I don’t believe in god, an afterlife or reincarnation. I can understand why people do. I can understand why people want to believe. I can even understand why leaders and society encourage these beliefs. But the lack of evidence and the historical roots of these mythologies is enough to convince me otherwise.
Yet still, it sometimes feels like I have already lived multiple lives. Not in a different body from the distant past, but in my own 55 year lifetime.
I had one life as a child from birth to age 7 living in a small town surrounded by a large, loving, extended family.
I had another life from age 8 to 13, living in chaos, with a crazy stepfather, an interracial family, rough city poverty that followed the abrupt ending of my idyllic childhood life.
I had my high school life – of becoming a man, finding my place, building confidence and finding love.
I had my college life – rudderless and discouraged, as my identity was stripped away by failure and anonymity.
I had my married life with step kids, a wife, career progressions, hardships, successes, joys and sorrows.
And now I am living my widowed life alone with my dog where contentedness is accompanied by a permanent sadness.
Perhaps I have 3 more lives to live before I die.