We are Not Tralfamadorians: On Celebrating Life

Life seems so simple at the surface level. You're living it right now, probably lost in the minutiae of your daily routine. You more than likely spend some portion of time every so often to consider your broader goals for the future or to look back on your past with a bit of regret or nostalgia. With every second that ticks by, present becomes past and future turns slowly into present. Somewhere in the twisting, we exist.

I've always appreciated Kurt Vonnegut's epic tale, Slaughterhouse Five, for its brilliant blend of history, social critique and science fiction. In his book, on top of addressing the hefty issues of the fire bombing of Dresden and the effects of war on the warrior, Vonnegut details a race of people from the planet of Tralfamador. Tralfamadorians are a race apart from humans in that they have no conceptualization of and are not affected by time. They can jump through time and exist in the past, present and future simultaneously. While their lives are ending, they are also just beginning. As Vonnegut explains, Tralfamadorians do not worry when their friends and family become sick because they know that he or she is in a better place at the same time. Because they can jump through time, Tralfamadorians don't have to be concerned about their present.

But we are not Tralfamadorians. As much as my nostalgic mind gets stuck in vivid memories of times past, I cannot ever jump back to or relive those moments. I exist now. I might exist later. I am not privy to the plans for my life, and neither is any other living being.

I imagine that all humans have this slightly upsetting realization at some point. I remember first running head-on into that depressing reality when I was around four or five. After my tuck-in and nightly story, I would fall asleep. At some point, I would wake up, and in the blackness, I would think about what came after life, and what I would do if members of my immediate family passed away. This, understandably, didn't have any easy solution. I obsessed about those thoughts, wearing circles of failing rationalizations into my mind until I made myself so upset that I started crying and screaming. If that didn't do the trick, I would run down the hallway into my parents' room and beg my mom to climb into bed with me. She would sit with me and scratch my back until I fell back asleep, but that wasn't always a short process. Sometimes, she'd have to sleep in my bed. But having her there in my present made me temporarily stop worrying about the future, so I would finally fall asleep.

With time, that worry has never gone away; it simply becomes dormant for a time.  I still have these thoughts at night if I let my mind wander too far. I guard against that with a number of silly tricks. I work myself into a frenzy during the day so that I have no other option but to sleep come ten o'clock. If that doesn't do the trick, I read something absorbing until my eyes become heavy and I find I've read the same paragraph three times over without understanding the words. Then, I quickly slide a bookmark between the pages, switch out the light and glue my eyes shut, praying that I will fall immediately asleep and not be plagued by any more worries.

With getting older and becoming better aware, I've found that knowing everyone I love is, and I myself am, here for a limited amount of time doesn't always have to be an uncomfortable burden. It can be a relief to remember that we're here for the short-term, and that the next time you see your loved one could also be your last. When I'm being particularly thoughtful, I think of this as a constant reminder to live better, celebrate more.

Who you are will dictate how you celebrate. I love to cook, so most of the time, my life celebrations involve food. If you look at my calendars, they are peppered with silly anniversaries that I force my husband to celebrate. The one-year anniversary of the day we closed on our house was celebrated with a special dinner.  On our two-week wedding anniversary, we cracked open a bottle of 1984 Moet and Chandon that was older than either of us. To celebrate having family members and friends together in one place, I like to cook unhealthy meals (both in size and calorie count), which I pair with good wine. I lay everything out over wedding china and a nice tablecloth. I loathe the idea of saving things for special occasions. Every day is a special occasion. Life itself is a special occasion.

All around, we get stuck in the doldrums of day-to-day life. We have ramen for dinner, or spend all evening entranced by the television because we don't have the energy to do anything more. We text instead of talking, and we forget about just how lucky we are to simply be. Every time we let that happen, we let the joy slip through our fingers instead of grabbing on. Since we never know when that existence is going to get taken from us, I hope that while we all have the chance, we spend more time celebrating life with the people we love.