This, I Believe

Final Assignment for The Good Life (ETHICS210)

Prompt: Describe Your Own View of the Good Life

December 2023

Had I been posed to write this last semester, you may have been reading a very different essay today. Maybe even one with a well-put, concise and succinct thesis, a provable solution or a creative template I could wrap up with a pretty bow. Now? I’m not so sure. If I’m being honest, I’ve been putting off starting this paper, knowing the deep philosophical exercise it will require. This course has fallen at a point in my life where many of these questions feel bigger than they ever have, and honestly maybe as big as they ever will. I mean that in the sense that, now, as I enter my 20th year on this planet, this may be the most important period of my life to ponder these topics. As we close out 2023, I can only reflect on the challenges this year has made me confront, and ending the year writing this paper feels like the opportunity to gauge my greater beliefs and understandings of this life I’m living.

2023 was the year my Grandpa Ted, my mom’s dad, who had been living with diminished capacities since his stroke more than 30 years ago, passed away. 2023 was also the year that my mom, my best friend, had a stroke of her own, thrusting our family into chillingly similar circumstances my grandpa had only finally found peace just months before. 2023 was the year I realized I didn’t truly have a God I could pray to as I sat at my mom’s side in the Neuro ICU at Mass General. 

As I discussed in some of my journal entries, I was raised Christian, by parents who themselves may not hold particularly strong religious convictions, but each grew up with deeply faithful parents. My Nana, my mom’s mom, who’s lived with us as long as I can remember, is very active in her church. She taught us Christian songs, read us scriptures, brought us to Sunday school and occasionally directed the skits and chorus songs we performed with the other kids. 

Somewhere along the way, as my siblings and I grew up attending a predominantly white private school in Liberal New Jersey, just half an hour from New York City, we discovered that religion was one of those decisions we could make for ourselves. I can’t recall this realization, or even determine where my siblings may currently lay on the religious spectrum, but the discovery of autonomy opened doors for individualistic beliefs in my household. We were finally old enough to be aware that we could make some of our own decisions, including but not limited to our beliefs, and active christian practices just sort of slowly dissolved in our lives. 

While it’s not so much that I disagree with any of the core principles of Christianity, rather, it's that I don't have the desire to pledge allegiance to a religious institution, not even the one I’ve been familiar with my whole life. I don’t agree with a lot of the things that have been done in the Christian God’s name, throughout history and today. I think much of the guidance outlined by the religion is valid and fulfilling, but also pretty universal. When you detach the divinity from some of the core lessons, they seem like basic human decency, similar to the unspoken social laws that many morally aware people abide by regardless of religious affiliation. Take The Ten Commandments for example, which serves as ethical guidelines from the bible. The commandments certainly teach Divine Authority and enforce the covenant between God and his followers, but they also teach about social harmony and ethical conduct within the community, and encourage honesty and reciprocity. Some of these lessons are applicable to anybody consciously trying to live a harmonious life. Yes to Chritians “thou shall not bear false witness against thy neighbor”, but shouldn’t we all live that way? And don’t other religions each have some guideline that pretty much boils down to the same thing? The bigger takeaway for me is in the actual values that are being taught, not that these values allow you entry into heaven or let you live in the eye of Christ. The takeaway is more than how to be a good Christian, it's how to be a good human. And this isn’t to belittle any Christian, or God or anyone of any religion for that matter. I just don’t think I have to buy into a religion to live the good life. 

One thing I’ve always understood about myself is that I am a scientist. I believe in the fundamental laws that govern our physical world. I believe in evolution as a framework for the diversity of life. I believe in the central dogma, and that living organisms regulate their internal environment to reach homeostasis and that energy cannot be created nor destroyed. I tend to accept empirical evidence, and generally subscribe to the ever-growing healing powers of medical intervention. I understand the importance of peer review and am driven to research. I enjoy digging deeper, finding out why and finding out how. It’s who I am and who I always will be. I’m on the pre-veterinary track, studying to one day fulfill my purpose of serving animals. I believe in medicine, and in diseases and injuries and surgeries and transplants. 

So, where does that leave me? I know that you are probably leaning towards Scientific Naturalism. And honestly, so was I. Scientific Naturalism is a tradition that believes that the natural world, including all phenomena and events, can be explained by natural laws and processes. The scientific naturalist’s worldview relies on reason, scientific inquiry and tangible evidence as the primary means of understanding the universe. I almost fit into this box. But not quite. 

Scientific naturalism insists that all phenomena, from the origin of the universe to the development of life and consciousness, can be explained by natural laws and processes. It excludes supernatural explanations and emphasizes the search for natural causes. Here is where I begin to depart from the naturalist approach. I believe that there are things that are beyond the scope of science. I believe that there is some greater good that is responsible for the depth of someone's heart, or the twinkle in our eyes when we see someone we love, or the glistening sun reflecting on a lake. I believe there is an energy contained in our universe, and it is not quite supernatural, but entirely natural. There are real, natural things that lack a scientific explanation, that defy the laws of nature and exist purely for the purpose of existing. I can’t say whether it is all decided by a single being who exists above man or the collective cosmic energy contained in the night sky. I think part of being human is that we can’t know. This is an unsettling conclusion for a lot of people. It is difficult to accept that there are things in which their pure purpose is to be beyond human comprehension. I know that when I look up at the night sky there are stars, and every morning the sun rises and I have a birthday each time the earth passes a specific point in its orbit around the sun. I know these things because I live them, and I don’t need much proof or reason beyond that. 

So, I guess that rules out Scientific Naturalism too. It makes sense in my head, that I don’t quite fit into a box. I think it's the same reason I couldn’t be a good christian. The way I see it, my spiritual journey is entirely my own. Some of my beliefs are non- compromisable, I’m not willing to bend some convictions I hold to conform to any one religion. When I think of the good life, I don’t think I can see myself entirely agreeing with any tradition we’ve so thoughtfully explored this semester. I’ve grown to respect many of these traditions and the devotion of their followers, but I’ve also come to realize that at least right now, they are not the communities for me. 

 I could probably use this reductional method for most traditions or philosophies or schools of thought. Lay out everything defined in the subject and weed through what I do and don’t agree with. I could focus on existing traditions and remove what I don’t believe, or I could tell you what I do believe. What I understand better than I ever have following the trials of this semester. 

When my mom had her stroke, my life as I knew it turned upside down. I struggled with mental illness for years in highschool, and spent many sleepless nights tortured by the chemical imbalances in my own head. And even through all of the debilitating anxiety, panic attacks, years of therapy and multiple trials of medications, I had never experienced the life-altering fear I felt on that quiet September afternoon when my dad told my siblings and I that my mom had suffered a stroke. I’ll never forget the feel of her hand in mine when I finally made it to Boston to see her.  September 23 was the day I was faced with the cold realization that this lovely little life I’m living isn’t invincible. Never before had I been so aware that in a moment, everything can be taken from you. One day I was calling my mom to tell her about some stupid thing my cat had done that day, and the next I was showing her photos of my siblings to help her recognize them.

My mom had a clot spanning multiple centimeters travel up her carotid artery. It caused deoxygenation of the right side of her brain and a slight bleed. She had been in Martha’s Vineyard at the time, and was luckily close enough to be life-flighted to the leaders in stroke recovery in the nation, Massachusetts General Hospital. They discovered she had a small hole between her atria called a patent foramen ovale. It’s genetic, and she was born with it, just like my grandfather likely was and just like my siblings and I potentially could have been. I have an appointment with Cardiology at Duke next semester, so until then I can only wonder. 

The brain has a remarkable ability to reorganize itself, a phenomenon known as neuroplasticity. This, I believe. I believe it because I see it in my mom as she relearns how to move through life. I’ve watched her rediscovering sensation in her fingers, then her hand and her arm. I’ve watched her become familiar with writing her name again, then mine and my siblings. She took her first step, quickly remembering how to balance her weight on each leg, and flex her muscles to move forward, or backwards or side to side. She was restless, tired of bed rest and ready to move. She was so eager to regain autonomy through her voice, her gestures and her facial expressions. She was, in every way, my mom- the beautiful, strong, dominant woman she’s always been. Her fire was as bright as ever, finding ways to reassure us that she has this, even as she faced her biggest challenge yet. And she never once wavered. I never saw her shed a single tear, and never has she given up or lost her drive. I’ve  watched her gradual return to articulate and communicative expression. 

The brain undergoes structural and functional changes to adapt to the loss of function caused by a stroke. Neuroplasticity involves the reorganization of neural pathways and the formation of new connections between neurons. This allows undamaged areas of the brain to take on the functions of the damaged areas, employing compensatory mechanisms to regain lost function. This redistribution allows the individual to adapt to changes in neural networks and optimize their remaining cognitive and motor abilities.This is the real, very real, mechanism underlying the miracle recovery I’ve witnessed in my mom. I’ve gotten to see the human body’s remarkable adaptability and capacity to come back from trauma. It was her own brain which was undergoing rewiring to learn how to support her body with what it has. Everything we need for fulfilled lives already exists within us. I saw everything I needed to see to convince me. Us humans are capable of so much more than we give ourselves credit for. What if our faith is only secondary to the combined abilities of our physical beings and intellectual potential? Or is it that our great capacity for rational thought and understanding is actually what enables us to be faithful? This, I believe. 

Humans are incredible beings, each a universe of thoughts, emotions, and experiences. Our beating hearts play an ode to the human spirit, which burns with passion and courage and screams of triumph and struggle. Our eyes are windows to our souls, our hands, the creators of art and architects of change, and our voices carry the whispers of hope and laughter. There is certainly secularism, reality and truth in the here and now. Our physical beings exist on this earth, to touch and hold and smell one another. Our skulls protect and hold our minds, which are contained in the layers of our beautifully unique and adaptable brains. The brain that allows us to recognize people we love, and tie the bow in our daughter’s hair, and cry when we feel sad and smile when we feel happy. The brain that is gradually proving to be my mom’s miracle. This, I believe. 

Our physical beings are only as old as they are, but we have been in the making in this vast universe for much longer than our lifespan. Our bodies are made of elements forged in the nuclear furnaces of stars, ejected into space from a supernova as stellar remnants that eventually become the raw material for new stars, planets and life forms. The atoms in our bodies, the air we breathe, and the ground we walk on are all part of the intimate connections crafted in the cosmos. The very essence of our existence is intricately tied to the life and death of stars. How separate can we really be from the vastness of the universe? From what some may consider supernatural? When really we are made of it, born of it and breathing it. We are made of the shared material history that unites all living things. A cosmic mix of Carbon, Nitrogen and Oxygen which, over eons, unite to give rise to oceans, continents, and the diverse array of life we see today. They exist within us, in every cell, tissue, organ in our bodies. This, I believe. 

But I also have become more aware than ever that not everybody is as lucky as my mom was. There are many people who experience a major stroke who don’t recover how she is, and many who don’t recover at all. It’s the difference between being alive, and being dead. Being here and being gone. One day we are in our physical bodies here on earth and the next we are ejected into the ethos, joining all of our ancestors and all of our future bloodline as stardust in our universe. It’s that simple. This, I Believe. 

So while we are here, why not be here? I’m writing this paper because I am alive. I understand the significance of this, now more than ever. Because I currently exist in this body on this earth, when at another point in time I could have been part of a nebula millions of light years from earth. I get to ponder these questions, because I am alive. How do we so often forget that? 

What if the good life is just life… but through the lens of all its good? What if there is no recipe or cheatsheet? What if the definition is fluid, malleable, ever-changing even within one individual? The good life doesn’t have to be a set in stone thesis, or a prayer written in books thousands of years ago. The good life, to me, is a life of being open to the beauty of the everyday.  It’s life holding onto the people who make you feel alive. It is the passion that runs through my veins when I imagine my purpose fulfilled,  guiding me toward experiences that ignite my soul. It’s the feeling I get when I hear my mom say she loves me, when I know what had to take place for her to regain the ability to express that. It's not a grand show, or a devotion backed by threats of eternal damnation; it's more like a quiet awe for the little things that make life pretty damn amazing. This, I believe. 

The good life is an expansive canvas, fresh and clean each day, open to possibilities and inviting us to paint our dreams. Each brushstroke adds to a masterpiece reflecting a life well-lived and thoroughly embraced. It is an optimistic sunrise that greets each day with the promise of the chance to sculpt our destinies. Every breath we take, and every time our hearts beat, we are alive. Our bodies sing a melody, an anthem to our existence, in harmony with the people and experiences that grace our journey. In the good life, we invest time and energy into relationships that cultivate mutual growth, understanding, and shared joy. It involves recognizing and seizing moments that beckon growth, discovery, and self-realization and the magnetic pull we feel towards endeavors that bring fulfillment. We understand our capacity for great love, encoded in every cell of our bodies, embedded into millions and millions of molecules defining our the color of every hair on every head, the width of every smile, the shape of every eye and the beat of every heart. This, I believe.

The good life is not void of all things bad. There will always be bad, the suffering, the life-changing calls on a September afternoon. There will always be years like 2023 was for me. I honestly don’t think we will ever have the ability to avoid that. But the good life is in facing the bad by squeezing our loved ones a little tighter, laughing a little louder and finding solace in the shared resilience that emerges when we weather life’s storms together. 

So yes, 2023 was the year I was forced to confront some of my greatest fears in my life. It was the year I found in myself the strength my mom had spent my entire life instilling in me, strength it was time for me to give back to her. It was also the year I realized I didn’t need a God to pray to. That I could find all I need in the tangible things in my life, in the souls I am surrounded by and the passion flowing through my veins. I found strength in the understanding that the real gift is being here in this moment, and that in death we return to our place as cosmic material in the never-ending cycle of our universe. 

2023 was the year that I discovered that I already live the good life. Each day that  I wake up healthy, surrounded by the people I love, is good. Each day that my heart beats, and my eyes blink and my hands are free to create and roam, is good. Each day that my mom is able to articulate to me that she loves me, is good. So I don’t have a God I pray to, or a book holding scriptures outlining a tradition, or even a name for this philosophy I live by. It’s just life, and it is so, so good. This, I truly believe.