Searching for the Meaning of Life

I couldn’t sleep the other night, I lay awake in bed,

With thoughts about the meaning of life running through my head.

I went over to the window and looked into the night,

I saw a million twinkling stars, it was an awesome sight.

I got quite excited, and I began to shout,

“What are we all doing here, and what’s it all about.”

A voice came back with the answer, and this is what it said,

“It’s none of your fucking business.” So I got back into bed.

I wrote the above song lyrics some years ago. It sums up my thoughts about the meaning of life. I try not to take life too seriously, or rather try not to take my own life too serious. Why does life have to have a meaning anyway? Is it not more important to live a life that has meaning?”

What is life? Life is anything that dies if you stomp on it. A tiny ant crawling across our kitchen counter has life until we crush it under our thumb. Life is what keeps meat fresh without refrigeration. The moment life leaves any living entity, be it plant or animal, it will start to rot and decay.

One might as well ask, “Where does fire go when it goes out.” A candle will burn until the wick is totally consumed, and the flame will go out. However, if I light another candle from the first candle I have the same flame that in theory could burn indefinitely, as long as someone keeps lighting a new candle from the same flame.

Likewise my mother created me, (With a little help from my dad) a new life from her life. I share DNA from both parents. When their candle burned out the same flame of life continues to burn in me, and will do so long after I’m gone. It will continue through my children, grandchildren, and so on.  

Life is my belief system. I do not need to believe in some Deity or other which may or may not exist, rather I know there is Life, because I have Life, plus I can see it in abundance everywhere.

There’s a small change in perception between Heaven and Hell,

And I’ve found a God that I can trust, the one within myself.

The above are more lyrics. Heaven and Hell are not necessarily where we go when we die, but what we create for ourselves here on Earth. I have met many people over the years whose lives are a “Living Hell.” Created mostly by their own negative thoughts and actions.  Even Shakespeare said, “Nothing is good or bad that thinking makes it so.”

The God within myself is of course “My Life,” as previously explained. Time and time again I have seen a positive thought result in a positive outcome. Bad thoughts will result in a negative outcome too, proving to myself it works either way.  It is not necessary I prove it to others, only to myself.

Another man praying to his God may have the exact same outcome, because what is a prayer but a positive thought? And a positive thought is but an unspoken prayer.

I love to watch nature programs on TV, and in doing so it seems to me that the main purpose in life is to survive and procreate. Thus ensuring that life continues. Humankind however has the brain capacity to go way beyond simply survive and procreate.

It would seem the noble thing to do is to do something that is of benefit to others. However, there are those who went before us who did just that and in doing so created an industrialized world, one from which we can never return.

I sometimes wonder if the honorable thing to do is to simply survive and procreate. Providing of course that person lives a happy existence, and raises children who are themselves happy and stable. And as long as on his journey through life, he harms no one.

The world would be in a better state today if more people had been left to do just, instead of being encouraged to get ahead, make more, and buy more stuff.

But now I am thinking too much, which is mankind’s downfall. Occasionally someone will have an idea like sliced bread, but mostly it is a series of "It seemed like a good idea at the time," all strung together. We can never see the problems we cause further down the road.

But then again, probably it's none of my business.

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Perfectionism

Sometimes a person will say to me, “I am a perfectionist.” They say it with pride as if perfectionism is a virtue.

Perfectionism is a curse that will bring nothing but misery to the perfectionist and those around them.

It is a personality trait that goes hand in hand with low self-esteem.

Why? Because one can never achieve perfection, therefore you are always a loser.

My own perfectionism led to my success as a frame builder but self-hatred and anger as a person. My perfectionism was caused by abuse not only from my father but by the British school system, a system that beat down kids, and used sarcasm and ridicule as well as physical abuse. If you have seen the Pink Floyd movie “The Wall” you will know what I mean. That movie touched me deeply and helped me understand later what was going on.

I believe the reason all the great music came out of Britain in the 1960s was because of our childhood during WWII and the school system in place at the time. I was just another child of that era whose creativity went in a different direction. But for the fact my anger was directed towards myself I could have just as easily gone a different direction. Had my anger been directed towards others I could have become a violent criminal as many of my generation did. This forms the basis for my novel Prodigal Child It is a work of fiction, a story of what my life might have been had it taken a different turn early on.

As a child I was never given credit for doing well, only punished for doing wrong. As an adult I continued with the self-punishment if I screwed up and I would not tolerate anything but perfection from myself. This led to success as an artist, but failure in every other aspect of my life. Many times in my early days as a framebuilder I would take a hammer and destroy a frame because of some minor flaw. Afterwards I would sit and cry like a child, then work all night to replace the frame. This was my punishment for screwing up.

By the late 1980s my second marriage failed and I realized I needed to change. I was not always a pleasant person to be around. The sheet rock on the walls of my frame shop was full of the impressions of tools I had thrown across the room in a temper tantrum. The anger was always directed at myself never others, but those around me had to witness and listen to this. I knew I had to change, for my own sake as well as others. I started to look deep within myself to see why I was the way I was.

By the early 1990s the bike business had also changed. Bicycle dealers almost overnight it seemed were switching from road bikes to mountain bikes. By 1993 I knew it was time to leave and there was one incident that I think helped push me over the edge. A customer called me saying his Fuso Lux frame he had bought had a tiny bubble in the Columbus decal. Columbus decals were always a pain because of the material they were made from caused them to bubble when the paint was being baked in the paint oven. This is why you don’t see a Columbus decal on a custom ‘dave moulton’ frame. 

I told the customer to send the frame back. When it arrived the “bubble” in the Columbus decal was buried deep within the clear coats and was so tiny you almost needed a magnifying glass to see it. I stood there looking at it, seething with anger. I had finally come to terms with my own perfectionism, but still had to deal with the perfectionism of others. This customer expected me to repaint this frame and there was no guarantee if I did that the Columbus decal would be any different, and maybe it would be even worse.

The frame was in a vise held across the bottom bracket faces. If a fit of rage I grabbed the head tube and folded the frame in two with the head tube ending up next to the rear drop-outs. This time I did not cry, I did not stay up a night building a replacement. Instead I walked into my office and wrote the customer a check for the full retail value of the frame. I attached the check to the frame with scotch tape, threw it in the box and shipped it back. I never heard from him again.

As well as coming to terms with my perfectionism I realized that all creativity comes from the same source. It is not a right brain, left brain thing, it comes from deep within the artist, his soul or very being. The artist is simply a vehicle through which art appears. Because all art comes from the same source, all art is the same and if I had been successful in one art form, I could do so in another. This is why I was able to leave the bike business and take up writing and songwriting. If I screw up in writing unlike frame building it’s easily fixed in a rewrite.

Writing has been great therapy for me, better to get all this shit out than to hold it inside. Which is exactly what I am doing now so thank you for allowing me to indulge myself.

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Point of View

If there is one thing I learned building bicycle frames, it is that no two people are alike.

If you could assemble a hundred people, all the exact same height, and then further separate into groups those with similar leg length.

You would find within those groups, the thigh, lower leg and foot measurements would all vary.

Even within the same race, people have different facial features, complexions, hair color, etc. When you consider all peoples, the variations are infinite. An individual’s finger prints are unique, and now we know that DNA is too.

Most people accept these differences and seldom question why. Therefore, it really should be no surprise that people’s opinions will vary even more infinitely than our physical differences.

What are opinions but a collection of thoughts, based on our individual beliefs and experiences? Sometimes called a “Point of View,” meaning literally, the world as one individual sees it from where they stand.

No two individuals can have the same view if they stand in different places.

In spite of this we sometimes argue and fight defending our point of view, or try to impose our opinions on others.

We accept every other difference in the human species, why do we expect the thought pattern of others to be in line with ours? We are each a free thinking spirit, and I can’t think of anything more random that a person's thoughts.

Could it be because our opinions are the yardstick by which we view and evaluate the world? It is how we judge situations and other people. Our opinions have been formed largely by our life experiences, our parents, teachers and other pivotal people in our lives.

Our opinions can change over time with changing circumstances, if we find a better one we change it. However, at any given time our opinion is the best it can be. We just can’t understand why anyone would have a different opinion, after all, ours is the best.

It is not the difference of opinion that is wrong, it is the failure to see that the other’s view point is from an entirely different place.

It is the single most cause of conflict between individuals, co-workers, friends, and families. On a larger scale, it is the basic reason nations assemble armies and go to war with each other.

I have found that defending one’s point of view is just a huge waste of time and energy. It achieves little. Rarely does either side move any closer to the other’s way of thinking. Often it drives the two sides further apart

Instead I find it more constructive and fruitful to listen to the other’s opinion. Another’s estimation is often difficult to understand and may even arouse aversion.

But by the simple act of listening I am able to better understand the other's point of view without the obligation that it has to become my point of view. I may not necessarily agree, but I may see the position he is standing that gives him that view.

Just my point of view.

First posted April 2012

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Life’s lessons I learned from my bicycle

Life is a journey. A bike ride if you like, and the joy is in the ride, not the destination.

Each morning I awake is like starting out on a fresh ride, I have a rough idea of what is in store for me on today’s ride.

However, when I actually get out on the road, I know there will be variables. Weather, traffic, mechanical problems, maybe a flat tire.

I do not set out expecting the worst, but I should not be surprised when little setbacks occur. Life is a stream of surprises. The things we like we call "Natural," what we dislike we call "Accidental." In reality it is all natural, all part of life's journey.

I may be riding in rush hour traffic, some are driving in an orderly manner, and others are in a hurry, driving erratically, cutting in front of people. Add to this, hordes of pedestrians on the sidewalk and crossing the street.

It all seems like chaos, when in fact everyone has a destination, they all have individual plans and know where they are going. Life too appears chaotic, but beneath the surface it is not.

The road I travel is the one I choose, although I may need to steer a course around a few obstacles. I have to remind myself, every moment is as it should be.

Attitude is like a bicycle. A good one will make the ride easier and more pleasurable.

When riding my bike it is best that I simply to pay attention observe what is happening and react to situations as they happen. In life bad things happen, there is crime, the economy, various mishaps and misfortunes.

There is no point in dwelling on the negative, because it will only spoil the enjoyment of my ride. It is best that I just ride my bike, observe what is happening, and deal with the problems as they occur.

Like a flat tire, it is not very pleasant at the moment I am dealing with it, however, once fixed I am back enjoying the ride again. Expect the best, but deal with the less than perfect situation as it happens.

Running a business is like a bike race. Or for that matter dealing with a day to day household budget.

My level of fitness is the experience and knowledge I have accumulated over the years. Mistakes I made in the past are like those hard training miles I put in.

The amount of money I have in the bank, or as income, is like the amount of energy I have. Unless I use it wisely I will not last the distance. If I have no plan and I chase every breakaway that goes up the road my energy (Money.) will soon run out.

Riding along in the pack is like being financially comfortable, I am conserving my energy and I am not being wasteful. However, if I want to get ahead I will have expend some of my energy.

Waiting for the right break and seeing that there are other good riders there, is like waiting for the right business opportunity at the right moment.

I make a big effort, spend some of my energy. I may have team members who will help me. These are like valued employees or good friends. If I am successful I will come out ahead and will get my reward.

If I fail I may get caught by the pack and I am at least no worse off than I was before. On the other hand, I may have expended so much energy that I get dropped by the pack and I am now playing catch up.

I am now in debt and the only way to catch up is to put in a super human effort. If I don’t, out here riding alone I am spending more energy than when I was in the pack, just to stay level and possibly falling further behind in spite of it.

The speed, at which I catch up, depends on the effort I put in and whether I have people who drop back to help me catch up.

However, unlike a bike race life is ongoing and the effort I put in while I was “Off the back,” was good training for the future.

I’m sure there are plenty more analogies of life and my bike, they will have to wait for another day as I think of them. In the meantime, perhaps you can expand on mine, or think of new ones.

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In Search of Diamonds

In 1969 in my native England, I had just moved from a large industrial city to the relative peace and tranquility of rural Worcestershire. The move was prompted by a desire to improve the quality of life for my family that included my wife and two small children. This unspoiled West Country area was mainly agricultural and there was very little industry, but I found work with a farmer maintaining and repairing his farm equipment.

Part of the farm included an old abandoned WWII Airfield. The runways were still in place although grass and weeds now grew in the cracks between the concrete. Also in place were the many buildings used during the war. Built with brick with corrugated asbestos roofs, these buildings once served as workshops, offices, and living quarters. One of the buildings was now my repair shop, while others served as parking garages for the tractors and other farm equipment. Some were used for storage but many were empty and lay derelict.

When I first arrived I explored throughout a labyrinth of empty rooms and passageways. Wild blackberry bushes grew around the outside in some cases as high as the buildings. Shutting out light, branches reached in through broken glass in rusting cast-iron window frames, giving this place an eerie atmosphere. I wandered into one room and a startled rat, which in turn startled me as it ran across the floor and leapt through an open window. It was hard to imagine this place as it once was, a hotbed of activity during the war some twenty-five or more years before.

One warm and sunny spring morning I was outside when something caught my eye. Sunlight reflected on something and it sparkled brightly in the brickwork that formed the corner of an empty building. The walls of the buildings were only a single brick wide and a thin layer of cement had been applied to the outside to keep out moisture. With the years of neglect and weathering most of this cement had fallen from the walls. The object reflecting light was lodged in a crack between a remaining piece of cement and the brickwork.

I was intrigued enough to investigate further but a blackberry bush prevented me from getting any closer than eight feet away. I found a heavy wooden plank and laid it across the brambles. Stepping carefully, bouncing on the plank to crush the thorny branches, I reached the corner and looked directly into the crack in the wall.

I could not believe what I was seeing. I closed my eyes tight then opened them wide again. I peered inside the crack with one eye, closing the other against the bright sunlight. My eye was only inches away and I could see the object was a diamond ring. Gold with three large diamonds in a beautiful ornate setting. I reached to retrieve it but stopped immediately as I sized up the situation. At the slightest touch this heavy piece of cement would fall and the ring would be lost in the brambles.

I walked back along the wooden plank and removed it from the bush. I ran inside the building and hitched a tractor to a heavy-duty brush mower. This piece of equipment would clear this blackberry bush in very short order. It was really a two-man job to attach this mower but my adrenaline pumping provided the strength needed.

As I struggled to attach first the drive shaft then the hydraulic lifting arms, I wondered how the ring had got there. Had it been there since the war? Maybe a thief hid it, hoping to retrieve it later. Someone on a bombing mission, not sure if they would return would not want a stolen ring to be found in their personal effects later. Or maybe a woman whose fiancé had been killed came here after the war and left the ring there in some personal ritual of closure.

I suddenly realized the mower was attached and I was standing daydreaming. I leapt into the tractor seat, started the engine and roared out from the building. I swung around the corner and put the tractor in reverse. I lowered the mower, engaged the drive and backed slowly to the wall.

The mower cut a swath through the bush about five feet wide at one pass. I was careful not to hit the wall for fear of dislodging the piece of cement. I pulled forward, then drove the tractor back inside and ran to get hand tools to finish the job. I found a pair of pruning shears, some heavy leather gloves and a rake. I finished clearing the area around the corner of the building, removed the gloves and prepared to retrieve the ring.

My heart was pounding so fast I had to stop and take some deep breaths. Placing my left hand to catch the ring as it fell, I reached up with my right hand to remove the piece of cement. I barely touched it and the ring disappeared in a flash. It was nothing more than a drop of rainwater suspended between the brick and cement.

I stood there feeling very foolish, nature had played a trick on me and I had fallen for it. There was no mistaking, I did see a fine gold and diamond ring. I saw thee large diamonds in a beautiful setting but it was nothing more than a trick of sunlight on a drop of water.

Over the years since this incident I have come to realize a valuable lesson here. So often in my life I pursued something I perceived to be of great value. Some material thing, or maybe a career or relationship. After a great deal of effort on my part in pursuing these goals, I found they too were illusions. Lke sunlight on a drop of rainwater.

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