Wednesday, June 24, 2009

17 Months (the second act)

There comes with being a parent that distinct understanding that you are mortal. For a brief instance, you look into the eyes of your 17-month-old and the years shed like a useless skin. It's not that you feel old but you can see the future so clearly, a cascading shimmer of images and delight filtering through documented filmscope that fades into view through a sundrenched landscape. It's all dreamy and romantic and lovable and a euphoria spreads through your bones. It's so easy to embrace but then it comes...the realization that you aren't meant to see it all. Ache comes with that thought but the flipside is even more horrific and a broader purpose about life comes into focus.

I was never one of those people who thought that the reason I existed was to pass on my genes into future generations. We all know those people who have such an intense desire to be a parent. They even strive forward with modern medicine when nature holds them back. The entire purpose of their lives are bent on having that child, come hell or high water. That was never me or Xtimu and we didn't decide to have kids because we couldn't imagine a life without them. In fact, it wasn't until a couple of months before Lucas was conceived did the concept of children even dawn upon our consciousness. We were fortunate, he came almost immediately and Quinn was a complete surprise. But, after saying all of that, we are so happy with them that now, as we look back, it does seem impossible to imagine a life without them.

Sometimes, when I look at Quinn I'm almost stunned by how much she looks like me. It's a strange and wonderful feeling to look into the eyes of your child and see yourself. Yet, she has a sharpness in her intense gaze and an awareness that is so foreign from who I am. These little people are so magical and filled with delight that a veil of amnesia falls over my eyes. I feel that the reason I am alive was to give these two amazing beings life. They were my purpose.

I don't know if that's egomaniacal or delusional or simply hopeful but it's hard to look at it any other way. That doesn't mean that my life is complete now and I can go to my grave happy or anything like that. I know that there's so much work in order to help them deal with the world and to teach them how to create value. Because even though I know that my children are special and just by having them that I have provided something valuable to life, I also understand that we all have other reasons for being here. In my small way I'm trying to find a purpose right here in these pages.

I think that it's impossible for our lives to be meaningless. No matter how much people sit on their asses or suck out the marrow from other people's bones, there is no void. All of us have a space to fill and that tiny speck in this broad universe has some sort of meaning. It's so wonderful to grasp at the design that swirls around us with eagerness and lust. There's so much joy in witnessing the laugh upon your friends faces, to be a part of something that lasts beyond the little bit that you gave. It's pure bliss to feel the sun on your face and appreciate the thoughts that light up in your mind because of it. It's an absolute pleasure to share time with everyone around us, to interact in a semblance of civilized wonder.

And spending a selfless moment with your child is one of the most transcending experiences of our human existence. Each and every one of us is blessed with an awareness that makes us unique and precious. I'm so glad that I get to have these moments. Quinn allows me to feel that appreciation. So does Lucas and my beautiful wife and my friends and family and everyone else out there. I wouldn't exist without all of you.

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