Sometimes I wish I believed in an afterlife, because it might make me happier in this one.
I was thinking about that last night. Things just seem pointless a lot of the time. In an existential sense, I think they are. As I’ve said before, I don’t think there’s a point to anything. I think we’re just here, and that’s that.
But I might be happier if I thought my existence were, in some form or another, permanent.
In my imagination, Heaven contains a big infinite library containing every book ever written. In my version of Heaven, you can travel through time and revisit any point in the Earth’s past, witness any historical event. Heaven for me is like a big intellectual vacation.
But I don’t believe in Heaven. The afterlife is a story I used to tell myself to deal with the awful, horrible reality that someday I will not exist. Since the beginning of time (except for the last 31 revolutions of Earth around the Sun) I have not existed, and in a few decades I will cease to exist for the rest of Time. I live right now between two huge Ice Ages that do not contain me. It’s such a scary thought.
Life seems so short to me. I always have this fear that death is just around the corner. But I’m 31 years old, so it’s like that my life isn’t even half over yet. In fact, I’ve lived just a third of my grandfather’s 94 years so far. And considering that I spent the first 17 or 18 years just getting the hang of things, I’ve done a lot in the subsequent 13 years. Possibly just one-fifth of my adulthood has passed so far. There’s so much time ahead in which to do stuff.
It just seems like stuff doesn’t happen, though. I can’t accept that I will live my life not having achieved anything. Sure, I could entertain myself for the next 50 or 60 years, seeing shows and reading books and doing crossword puzzles, but what about leaving something behind?
Matt and I were talking about this last night, and he said I’ll leave behind lots of great memories in the people who know me. But what about when they’re gone? This is why I sometimes think it would be reassuring to have children: to know that in a few hundred years I’ll still exist on some family tree as the progenitor of one of its branches.
This is all a way to make myself immortal, in some sense. I wish I could be the subject of a future biography. I want to be remembered by people outside my immediate circle.
I guess stuff only happens if you take steps. And that’s what I’m trying to do now — take baby steps. Writing an 800- to 1000-word piece that I could send in to some free local newspaper to be published. But I have so little faith in myself and my abilities, and I’m so afraid of being rejected. I don’t feel like I could write something that the gay newspapers would be interested in publishing. Nothing is coming to my mind. Maybe I just need to sit down and write whatever gay-related memories or thoughts pop into my head. Maybe I’m overestimating the quality of what they’d accept. Maybe it doesn’t have to be light and fluffy and gayishly humorous.
This just sucks.
Time to end the pity party. You have lots of people who have never met you who read you here (including me). What makes you think you won’t end up having the same in some print publication? Anyone involved in writing (and I am) knows not getting published is just part of the deal. Sometimes you do. Sometimes you don’t. But remember the times you do.
I don’t see this as a pity party at all. I have thought the same exact thoughts- what will my legacy be? I too don’t believe in an afterlife. I do a lot of historical research and came to the realization that most people are quickly forgotten. It pains me to see photographs of nameless people in junk stores. So I’ve written some history books and you can look at them at the Library of Congress, I guess I won’t be completely forgotten.
I have been thinking about this, too. I don’t believe in a literal “afterlife,” but there are lots of figurative ones that are good enough substitutes for me. Yes, I know that it is a fiction — but like actual fiction, it is a part of culture that makes the rest of life liveable. Also, one odd thing about blogs is that, if you write something fairly decent, it gets read by more people than might read it in something like “The Paris Review.”
Jeffrey is right. There are lots of people who have never met you who have read your blog for years (including me).
Change.
I might be weird, but I find the idea of a momentary life to be comforting. Everybody, in the long run, is exactly the same. There’s nobody so great, and nobody so much of a fuckup, that what they do will really matter at the end of the universe. There’s no tragedy so great that it isn’t gone in the blinking of an eye.
Today’s post shows you to be feeling better about all this, Jeff, and I think it’s great that you’re going to try writing for the local gay papers. I agree with Peter, though, that the idea of leaving a legacy is kind of odd when you think about it. Why is it important? It’s kind of like the mania for being a celebrity: as though we aren’t really living an important life unless other people witness it.
Just having an Ozymandias moment, I guess…
There is no afterlife. This is it. Make the most of it. Leaving a legacy is simple: write!
In 1966 the greatpoet Frank O’Hara was hit by a dune buggy while walking home from a party on Fire Island with his new boyfirend J.J. Mitchell. It was 2 AM, pitch black and he was in mid-conversation when the vehicle struck. He died two days later trying to reassure his friends that everything was alright. His funeral was an event the likes of which the New York art world has enever known. And it’s safe to say that none of his many, many lovers and friends ever got over it. His poetry will live forever!
Go forth and follow his example!
Just don’t get run over by any dune buggies.
Don’t want or need an afterlife. I believe what we call the afterlife is this life right here, right now. As a little kid, it bothered me a little to think that after I’m dead, nothing happens but now that I’m older I realize there’s nothing to fear since I won’t experience anything. The sad part to all this junk is that man wants to deny the truth even though it hurts him. So he’ll go along the long path of life inventing little dream worlds or characters such as Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny to alleviate his fears. Man didn’t fear or care his non-existence before his birth so it seems absolutely ridiculous of him to care or fear about returning to that harmless non-existence. Spend all your moments wisely and cherish every day you have while you can and you should have nothing to regret.