A grey day; not black and white

Took S to her acupuncture appointment first thing this morning. Only problem was, that it was the wrong place. Went back and rescued her. Sorted a few payments and stuff now that the online banking is back working. Then we decided to not go north, as next weekend S' brother is here from Melbourne, and we’ll go then. So she organised other things and I continued at the computer. Not good for my posture.

At one point she asked me the date, and after a slight pause, I silently reminded myself that today is my father's birthday. 28 July 1907. It is 26 years since he died after a major stroke. He is still missed by his children. 

It feels right that looking westward this evening the sun was bright on the water, although without colour. The sky was full of clouds of varying greyness. And there were sheets of heavy rain falling over in the Waitemata Harbour. A day for quiet reflection on meaning and purpose.

Human consciousness and self awareness, which entails awareness of the completely separate and independent existence of others, leads to seeking meaning to one's life, and having a sense of purpose. Viktor Frankl wrote eloquently and humanly about this and while I cannot share his religious constructs, he would have accepted that as my choice. We would have agreed that much mental distress relates to not having a sense of purpose or meaning in one's life. 

Nussbaum and Sen put it in different words, but when they write about the need to develop capabilities they mean the same thing. As did Aristotle when he wrote that the purpose of life is a pursuit of excellence in whatever it is that one was called to do. That is a spiritual life, and that sort of life my father strived after, in his way and for his family and friends and community.