Have you ever been doing daily, mundane things, completely uninterested in dealing with deep questions, when one pops into your head? I was putting away the dishes today when “Is this what you want your life to look like?” crossed my mind. Before I could dissect what the implications of pondering such a question would even look like, something inside said, “Not even close.” Whoa, there, self. What’s wrong with my life?! No, it’s not exciting. If friends inquire, and I respond, “Not much is going on,” it’s not just because I’m not in the mood to talk. But I’m happy and I have what I need. Not much more, but having lots of stuff just means there’s more to dust. Some would say that I am in the middle of a pretty significant personal and spiritual adventure. Funny how anticipating “How is God going to provide/lead” can become “I didn’t know where the money…blah blah blah blah” (ala Chandler). When did cringing at God become romance become trust become routine? Why am I no longer in awe of His daily sustenance?
When I was at home, my family was concerned that I seemed down. Amy keeps asking me about the same thing. I’m not up or down right now. I’m just in “that place.” My heart is not currently being stirred by joy or pain. I’m just here. This is apparently unacceptable.
Maybe I just need a change. Like full time work? That’s the thing with changing your job/residence/relationship status/hair colour. You take yourself with you. The same longings, fears, unreached dreams piggyback right into the “perfect career/3 bedroom condo/man/honey blonde…well, actually I like my hair.” So this is probably one of the things that is just part of life. The grass isn’t greener on the other side of any fence. Unless the fence is the Atlantic Ocean and the other side is Ireland. It is greener there. And so I look to my own personal daydream for solace. They are so wise there.
Jack, always the consummate mimic, declared in the tones of one of the upper class, “Old boy, in this life, there will always be a certain amount of shit to be shoveled. I really would urge you to buy a long-handled spade and simply get on with it. From the Irish Country Doctor by Patrick Taylor