Have you ever thought about why it’s so important to you that your life matters? If you consider how much time you spend thinking about this you’d quickly conclude that I’m right on this one.
You want your life to matter. You can admit it. No shame in that. I want my life to matter and I don’t mind saying so. As a result I spend a good amount of time pursuing that. I pursue it with my wife and our children. I pursue it with the business. I pursue it through the church family I’m a part of.
I want to matter. I believe it’s important. I believe you don’t need to think it’s important for me to think it’s important. I still think that you think it’s important too, though.
I’m right, aren’t I?
I don’t even need to know why you think it’s important to matter. Neither do you. You just need to have that feeling you get when you know someone’s right and you’re not sure you want to accept it. If you have that feeling than I’m right. If you don’t then..
Yes, I find this interesting. I understand how perhaps this isn’t tantalizing to hear. It’s just that sometimes people relate to this like it’s a bad thing to want to matter. Like it’s universally wrong somehow to have this feeling and still think it’s possible that this whole thing – you, me, the universe – isn’t random. In researching this I came across a website dedicated to people telling stories about why their life sucks. This is a real thing. One woman was complaining about the hard circumstances of her life. Single mom with PTSD. She gives everything to everyone else (her family, community, etc.) but has no one looking out for her or showing her affection. She even says she feels like she doesn’t matter. The name of the website is imatternot.com. Now there’s a name.
Please read this next part carefully.
This woman is saying that she believes it’s important to matter but that she doesn’t to those that matter to her. As I read her words I began to feel their weight. This woman is hurting. She also sees herself as a victim. That compounds the hurt.
If all this is random then I would find that to be a truly depressing revelation. That just wouldn’t make sense to me.
I realize there are some who would remind me at this point that my need for things to make sense is a coping mechanism. Cognitive dissonance is too mighty to overcome therefore I convince myself that the universe has to make sense and that I must matter so that I can get through the day. That’s some pretty heavy stuff.
Then again, maybe we want things to make sense because they’re supposed to.
What do you think?
