By Patrick F. Cannon
In his endless search for the meaning of life, young Andy Gump thought he might travel to the mountains of Nepal to find the cave wherein lived an ancient monk who was said to be the most recent of a lengthy line of wise men who held the elusive secret.
After checking travel web sites, he discovered to his dismay that his funds would take him only as far as Honolulu, pleasant enough but hardly a font of wisdom. Plan B took him to the web again, to a site frequented by fellow seekers, where he discovered information about a wise man who was more accessible, indeed in the mountains of West Virginia, close to the small town of Dismal Seepage.
The actual location could only be found with map coordinates. Through the miracle of modern science, Gump had merely to enter them on his trusty phone, which gave him directions through the woods to a creek, next to which stood a modest cabin. To get there, he had to cross the creek on a kind of bridge made of stones. As he approached the cabin, an old, bearded man emerged, clad in bibber overalls and a plaid shirt. He carried a kind of staff.
“Are you the Grub Hub man?” he asked.
“No,” Gump replied, “I’m seeking the meaning of life.”
“Shit, I was hoping you were from Grub Hub. They’re always late…I’d like to get some hot food for a change!”
Just then, the sound of a motor could be heard, and out of the woods emerged an all-terrain vehicle. It motored right through the creek and up to the cabin. The old man was given a container, and Gump was surprised to see him take out a phone to make the payment. It was then he noticed that one side of the roof was covered with solar panels.
“Well, come ahead young feller. There’s plenty of food for both of us – I usually get enough for leftovers.”
Gump followed him into the cabin. He put the food container on a small table and got two plates and utensils from a cabinet. While he was doing this, Gump noticed one wall was completely given over to bookcases, which were full of books of assorted sizes and colors. Out of the container came various cartons from the Olive Garden! There was pasta, and all the bread sticks and salad you could eat.
“I’m a little surprised,” he said, “that you have an Olive Garden here.”
“Well, if they made it to Dismal Seepage, I guess they’re just about everywhere now. Ran the Railroad Café right out of business. Let’s eat, then we can talk about why you came to visit.”
After finishing the rigatoni with sauce bolognaise, he poured each a measure of a clear spirit out of a Mason jar. “I couldn’t help but notice your wall of books,” Gump said after taking a sip and regaining his ability to speak.
“That there’s the accumulated knowledge of the ages,” he responded. “Those tomes contain the thoughts and ideas of all the great thinkers, philosophers, religious figures, and cranks from the dawn of time. I spent years learning Latin, Greek, Hebrew, Sanskrit, Sumerian, Babylonian, Egyptian – and all the modern languages – so I could read these great men and women in their original languages. My goal was to absorb all that wisdom and discover the true meaning of life.”
“Did you succeed?” he asked with trepidation.
“No, I’m afraid not. I found a lot of advice about how to live your life, but no one convinced me that really knew why we’re here, other than the same biological process that created that tree out there. Young fella, you’re on your own. The meaning of life is what you give it. You can let some religion tell you how to live your life, and you could do worse than follow one that preaches love and tolerance, even when most of its adherents seem to do the opposite. You could follow some political ideology. You could even be the one that finally makes it work. I do believe you should love your neighbor as you love yourself, but I prefer to do it at a distance. Anyway, have some more salad and breadsticks – you’ll need your strength.”
Copyright 2024, Patrick F. Cannon
cannonnadedotcom 
The Olive Garden — home of unfathomable pasta bowls, phallic breadsticks and overcooked pasta in sauces (Alfredo? Marinara? Carbonara? Bolognaise??) to mystify any Italian — is the least likely place, outside of Kamala Harris’s cranium, to find the meaning of anything. Olives, of course, don’t grow in gardens but on trees in groves. The establishment doesn’t even serve olives. It is a metaphor of human existence.
Our Andy Gump could have found all the answers to his questions about life from a Seinfeld episode.
In one of them, George Costanza, trying to impress a girl as a “bad boy,” gets arrested. His father Frank comes down to the police station where he gets into an argument with Elaine after she makes a crack about George’s ability to hatch a scheme. “What the hell does that mean?” he yells, and Elaine yells back, “That means whatever the hell you want it to mean!” A fist fight ensues.
Nobody really agrees on the meaning of life, or on much of anything for that matter. Does that mean there is no meaning of life? Not necessarily. Only that one’s particular viewpoint, among those of the world’s population, has about a one in eight billion chance of being on target.
The seer of Seepage, in an interesting way, had a clue. Love yourself as you do your neighbor — from a distance. And if one is far enough away, one just might catch a glimpse of that meaning that is so elusive. If one does, it is best not to dwell on it. Let yourself look too closely and it will vanish in thin air.
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Precisely.
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