LIFE AND MEANING

   Franz Kafka once wrote that “the meaning of life is that it ends.” Many have speculated upon his meaning, but the words are simple and their meaning clear. We have a finite time from birth to death, and it is this finite quality that makes each day between these events supremely valuable. Each day is meant to be enjoyed or, at least, made the most of.

   Today I visited an old friend whom I had not seen in years. We are both a little older, a little heavier, and a little worse for wear. We are both in similar life situations yet, after spending some time talking about old times, he told me that upon reflection, he had reached the conclusion that ultimately, nothing he did made any difference; good, bad, right, wrong . . . it all came out the same in the end. He asked me what I wanted from life and, “happiness” aside, I told him I wanted to feel like when I die, the world will have been a better place because I was here. He asked me; “why?”

   I thought about myself, with at least as many problems as him, yet facing each day with hope and excitement. I revel in challenges, he avoids them anymore. We both have sons, yet I talk about mine with love and pride, while he is happy with his son, yet doesn’t speak about him at all unless asked.

   I am sad for my friend. I’m sure he’s depressed, yet I cannot make him see it. He was larger than life growing up, but has become a shell of himself; a sad man, in a sad, dark little apartment with no feeling that he has something to look forward to.

   I am sure he is wealthier than I, yet there was a poverty of his soul that no amount of money, power, or even other people can erase. I hope my friend rediscovers his place in the world, and I hope it’s in the sun.