The Beauty of Impermanence
My grandpa died a few days ago. While Alzheimer’s is a nasty foe, his passing was essentially the best case scenario: he was 88 years old and surrounded by people he loved. That’s the goal.
Over the last few days, kind words have been written about Tom Griffith by various people who knew him. There is a common theme: he lived a beautiful life. Indeed, I am proud to be his grandson.
Of course, my grandpa is not the only human being to live a beautiful life. In one way or another, each human life is stunning. Since the moment we are born, our life is revered. We are cared for. Unlike some other animals that have longer gestation periods, baby humans are exceptionally fragile. Adult humans aren’t much better. Any of us could die at the drop of a hat — that’s part of what makes each life so precious.
As we grow older and become entrenched in routines, we seek out stability and consistency. As we become accustomed to our surroundings, we gradually stop thinking. This is natural. Our brains are wired to go on autopilot when we are carrying out habitual activities. However, when we are merely going through the motions, we start to forget about how impermanent everything truly is. We forget its beauty.
Nobody has lived forever. No dog. No flower. No relationship. No civilization. Everything will perish at some point or another, after which its elements will be re-purposed to create something new. You could choose to despair when confronted with this news. Why love anything at all if it will eventually meet its destruction? I argue that we should take the opposing view. The eventual loss of that which we love only makes the affection stronger. By knowing that we will not have access to something forever, we appreciate it that much more. If everything lasted forever, we could take everything for granted. But nothing lasts forever. Don’t take anything for granted.
A year and a half ago I learned that I have a stupid genetic condition that is going to cause substantial vision loss when I get older. This was not my favorite news. However, with 100% honesty I can truly say that I am thankful for the diagnosis. Two years ago I was rocketing through life without stopping to smell the roses. I didn’t even know the roses were there. The potential impermanence of my visual field has opened my eyes. I see more clearly now. When I see a reflection of mountains in a lake, I stop to take a look. If I want to stay just a second longer to catch the sunset, I make the time. When I see someone I love, I’m sure to be present and give them the attention they deserve. The glaciers might not be there tomorrow. I might not be there tomorrow. Better to take the time to recognize the beauty while we can.
When we recognize that the ephemeral nature of everything around us is the source of its beauty, we need not spend our energy focusing on its eventual loss. We humans are always afraid of losing things. I always used to enjoy the period leading up to a vacation more than the vacation itself. Once I reached day four of a ten-day trip, the necessity to return to real life would insidiously creep its way into my consciousness. I would be somewhere gorgeous yet happiness eluded me because I was worried about the loss of the vacation. This is ridiculous, yet common. Instead of preoccupying ourselves with the impermanence of our getaway, we should be present in the moment. The temporary nature of the trip is the source of its beauty. If vacation lasted forever, it wouldn’t be vacation.
When I heard that my grandpa passed away, I was sad. I was sad for my amazing grandma who lovingly cared for him up until the last minute. I was sad for my incredible mother who has been so strong throughout the last few years, frequently traveling from Seattle to Eugene to be there for her parents. I was sad because the world lost a good man. Yet I can’t help but think that the impermanence of his long life is a source of its beauty. From his childhood in Iowa to his last days in Oregon, his life could have ended at any point. The good news is that his existence carried on to perform beautiful deeds for many decades. He touched lives. He created life.
Eventually, each of our grandparents will die. Our parents will die. We will die. Some will make it to 88, and others will only make it a few days. Life is short, but that’s what makes it beautiful. By recognizing the impermanence of everything around us, we grow to appreciate with an increased enthusiasm. The love is ever more pure when we know it can’t last forever — we love anyways. It’s the human thing to do. We must be thankful for every opportunity to travel to a new land, mindful of every splash of sunlight that dances upon our retinas, and grateful for every human being that touches our souls. It won’t last forever, and that’s why it’s beautiful.
The Beauty of Impermanence
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