I should be packing ... or cleaning... or...
I should be doing something else right now.
That is the theme of my life, I think. I am always replaying the words in my head! In big and small ways. Sometimes it indicates guilt feelings. Other times it just points to discontentment. There have been moments when I've suspected I just float that thought to the surface in order to feel like I was made for something more than what I'm currently experiencing.
The suspicion is sneaking through my days that a life of fulfillment and purpose has much less to do with what I DO WITH IT, and more about WHO I AM IN IT. I don't pretend that this is an original thought, just a damned difficult one. When the object of my day seems so small and insignificant, I believe that I am small and insignificant, and my actions and attitudes cease to matter all that much because they aren't related to any kind of behavior that would end up in a movie or a book. The less my actions matter ... the less I strive to frame them, tame them, blame them on myself (always some outside force beyond my control).
I live for books and movies -- great stories -- but sometimes I despise them because they lead me to expect more from my life than is realistic to hope. They make me want a kind of glory.
Or maybe I am just unwilling to take the risks that come with a truly meaningful way of life? Maybe I am holding onto a suffocating security?
This question sends the merry-go-round again, as it is wont to do, and the familiar line of questioning lands me back where I started, thinking maybe what I should do is just accept my life the way it is and try to get as much out of it as I can, for myself and others.
Or should I kill myself, working double-time, trying to get something more worthy that could end up disappointing me in the end? Not sure.. No answers tonight, just cyclical avoidance of the menial tasks that really must be completed in order to achieve that uncluttered, unharried state I am always longing to possess.
That is the theme of my life, I think. I am always replaying the words in my head! In big and small ways. Sometimes it indicates guilt feelings. Other times it just points to discontentment. There have been moments when I've suspected I just float that thought to the surface in order to feel like I was made for something more than what I'm currently experiencing.
The suspicion is sneaking through my days that a life of fulfillment and purpose has much less to do with what I DO WITH IT, and more about WHO I AM IN IT. I don't pretend that this is an original thought, just a damned difficult one. When the object of my day seems so small and insignificant, I believe that I am small and insignificant, and my actions and attitudes cease to matter all that much because they aren't related to any kind of behavior that would end up in a movie or a book. The less my actions matter ... the less I strive to frame them, tame them, blame them on myself (always some outside force beyond my control).
I live for books and movies -- great stories -- but sometimes I despise them because they lead me to expect more from my life than is realistic to hope. They make me want a kind of glory.
Or maybe I am just unwilling to take the risks that come with a truly meaningful way of life? Maybe I am holding onto a suffocating security?
This question sends the merry-go-round again, as it is wont to do, and the familiar line of questioning lands me back where I started, thinking maybe what I should do is just accept my life the way it is and try to get as much out of it as I can, for myself and others.
Or should I kill myself, working double-time, trying to get something more worthy that could end up disappointing me in the end? Not sure.. No answers tonight, just cyclical avoidance of the menial tasks that really must be completed in order to achieve that uncluttered, unharried state I am always longing to possess.
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