Hannah Aubry

To be human is to walk a tightrope daily between heart and mind, instinct and cognition, dreams and limits. To be human is to be a small, squishy thing in a world filled with sharp edges. And below the tightrope we walk daily lies the abyss.

The tightrope is a plan to survive this life and to scratch a little meaning out of it. Some of us have beliefs or love. Some have a vision or a mission. But in the end, no matter how strongly we hold on to our mission or beliefs, we don’t know if we’re right. If we’re making the right choices. Or if the good we try to do will last.

Nurses have spoken on what the dying regret the most (hint: number one is working so hard). We ask our gods. What is our purpose? Why are we here? Will our scrabbling about on this planet mean something?

The answer is always yes. And no. And yes… a qualified yes. That’s life. And life is a ticking time bomb.

Ohh, what I'd give for a hundred years But the physical interferes Every day more Oh, my creator

What is the good Of the strongest heart In a body that's falling apart? A serious flaw I hope you know that — Waltz for Eva and Che, Evita

As an aside, when they start handing out bionic body parts, I will be the first in line. I will ask for a titanium spine with un-herniatable rubber discs and a vibranium arm like the Winter Soldier, just for funsies.

Growing up, I wanted to be an actor. I was positive I wanted to spend my life on stage from the moment I took my first bow as ‘Jack’s mom’ in Jack and the Beanstalk. At one point during the performance, they had to drag me off the stage because I started extemporizing a grand, long monologue. I was five.

So it was a bit of a shake-up to my life plan when I realized years later, as a twenty-something who had picked up a taste for activism, that anyone willing to pay the price of admission to see my sociopolitical-minded plays probably already agreed with me. The passion fled.

Sometimes, I’ve regretted the loss of one long grand journey. A linear story of growth. Singular pursuit. My journey seemed to have no direction. Not even a roughly sketched treasure map. Just random dots on a page.

Instead of following a plan, I followed my curiosity and heart. I pursued new art, interests, careers, hobbies, and joy. Instead of one passion as a driving force, I developed an ethos: get it done, leave it better, have fun. I’ve made mistakes. I’ve been less than my values. I’ve tried my best and focused on growth.

As the years passed, as I added more dots and squiggles to my blank page, something began to take shape. I started to see similarities across all these pursuits. I saw how applying what I learned in one area made me stronger in others. I learned that wide knowledge helps inform itself because most disciplines have more in common than not. I learned to share what I was working on in one field with people I met in others to our mutual benefit. Now I see my page for what it is: not a map but a beautiful self-portrait wearing a funny hat with kind eyes, a bloody grin and it is filled with lots and lots of color.

Today, when I look back, I don’t regret a single twist or turn.

And so, as I often do on this little blog of mine, I return to the importance of people, and loving them, and working together to lift each other up and build a better world. Because meaning emerges not from the dots on a graph but from the lines between them. Strength is the invisible mesh that binds us together, not our individual arms or legs or brains. Even if/when we can get them switched for bionic ones. Seeking similarities and finding connections—between all our various interests and with different kinds of people—strengthens us. It makes us smarter. After all, network density as a strategy is proven effective. Everyone’s using it: malware developers, students and learners, the human body against cancer, even your brain.

In the end, no one knows where this life will lead or the meaning we’ll evoke when we close our eyes for the last time. I certainly don’t. In the meantime, I’ll delight in my life’s parade of people for whom I can say: I have loved you, and you have loved me in return.