The Meaning of Life

I was working out of town last week. During this time, a strange convesation tanspired between the makeup artist and the rest of the people in the room.

The makeup artist, it is worth to note, was a woman in her late 40's - wearing clothes clearly from her daughters' closet - a short black dress with black tights and leopard skin shoes. She had an interesting personality - kind of quietly sarcastic and dour (I always like these kinds of people. They're straight shooters, and I suspect, fallen idealists). The first thing she noted upon entering my hotel suite (my makeshift green room), was how neatly I'd made my bed. "Was the maid here already? Kind of early!" The second thing she told me, as she pointed out the window, was that she used to be a lawyer. "See that building? I used to work there... I did mergers and aquisitions." She apparently hated it - and after doing makeup for her childrens' school musicals, she traded legal bullying for beautification.

Anyway, she was a wonderful makeup artist - and a funny person. When she finished her job, she noticed someone in the room reading "Man's Search For Meaning" by Victor Frankl. She then had a conversation - nearly with herself:

"The meaning of life? What does it say the meaning of life is?" (reader glances at her) "The meaning of life is that life is meaningess. Have you ever read 'Sidhartha?' It states clearly that life has no meaning. It's really true. Life is meaningless. Absolutely meaningless."

Another woman in the room spoke up. "Who wrote Sidhartha?"

Makeup Artist: "Hermann Hesse... The Existentialist."

Woman: "I hardly think you can extract the meaning of life from Existential philosophy..." (long pause) "You should try the Bible."

Makeup Artist: "I'm going shopping."

With that, she sashayed out of the room. I'm trying to draw some meaning from this little bite of life - but so far, it seems best just to let y'all have at it.