I mention the line he appears to have highlighted, and my sister jokes, “Well, he always was a deep thinker.” We all laugh. Still, I sit here today looking at my notes days later, trying to assign meaning.
What, if any, message has the cosmos sent me? Are children the source of my loss and displacement? Does this have something to do with the color pink? Was my nephew somehow stating his feelings about the moment he was in, sitting in the restaurant patio, waiting for food, being told not to do all of the things he kept wanting to do, like standing up on the bench to get a better look at approaching trains and traffic?
I am now suddenly remembering that only a moment before or after the inadvertent, possibly genius highlighting incident, he had done something I’ve seen him do before a few times at moments when we are eating out, nothing he does seems to go right, we’re still waiting for food, and there’s nothing to be done about it: sitting down away from others and putting his head down, as though to give up or give in and pretend the world around him is not there for a moment or making himself disappear for a moment or at least, doing the only thing he knows how to do that won’t inevitably cause some sort of trouble. It is always a very interesting moment to observe, and I can’t help thinking how well such a moment joins meaningfully with the phrase “the sense of loss and displacement.” How can I not see this as a moment of meaning?
It is the “curse” of humanity that we are always looking for meaning; this seems exponentially so for the writer or artist, as it also seems exponentially so for us to be aware of the absurdity of applying such meaning.
The world is rife every moment, every second, every millisecond, with occurrences of one sort or another. Each of these occurrences probably juxtapose at one point or another with every other, most only occasionally noticed by us. Even when noticed, even more rarely are such juxtapositions noticed with full attention. When such noticing happens, it seems difficult to not assign meaning. Even despite ourselves, those who grow angry and insist, “No, this is random!” imply that it is not at all random, or does not appear random -- otherwise why would we need to state it?
I am writing this longhand in a notebook (a fact certainly no longer true as I type these words into the computer, let alone at the moment you read this, but let’s pretend for the sake of expediency). My previous pen has failed, at precisely the moment I wrote the words, “this is random.” Again, we are faced with the problem of seeing meaning where it may or may not be. But really, what is the alternative?
Without the innate drive for meaning, would we not all be like dementia patients wandering the grass? We might not even eat or cover ourselves for warmth if we had no drive for meaning. We certainly would not create language -- what would be the point? Even animals seek meaning. The pigeon spinning in circles may be doing so because the previous time he spun in circles, a berry dropped at his feet, causing him to now superstitiously hope he can make the magical berries appear again. But, how to avoid pointlessly spinning in foodless circles like the misguided pigeon? What is the “right” amount of meaning assignment for human existence?
Depending on your philosophical perspective, one can view all moments as meaningful. In the end doesn’t that end up the same as all moments being meaningless? I can never quite decide where I stand on this predicament and in the end wonder whether it matters at all how I approach it, at least in terms of practical day-to-day living.
Maybe that’s why I like writing and creative constructs so much. Meaning is always implied, even when not explicitly intended. One can accept that even a set of words or images juxtaposed with the intention of randomness is expressing subconscious thoughts of the receiver or the receiver’s society. We could argue that conveying meaning is literally the purpose of any artistic endeavor. And of course, the main motivation of most creators is to create or express meaning.
Even when the receiver finds different meaning than that we set out to convey, the artist is generally (excepting cases of great vanity, obstinance, or affected superiority...) delighted or at least intrigued.
For myself anyway, this is one of the main reasons I am drawn to creative endeavor. I can in full and good conscience assign meaning or intended meaning to anything. It is the precise point. If my juxtapositions are something that no one has considered before, it is seen and understood to be part of the artistic process. Any portion of meaning created that is not believed to be inherently meaningful will just be seen as the author’s mark.
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