I relate to this a lot as someone who has definitely not lived life to its fullest and has not even ticked most of the conventional societal checkmarks, let alone bucket-list ones. I love this reframing of expanding and deepening the range of ways in which to be one's self - being over doing. (Or maybe, fully being in whatever you're doing). I find myself wondering about someone like Kant, who never left his town and did more or less the same thing every day: would he have been happier if he forced himself to travel, have sex, branch out more? Maybe - but maybe he would have made himself miserable and stressed when it just wasn't for him.
The newest Wim Wenders film Perfect Days is about a middle-aged guy who does the same narrow range of things every day and hasn't realized any dreams ; he's not exactly happy, he's lonely, but you get the sense that his inner life is full and rich and maybe even his outer life, in its own way. Maybe this and Kant are bad examples, but for some reason they came to mind when I was reading your essay.
It's such a good movie, isn't it? I feel like it gets at something that the Jim Jarmusch film Paterson (from 2016, starring Adam Driver) was trying to convey but far less effectively and realistically.
I really appreciate this take - a life well lived is one not defined by your random one-off experiences (climbing Everest), but by who you are and what you define yourself to be (a father, a husband, a writer, etc.)
That picture of a lone line of climbers on Everest says so much about the state of the world today. Humans are victims of their own massive species success.
Jane Austen never travelled far from her home. Neither did Emily Dickenson. Yet their imaginative works navigate our real world with deep insights far beyond peering out from the summit of a high mountain or travelling to Barcelona to gaze fleetingly at a cathedral.
Completely agree. Those books and articles with titles like 100 Places to See Before You Die horrify me. I think that G.K. Chesterton may have been on to something when he said “travel narrows the mind”.
I relate to this a lot as someone who has definitely not lived life to its fullest and has not even ticked most of the conventional societal checkmarks, let alone bucket-list ones. I love this reframing of expanding and deepening the range of ways in which to be one's self - being over doing. (Or maybe, fully being in whatever you're doing). I find myself wondering about someone like Kant, who never left his town and did more or less the same thing every day: would he have been happier if he forced himself to travel, have sex, branch out more? Maybe - but maybe he would have made himself miserable and stressed when it just wasn't for him.
The newest Wim Wenders film Perfect Days is about a middle-aged guy who does the same narrow range of things every day and hasn't realized any dreams ; he's not exactly happy, he's lonely, but you get the sense that his inner life is full and rich and maybe even his outer life, in its own way. Maybe this and Kant are bad examples, but for some reason they came to mind when I was reading your essay.
I do not know the Wenders movie (must check it out) but I love the Kant example. Someone who writes work like his must have a very rich inner life.
That’s an incredibly beautiful movie and a very good example for this topic. I will second this idea and suggest that Helen and others watch it.
It's such a good movie, isn't it? I feel like it gets at something that the Jim Jarmusch film Paterson (from 2016, starring Adam Driver) was trying to convey but far less effectively and realistically.
I really appreciate this take - a life well lived is one not defined by your random one-off experiences (climbing Everest), but by who you are and what you define yourself to be (a father, a husband, a writer, etc.)
That picture of a lone line of climbers on Everest says so much about the state of the world today. Humans are victims of their own massive species success.
Less risky but equally sad and baffling are those photos of crowds of people taking photos of the Mona Lisa.
Jane Austen never travelled far from her home. Neither did Emily Dickenson. Yet their imaginative works navigate our real world with deep insights far beyond peering out from the summit of a high mountain or travelling to Barcelona to gaze fleetingly at a cathedral.
Completely agree. Those books and articles with titles like 100 Places to See Before You Die horrify me. I think that G.K. Chesterton may have been on to something when he said “travel narrows the mind”.
speaks huge volumes.