Further Ruminations on the Meaning of Life

Aweh dearly beloved fellow ruminants & groupies

Let’s talk about the meaning of life again. Not the Monty Python version, although it might be closer to the truth than most philosophical treatises. This profound question has baffled sages, mystics, and drunkards at 3 AM for centuries. So, naturally, who better to tackle it than a half-baked academic with a penchant for irreverence, profanity, and a blog named after a bovine digestive process? The fun thing about being a blogger is you can write about whatever the fuck you want.

Why do I blog? Partly to rage against the absurdity of it all and partly to connect with you, my readers. It’s my way of screaming into the abyss and hoping someone screams back. In a world that’s increasingly disconnected, these digital connections matter and provide meaning.

Growing up, society hammered into us the notion of a linear, purpose-driven life. You know the drill: get an education, snag a job, find a partner, have children, and eventually retire to shout at kids to get off your lawn. But as someone who’s zigzagged through academia and the petrochemical industry, I’ve realised these milestones are about as useful as a vuvuzela at a silent retreat when it comes to defining life’s meaning.

We spend our lives chasing goals, accumulating stuff, and trying to make sense of this chaotic existence. Then, one day, you get stung by a bee, and bam you are unconscious and wake up in the emergency room. What does this mean?

Certainty is a comforting illusion, much like expecting a Joburg taxi to indicate before changing lanes.  The more we learn about the universe, the more we realise we’re like ants trying to understand quantum physics. It’s not that life is meaningless; it’s just that the meaning isn’t as straightforward as we’d like to believe. David Graeber’s “bullshit jobs” theory, where many people feel their work is pointless, hits the nail on the head. If even our jobs don’t make sense, how can we expect life to?

But let’s get real for a second. While some of us are busy navel-gazing and pondering the cosmic absurdity of our lives, a huge chunk of South Africa is just trying to figure out how to put food on the table tonight. Waxing philosophical about the pointlessness of work and life is a luxury for those who don’t have to worry about where their next meal is coming from. In a place where inequality snotklaps you in the face like a Bo-Kaap tannie, the whole “my job is so meaningless” schtick sounds like the whiny grumblings of someone who doesn’t know how good they’ve got it. Let’s face it, for most people, the luxury to even complain about work being “bullshit” is itself a self-indulgent privilege—one that doesn’t come close to the urgent, gritty reality of just trying to survive.

Remember, dearly beloved readers, life is messy. Get used to it. And while you’re at it, find your own meaning. Whether it’s in family, work, hobbies, or simply enjoying a good cup of coffee, make it count.

I find meaning in obscure things. Getting beaten again by John at our local chess club. John’s considerable expertise at chess is only surpassed by his vast knowledge of the most extreme and bizarre conspiracy theories on the planet. My life’s meaning would be greatly diminished without being reminded by John that the world is controlled by a mysterious elite and that birds aren’t real but are surveillance drones controlled by this elite. What would life be without conspiracy theories?

Continuing with the theme of obscure things.  In the Coen brother’s movie “A Serious Man” there is a memorable and puzzling scene involving a man with numbers inscribed on his teeth. This scene occurs during a story recounted by Rabbi Nachtner to the protagonist, Larry Gopnik. In the story, a dentist named Dr. Sussman discovers mysterious Hebrew letters engraved in the teeth of a non-Jewish (goy) patient, which translates to “Help me, save me.” This discovery throws Sussman into a state of existential anxiety as he tries to decipher the meaning of the message and its implications. The Coens use this story to highlight the absurdity and uncertainty of life. The story remains unresolved, much like many of the film’s other plot points, reinforcing the theme that not all questions have clear answers.

Is there a hidden meaning in a potato shaped like Elvis or stumbling upon a park bench with a plaque that reads, “In memory of something that didn’t happen”? Is this evidence of a secret power behind the scenes?

I warned you that as a blogger that I can write whatever the fuck I want, and I hope I have delivered on my promise while talking a lot of shit.  But now let me provide you with the correct answer.

Remember that the ultimate answer to life, the universe, and everything is 42 Well, maybe Douglas Adams was onto something. The point is, that there isn’t a singular, definitive answer. The meaning of life is whatever you make of it. It’s in the experiences you cherish, the relationships you nurture, and the small moments of joy you find in the everyday. It’s subjective, fluid, and deeply personal.

Thank you for all the recommendations, comments, and the love that I feel in cyberspace.

Regards

Bruce