I have been hugely enjoying, on YouTube, the British archeology series Time Team. This is sort of reality TV for the intelligentsia. They go to an old historic site, bring in all the experts they need, and within three days find what they can about the site and its history. Some sites go back as far as the stone age, others, more rarely, to WW II. It great to watch the experts, and their respect, skill, cooperation, and excitement — very different from the upper class distancing required of all of us in my teens.
I, finally, weeks into this experience, watching them finding and poring over Roman pottery and tiles, have realized that part of the meaning for me in my medical situation comes in the reassurance that life does go on, that things have meaning, that we build on our ancestors — and others will build on us after we are gone.
Perhaps related, after almost ten years of claiming that I am at peace with things, I have realized that I am clenching my teeth and my tongue to the point of pain. I must be angry and tense about something, and presumably it is my overall situation.
I am trying to remind myself that the most any of us can hope for at the end is that we did our best.