We typically don’t stop to ask about the nature of meaning in our lives until there is a dissolution of meaning. Most of us build a life we desire, hoping that adversity won’t lead to the loss of what we’ve created. It’s often some loss that reminds us of where our meaning lived. A crisis of meaning has the power to point out what really mattered.
I’ve worked with numerous clients discovering meaning in the midst of a crisis of meaning. Here are some examples:
- Pete attended a men’s weekend retreat, which his wife Kate encouraged. He believed the weekend would strengthen his marriage. Upon arriving home, he finds a note informing him that his wife has moved out to live with his best friend, Andrew.
- Philip was driving home with his son Colin from a visit to the university that Colin is scheduled to attend in the fall. A head-on collision results in Philip being in the ICU and Colin being dead.
- Marlene awakened to find her husband’s motionless body due to a fatal heart attack. Marlene is left to parent three sons, ages 4, 6, and 10.
Pete, Philip, and Marlene faced significant loss and with it, a crisis of meaning. The existential psychotherapist Irvin Yalom suggests that such a crisis is driven by four questions: How much of my lived experience is actually in my control? Why am I here? Do I matter? Given the inevitability of death, can life have any real meaning? Of course, these questions are commonly accompanied by emotions such as anguish, anger, hopelessness, sadness, and despair. If a person translates the questions into statements, the emotional weight may be heavier. I don’t matter, I have no purpose, life is completely out of my control, and death dismisses life from having any real meaning. Such statements may warrant seeking professional support.
Pete anchored his therapy in the question of: How much control of my life do I actually have? Pete’s concern stemmed from feeling betrayed by his wife and by life—a betrayal he felt he had no control over. After considerable therapeutic work, Pete’s anger began to subside. He also realized that prior to being betrayed, he lived with a measure of magical thinking. All he had to do was be a good guy, honest, kind, and helpful, and then only good things would happen to him. As he was willing to let go of magical thinking, he prepared to forgive life, which had him moving through his crisis of meaning.
Philip’s crisis was energized by the question: Why am I here? Following Colin’s death, Philip could not imagine a life with purpose. Philip’s grief carried a heavy weight of sadness with a measure of depression. His only life-affirming activity was taking long bike rides. It soon became clear that he and his son often biked together. I suggested he might be hanging onto Colin as he bicycled. I encouraged him to build a small altar in his home, where he could sit each day for 20 minutes to honor who Colin was and who he was as Colin’s father, as that was also dying. Philip remained committed to the vigil he performed each day at his altar. He had that much purpose. Finally, he looked at me and said, “I realize that Colin’s younger sister is my purpose—to father her the best I can.”
Marlene’s crisis sat firmly on: If death is this unpredictable and inevitable, how can life possibly have any meaning? Marlene felt deeply hopeless and lost. She was so emotionally contracted that she was not allowing friends and relatives to support her. I suggested she may not be ready to receive help, but her boys might be. She appeared ready to allow folks whom she trusted to support her sons. She felt grateful for the generous support given to her boys. Her gratitude opened her heart and her vision. She began a session with, “I’ve been blaming death for taking away the meaning of my life. I realize how much my compulsion to be busy has vaulted me into the future, compromising being present. The meaning of my life has been waiting for me to reclaim it.”
Meaning-Makers
Pete, Philip, and Marlene are much like the rest of us, finding meaning in the midst of meaninglessness. We won’t be able to eliminate the psychic blow of tragedy or loss. But we can live closer to the questions that create meaning. As meaning-makers, we can create meaning without waiting for a crisis of meaning.
“How much of my life is actually in my control?” The more we entertain this question, the more opportunity we have to refine living on life’s terms. I recommend considering living by the Serenity Prayer: “Grant me the serenity to accept the things that I can’t change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”
“Why am I here?” It’s a great question to ponder, rather than trying to answer it urgently. It’s too easy to fall prey to scrambling for a purpose. It’s like scrambling for true love. It’s too much scrambling. It serves us to be receptive to a purpose or a calling. If we pay attention, life has a way of being informative.
“Do I matter?” Whenever we are faced with too much unknown, we default to this question or decide that we don’t matter. We don’t have to wait for a crisis of meaning to renew the truth that we do matter. I’ve come to believe in the power of humility as the best way to confirm that we matter. We commit to accepting our strengths and our shortcomings.
“Does the inevitability of death dismiss the possibility of life having meaning?” This question is asking us to make peace with death. One way is Marlene’s method of taking responsibility for how she compromised life’s meaning. Another way is to live from gratitude for all you’ve been given.
