That sounds like me. From a young age, I lay in bed while my siblings slept beside me, pondering God. I was raised in a Catholic home, so God was mentioned every day. If I had worries at night, my mother would say, “Think of Heaven.” As a child, I imagined heaven to be a magical place in the sky, where God and all the angels lived, and I could have anything my heart desired: sweets, toys, the works. As a kid, it is nice to dream. But my questions were more profound. I would ask my mind over and over, ‘Who is God?’ And then the question would arise, what if God dies? As I continued this questioning, I would start to feel myself spiral down a dark hole, which would cause me to become extremely fearful, ultimately ending the questioning.
I then moved through my teenage years. I was educated at a Catholic secondary school, so the image of God on the cross stayed with me. During my senior years, I attended religious retreats and recall enjoying them. I became excited about questioning and contemplating. I wasn’t the only one; my group of friends also asked questions.
Soon after I finished secondary school, three members of that close circle of friends experienced family tragedies. This cast a dark cloud over us. It was a time of deep grief, but in the early 1990s, such language wasn’t commonly used.
My twenties arrived, and I found myself burning the candles at both ends. Reflection drifted away. I was having too much fun filling my body with toxins. Looking back, I used to wish my life away. I longed for Thursday night—the start of the social week. I would die at work on Friday and start all over again for the weekend.
At twenty-nine, I emigrated to Australia to begin a new chapter. It was November 1999, just before the millennium. In March 2000, I began to feel unwell. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I was soon diagnosed with gallstones, many tiny ones, which increased the risks. I followed all the medical advice and had the surgery to remove my gallbladder.
What seemed like a straightforward operation turned into months of health struggles. I was supposed to be enjoying life, but even the simple act of eating became a misery. I began searching for answers within myself. After reading a small advert in the local newspaper, I contacted a teacher of the Alexander Technique who taught nearby in Sydney. The Technique explores how poor habits develop in our bodies over time. A series of lessons helped me understand how my body functioned, and I recognised my habits; it grounded me. It was a revelation to realise that my body was connected to my mind and spirit. I later returned to Ireland and studied in Galway, qualifying as an Alexander Technique teacher in my early thirties, which I still teach today.
Since then, I have explored many other holistic practices, such as meditation, chanting, yoga, and silent retreats, to name a few. I have travelled to London and beyond to spend time with Gurus, searching for enlightenment.
Having written this, I can finally reveal the meaning of life. And the answer is NO. Life is a precious mystery. My advice is to love yourself unconditionally, warts and all.
