It would be extremely comforting to believe in heaven or reincarnation - not only for the obvious reasons but to satisfy my craving for order and justice in an otherwise chaotic universe. If the Christian version of heaven exists, that means good people are entitled to what sounds like a beachside vacation for the rest of eternity. All the days you suffer, all the sacrifices you make, all the terrible things that may befall you, they're negated by an infinite paradise.
Unfortunately, the concept crumbles upon the most cursory inspection. First, heaven isn't really discussed in the source material. There are references to heaven in the Old and New Testament, but details are scant. Any preacher who claims to know what heaven's like is not basing it on anything you'll find in the Bible - unless they describe it as an endless worshipping of God. That's in Revelations. Second, supposing heaven is what Christians generally imagine it to be, how does it work? Are you grouped into family units? Do you shack up with your first, second, or third spouse? Does it really last for eternity? Do you grow, learn, change, in all that time? What do you do all day? Praise God? That sounds exhausting.
And, of course, if heaven exists, then hell does, too. And while I can certainly imagine crimes that deserve punishment for eternity, I can't imagine most do.
Despite my disbelief, I don't begrudge anyone their faith in an afterlife or deity. I don't know where the truth lies, and I remember how good being Christian made me feel. There's a security to it - dare I say, a righteousness to it. My own issues with faith are just that: My own.
(I don't much cotton to folks who insist others conform to their personal beliefs, though. There's too much shit we have to deal with in this life to go picking fights over a theoretical afterlife, is my two cents.)
And then there's reincarnation, an idea I enjoy quite a bit, but whose end point is basically the same as no belief at all: Leaving the ego behind to join the oneness of the universe. Whether you believe there's some cosmic significance to all of this or you don't, both reincarnation and atheism require an acceptance of nonexistence.
My phone fell into the sink immediately after taking this picture. I assume in protest.
I like existing.
It is distressing to consider how much cosmic time elapsed before I did exist, and how much will enfold after I do. From day to day, and sometimes minute to minute, I vacillate between reveling in and despairing of this fact. How lucky I am to be a part of the universe that recognizes itself as a single, thinking thing. And how terrible it is to contemplate my insignificance.
And then we can get real scientific about it and wonder how much of me is really me, and how much a series of chemical reactions that produce a "personality" to pass on my genes.
It is because of this mindfuckery that writing has always mattered to me. If you can write well, you can communicate how you feel at any given moment, and if you can communicate to someone else, tell a story or lay bare your soul, then both the writer and the reader don't feel so alone.
Existence is tricky for all of the reasons I've mentioned above. I don't have the answers to any of the big questions. All I can do is tell you how I feel about them. If I can also turn that into an engaging story, I think we both get something out of the exchange.
Writing and acting are similar because they both require vanity. No matter how humble the actor or writer, they must feel at some level that they can communicate better than those around them - otherwise they wouldn't try. I have been both, so I can make this sweeping statement. And to those who say they write or act for the sheer joy of it, I contend that joy is rooted in the belief that your existence matters.
Vanity, or pride, is one of the seven deadly sins, according to Christian tradition (though not explicitly according to the Bible). I think it's good, in a reasonable proportion. I think all the sins are good, so long as you don't let them carry you away.
Where is the enjoyment of physical love without lust?
What is gluttony but a willingness to indulge yourself when no one else can?
What is greed but a hunger for more?
Sloth is an essential vice, because no human can function at peak efficiency forever.
Wrath is passion, and has motivated some of the most beautiful - as well as brutal - acts in history.
A life without envy would be sweeter, I admit, but without it we'd languish as a species.
And then there's pride, the secret sauce to doing a job well.
Perhaps there are select mutants who possess no ego and can function merely as servants of the greater good, and I salute them. Most of us aren't so pure. Pride, like all seven deadlies, gets a bad rap, because too much of it can make you a monster. But you do need a little sin to survive.
My vanity is not limited to my writing. The good lord knows I needed more than a quaint turn of phrase to intrigue romantic suitors and win friends. Good grooming and exercise do wonders for one’s self-confidence, and help carry the weight of all this pretentious loquacity.
The 21st century talks a good game about self-love, self-actualization, making time for oneself, etc. Maybe that's different from vanity, or maybe it's dressing it up so we don't feel guilty about taking pride in our work, appearance, or private desires. Regarding my literary attempts to outlive my own life, or even shaving my head, vanity is a sin I freely own up to.
It is vanity to write these words instead of keeping them to myself. I want these words to mean something to you, to capture you, to make you feel, too. Forging that connection between us means neither of us is alone in this strange journey from and into darkness. Yes, I am vain to think any of this matters to the cosmos. I enjoy feeling like I do.
(Though not as much as I enjoyed a full head of hair.)