Accepting The Transitory Nature of Life
Tags: Reflections, Life Lessons, Happiness, Mindfulness, Philosophy

Accepting The Transitory Nature of Life

The life lesson I learned while having to say goodbye to my favorite place on Earth

Photo by Juan Davila on Unsplash

A few weeks ago, I had to say goodbye to my favorite place on Earth — my family’s cottage of 23 years.

Saying goodbye to a property is nothing new for me, as my life has been in transit for as long as I can remember. Since early childhood, it seems like I have been experiencing one seemingly endless move.

I have lived in a range of different houses, apartments, cottages, and dorms. I have lived in many different cities, small towns, and suburbs. In the last year alone, I have lived in 5 different properties across 4 cities. It’s a good thing I invested in a sturdy suitcase, as it never seems to catch a break.

I do not share this to express grief or sadness. This transitory characteristic of my life has always been present; it is neither good nor bad, it simply just is. That is why saying goodbye to these many different places has never been difficult — until now.

Although I have said goodbye to many houses, this was the first time I have ever had to say goodbye to a home.

My home

My parents’ cottage has been the most consistent location in my life. It is where I spent the vast majority of my upbringing, being a part of my life for 23 of 27 years. No other dwelling I have stepped foot in even compares to that duration. No other dwelling I have lived I have ever wholeheartedly considered a home.

My home was beautiful. From the glistening bay waters, the fostering trees, the lake lapping loving loons, to the mesmerizing stars in the night’s sky; I could write a whole blog post solely on the detail of how beautiful it was, but for today I’ll spare the word count.

My parent’s cottage was my favorite place on this planet. It was my home. It helped me transform into who I am today.

A Transformation

When I first arrived, I was a small child — a small child who was lost in the world, uncertain of himself, and confused by the hardships around him.

As I leave, I am a man — a man who understands himself, is fit for service, and is ready to venture out into the world and affect change.

My home fostered a great transformation.

I grew up there; my home nurtured me.

I learned there; my home was a school, a great teacher, and a wise elder.

I gained peace there; my home was a place of communion.

I was safe there; my home was a stronghold, a sanctuary.

I developed and strengthened bonds there; my home was a place of gathering, a great hall, a fire circle, and an amphitheater.

I fell in love with the first love of my life there; my home was a fairy tale, the Feywild, and my own Garden of Eden.

My home gave me so much.

Holiday weekends, jumping into piles of leaves, skating on the lake, tobogganing, campfires, roasting s’mores, playing hide and seek in the woods, kayaking, canoeing, laughing, thanksgiving dinners, meditating, sandcastles, sunburns, writing, mosquito bites, reading, jumping off the dock, fishing, water-sports, late-night swims, lawn games, rainy movie days, The Goonies on VHS, ghost stories, quality time with friends and family.

I am so thankful.

Though I must admit, this process of saying goodbye has me feeling down. I have grown such a strong bond with this place, that its very existence is intertwined with my identity. Thus, having to say goodbye to it, is like having to say goodbye to a part of myself — which is what is so difficult.

Despite being on the next stage of my journey — currently living 4000 kilometres away from the cottage, and only having the rare opportunity to go there — there is a part of me that is hesitant to let it go. There is a selfish part of me, an ego-derived part, that wants this place to remain mine forever.

“Mine forever.“

Isn’t that where so much of our own misery stems from: those two words, “Mine” and “Forever”. Two words that allude to two false ideas embraced by the human ego: ownership (mine) and permanence (forever).

Neither of those ideas exists.

We as humans have fabricated those ideas as a way to contend with one of the great uncomfortable truths of reality: that life is inherently transitory and nothing is ever permanently ours.

In my opinion, the idea of permanence and ownership are silly when you think about them. Nothing is permanent, and we really own nothing at all. Everything is temporary, and everything is borrowed.

With time things are always changing, expanding and dissipating. Our meticulously built sandcastles wash away with each passing wave. The trees decay into the soil. The town becomes that of ghosts when the gold veins become empty. Our great passing heroes become relegated to books and then eventually myth. The stars explode in supernova to become the space dust. This is the thermodynamic principle of entropy applying itself — the gradual decline of order — and physics has a persistent way of not compromising.

Therefore we must accept this passing, this transitory quality of life. That all that is made will become unmade. That all that is ours will not be that way forever.

No matter the possession, whether the clothing you wear, the screen you are currently reading this post off of, the dwelling you reside, the seat in which you sit, or the body you occupy — all of these things are temporary. They are a mere temporary manifested arrangement of molecules. These molecules will not belong to us forever and — with entropy — the possessions they arrange themselves into will eventually become unmade.

The lesson I have learned upon this reflection is that as much as I may wish for something — perhaps my home — to be “mine forever”, the fundamental properties of physics simply will not grant my wish. Therefore, to be happy, it is better to accept this transitory nature of the universe instead of resisting it.

It is better to accept that the things that I consider my “possessions” are merely manifested objects that are here to serve me only for a time. That eventually they will serve some other.

My home was no different.

To Serve Another

My home served my life greatly, but only for a time.

It was there for that small, 5-year-old child who needed it. However, that small child no longer exists. That small child has grown into a man. A man who is strong, grounded and guided — a man who does not need it.

Its time for it to nurture another, to teach another, to provide peace and safety for another. Its time for it to strengthen the bonds of others, to provide a space for others to laugh and to love.

I have accepted that its time to say goodbye. It is time to move on. Its time to let go, as the longer I hold on to it, the longer I deny someone else its gifts.

Soon, what was once my home will come into someone else’s life at their time of need, just as it did mine. Soon, the arrangement of molecules that served me will serve another.

Soon after that, what was once my home and the home of future others, will eventually be claimed by entropy. In time, those molecules that made up my home will ultimately belong again to the worms and to the trees. And I have made peace with that.

Today I say goodbye to my favorite place on Earth.

Today I accept the transitory nature of life.

Today I surrender to entropy.

Most importantly, today I say thank you to my home — the arrangement of molecules in a speck of time that gave me so much and made me who I am.

Thank you.

bravenewmatt