a statement of purpose. aside from its daunting role in the medical school application process, it seems like something we could all benefit from having in our lives...a driving declaration of intent and motivation, a benchmark or an end goal, a certain something to strive towards.
it's an interesting thought. how does one decide what their purpose in life is? it's a question that offers the opportunity for exploration into the depths of our souls. before even attempting to address the intricacies of finding an answer that question, the mere question of how to do so is an art in and of itself, a practice of sculpting and chiseling that people spend eternities trying to master
we can think about the significance of every single moment of our lives. we could even rank life defining experiences in order of importance...it seems cheap to do so, though, doesn't it? assigning a quantified value to a moment that was the result of a limitless void of time and sheer destiny, simply based on its derivative meaning to you in this particular moment?
what if we went the other way around?
rather than trying to find life defining significance in every aspect of our lives, what if we let go & simply let the moment speak to us?
the hauntingly anonymous girl i locked eyes with 18 years ago outside the mumbai airport. the window rattling on a particularly windy night when all else is dark & quiet. the old man sitting on his porch sipping on his coffee with an empty chair across from him. each of these memories sounds like the first sentence of a story. i can hear each one of them begging me to go on, to whisper the secrets hidden in those seductive beginnings
mumbai airport - similar to what i remember from when i was about 5 years old. it was late, around 11 PM or so, but somehow the humidity is always so thick in the mumbai air that it never really feels like the darkness of the night has space to settle in
it seems cruel, almost, not to go on...it's human nature to fill in the blanks. the green eyed girl at the airport must have been separated from her family and was desperately searching for someone who could help her find her way back. the window rattling that night was a lurking omen of a turbulent day ahead. the white haired man recounted stories of his youth to the empty chair across from him as if his wife of days passed was still there, rocking back and forth in the golden sun of another warm july evening, just as she had done for 30 years before.
that elderly man on the porch is a permanent fixture in my mind. even though he's not there in this particular picture and this probably wasn't even his house, i can still sense his presence right there, just rocking back and forth. i can almost smell the fresh pot of coffee and see him slowly raising his arm to wave, eyes squinting against the sun & face folding open into a wide smile, when he sees me walking by
i almost wish we could immediately recognize the significance of something in our lives objectively. when someone close to us lashes out and says something hurtful, we would be able to know "they were hurting. they didn't mean it". it would be so much easier that way. we can rationalize it all we want & try to remember that those words meant nothing. but when the heavy silence fills the dark room, pushing against your eyes desperately trying to find solace in the innocence of sleep...in that moment, we forget the endless bounties of love shared between us. somehow, our hearts choose to desperately cling to the cold, magnetic words that weigh heavy on our souls, polarizing us forever.
i think to be able to truly understand the significance of something, especially something as complex as humanity, we need to do as michelangelo did. acknowledge the unwanted, untouched block of marble sitting in front of us. stare at it as you may...walk circles around it, creep up tantalizingly close, run away from it and snap your head back, see if looking at it from afar changes anything. close your eyes, take a deep breath, and look at it again with fresh eyes. the block of marble will always sit there. unwanted & untouched, its presence sinking heavily in an empty room.
and then we remember who we are. we have this incredible power to contextualize & mold, the power to pare down what we want & chisel away the rest, the power to illustriously stroke with emotion. jagged corners, robust curves, angry explosions, and chiffon breezes of color. we step back from our creation. our chests heave, fists finally unclenched, our skin covered in scratches and wet paint, sweaty hair matted to our faces. that block of marble is now ours. the debris is everywhere, residue splattered across the room, and our masterpiece in the middle of it all. its bumps & grooves, every imperfection, every part of it is ours.
it is an art of expression. it may be one filled with heavy passion, unbreakable fixation, or even sinful indulgence, but even yet, it is a beautiful thing because it is ours. and after we work through the messes, we know that the sharp edges will wear away and the strokes will grow softer. and as it ages, it will join the rest of our masterpieces to offer its companionship & learn from the masterful strength of all the others. all together, creating a whole stronger than the sum alone.