll leave this for now.