A good while back I received a curious note from a stranger named James, inviting me to be part of a project he had begun a few years before, when he was living in a caravan feeling down on his luck. James had started wondering what the point of everything was, and on a whim (and inspired by a similar project by Will Durant from the 1930s) started writing letters to all kinds of people – astronauts, prime ministers, artists, neuroscientists and so on – asking them one question: What is the meaning of life?
He was writing to me to ask if I’d like to offer my own response. To be honest, James had me at ‘letters’. I went for a very long walk, thought of my answer, sent it off, and forgot all about it.
The other day there was a knock at my door, and the postman handed me a yellow padded envelope, heavy with the weight of a hardback filled with substantial ideas. The Meaning of Life: Letters from Extraordinary People and their Answer to Life’s Biggest Question had been published, and James had sent me a copy. It was a solid, important-looking tome, covered in the names of famous people who had also responded to James’s invitation. Ahh, he sent me a copy as a consolation prize for not having made the cut, that doubting voice in my head was quick to say, but I gladly received it anyway, always happy for book mail. I turned to the Contents page to see who else James had managed to intrigue with his question. It listed all the contributors, starting with Scientists & Environmentalists (like Dr Jane Goodall, astronaut Helen Sharman, and founder of The Eden Project, Sir Tim Smit), and including people from all backgrounds including Survivors & Campaigners (like Simon Weston, Sir Terry Waite and Chris Moon), Athletes & Adventurers (such as Dame Ellen MacArthur and Sir Ranulph Fiennes), Artists & Entertainers (like Joan Armatrading and Glastonbury founder Sir Michael Eavis), Political, Religious & Business Leaders (including a prime minister, a former Archbishop and an American President) and so on.
I was curious about the Writers section of course, having been asked to submit something but not actually expecting my name to be there. And just as I had expected, it wasn’t. But the names of some of my favourites were, including the likes of Pico Iyer, Jodi Picoult, Rupi Kaur, Dame Hilary Mantel and co-founder of Lonely Planet Tony Wheeler, so I poured myself a cup of tea and sat down to read.
Hours went by as I witnessed all these minds reflecting on their lives, and trying to extract words to articulate what it all means. I made notes, stuck Post-It Notes on the pages, and then, when I got to page 352, I spat out my tea.
There was my name, and the piece I had written all that time ago, and sent off to James, grateful for the opportunity to ponder this magnificent question. But my piece wasn’t in the Writers section, which was why I had missed it. It was in the Thinkers, Philosophers and Futurists section. I was floored. Since my late teens I have been fascinated by philosophy, drawn to the work of deep thinkers, and I spend much of my time pondering what will become of this world, but in all that time I have never given such a label to myself. I kind of like it.
But if writing and philosophising and thinking – about the past, present and future – has led me to realise one thing, it’s that the labels we cling to, or covet, or parade around, really are of no consequence in the grand scheme of things.
Sometimes the wearing and owning of a label helps us step forward in the direction of our dreams, giving us an identity to hold on to (to steady ourselves as we step into the unknown, perhaps).
Sometimes it helps others to get a sense of what we have done with our lives, what we enjoy, or have experience at, and that can be a doorway.
Sometimes the label gives a sense of meaning to our individual lives, but it is wholly unconnected to the meaning of life itself.
Any identity is a construct of the ego, just as fear is. I always think that if claiming a specific identity helps you make time for it, and draws others towards you in a meaningful way, then sure, wear your badge with pride. I happily say that I am a writer – and now I might even describe myself as a thinker, a philosopher or a futurist (thank you James!) – But we don’t really need any label at all.
We just need to do the thing – to write, to create, to sing, to connect, to philosophise, to love, to live fully, pondering questions like this, while we can. […continued]
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Click here to read the rest of this essay, see some peeks into the book and find out what I wrote in response to the question What is the meaning of life?
