1977 was a difficult year to be a 9-year-old existentialist. This was the year that proffered the theatrical release of Star Wars – which introduced me to contemplations of a vastly cosmic nature: life, the universe and everything – and also the ubiquitous radio play of Kansas’ hauntingly gorgeous paean to mortality, Dust In The Wind. My already-insatiably questioning mind wanted answers, and I wanted them urgently.
Between my fervent pondering of the song and the film, I had my first “mid-life” crisis – yes, at age 9. I ate very little, slept constantly and was so depressed that my mother had to take me out of school for three months. Doctors had little to offer – this being long before the over-medication of children became commonplace – since there seemed to be absolutely nothing wrong with me. There were no problems at home that could be relatable to such a sudden and profound shift in my personality. I was blessed by a loving extended family, none of whom had any idea how to offer me any solace.
But clearly, there was something wrong with me. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t grasp the huge universal intricacies that I so desperately wanted to be able to wrap my growing mind around. Early on in my malaise, when I finally worked up the courage – I can feel my little hands balling up into fists remembering this – to ask my mother what the meaning of life was, she held me tightly and lovingly confessed that she didn’t know. She added that as far as she could tell, it involved being the best and most loving person you could be, and cherishing your family. It was a very sweet, earnest answer, but it fell far short of the explanation I’d been hoping to hear. Because she was not only my whole world, but had also been a science major in college, she was the only person whom I really thought could give me an answer.
So ensued my philosophical funk. I recall staring into the mirror, trying to figure out what was behind and beyond my eyes, my brain, my body. My family was profoundly supportive, although I’m sure my then-5 and 1-year-old brothers were merely bummed that I wasn’t around to play with. I’m not sure exactly what specifically pulled me out of my extended angst, although it probably had something to do with my mother and my maternal grandmother, similarly sensitive and tremendously giving, caring souls.
When I returned to school after a three-month absence, it was like being on an alien planet. I still sought my spiritual solace and grand-scale understandings, but my peers were content to do 9-year-old things as though they were all that mattered. Having spent so much time inwardly analyzing, I had come to the conclusion that if I came from nothingness, that’s where I would return when I ceased to physically exist. If I came from “somethingness”, then that’s also where I would return. It seemed pretty fundamental, but it brought me great peace after such single-minded turmoil.
I wrote this unflinchingly intimate piece to further the discourse we’ve been sharing in the comments of these spiritually-related posts. I am sure that many of you have had similar experiences pondering the meanings of life, death and all things in between, albeit perhaps not from such an early age. As always, you are most welcome to share anything that resonates with you to do so.
Whether or not you’ve ever heard Dust In The Wind, do not miss listening to this absolutely masterful live version of this stunning and eternally relevant song.
I wish you peace, and the answers to all of your eternal questions.
