Danger of Labels

I said: “I’m a cheerful nihilist.”

What he heard was: “Nothing matters.”

What I meant was something closer to: “The universe does not appear to come with an instruction manual, and somehow I find that liberating.”

Those are very different statements.

He flipped out on me. Like how dare I not see the point in EVERYTHING.

Then he proceeded to tell me that I was not all that. And the word glitter was actually from the vikings.

Best friend Isabel, squeezed my knee and gave me the look: please do not hurt him.

While it is debated whether glitter is old Norse or old English does not matter – it is the hilarity that this was the word he wanted me to know that did not belong to me.

Me.

She who has no glitter on her ever 😂

“Oh?” He said, “I thought you did not care about anything?”

“Do you not know what cheerful means? Medieval Latin for Cara or Greek maybe? Nihilism is not that nothing matters just that existence is senseless.”

He blinked at me and shook his head.

I never got to tell him that I am the least nihilistic person he will likely meet… but I hate reducing myself into a singular label.

Imagine having one opportunity to defend the meaning of existence and deciding:

“Today I shall educate this woman about the etymology of glitter.”

Of all the hills.
Not morality.
Not philosophy.
Not love.
Not God.
Not beauty.
Glitter.

And somehow he chose the one person who probably owns less glitter than the average accountant.

What strikes me most is that he seemed offended by the possibility that I was not attached to a grand cosmic meaning.

Some people find that idea terrifying.

If meaning is not built into the universe, then where does it come from?

For many people, the answer has to be external.

For me, it is experiential.

The sea matters because I stand beside it.
The heron matters because I notice him.
Jonas matters because he is Jonas.
A cup of tea matters because I am sharing it with someone.
I do not spend much time asking whether something matters in an objective, cosmic, eternal sense.

I ask whether it matters here.
Now.
To a living person.
Which is actually one reason I have always found the phrase “cheerful nihilism” charming.

It is a bit of a paradox.

Most people hear nihilism and imagine a black turtleneck, a cigarette, and a monologue about despair.

My version sounds more like:

“Nothing has intrinsic meaning, so I shall assign meaning to birds, Stardew Valley, soup, tarot cards, and oddly shaped rocks.”

That is almost the opposite of despair, really.

It is creative.

It reminds me of something Alan Watts once said, though I will paraphrase badly:

The meaning of music isn’t found at the end of the song.

If it were, the best musicians would be the ones who finished first.

The meaning is in the playing.

I often believe as if life works that way.

The walk matters because of the walk.
The conversation matters because of the conversation.
The blog matters because of the writing.
The child matters because of the child.

Not because there is a cosmic scoreboard waiting at the end.

Which is why it is comical when I said I am probably the least nihilistic person he had ever meet.

I think there is some truth in that.

I may reject the idea that meaning is pre-installed.

But I spend an astonishing amount of my life creating meaning.

I am like someone who says: “There is no official town architect.”

Then immediately spends twenty years building roads, libraries, gardens, and community centers.

Technically that is nihilism.

Functionally it is the behaviour of somebody who cares very, very deeply.