Handling the Seasons of Life
Facing the phase three
When I was a teen in the 1970s, I experienced a classic existential crisis. Though I’d never heard the term, or of Kierkegaard for that matter, I managed to bore my friends with angst-ridden monologues questioning the meaning of life. Why were we here? What was the point of it all? No one really knew. More importantly, the people I was hanging with at the time weren’t particularly curious to know.
But I was restless as a ghost in a graveyard.
Life confused me.
Taught for eight years by nuns, I thought of life as the warm-up act to the main attraction of, well, death. Or more precisely, whatever came afterward. Much of my religious education focused on behaving properly on earth so that we could enjoy eternal life later in heaven.
It was like the ultimate marshmallow test.
Suffice to say, I failed. The moment their backs were turned I stuffed all of life’s sweet goodness into my gob.
I was selfish and ignorant and took ridiculously dangerous risks with this corporeal shell. My rebellious life caused others distress and for that I am truly sorry. But I don’t regret what I did.
A few people I knew became extremely religious. Some had born-again experiences. Others found gurus. One…
