Underlying Something

I have always known that my contentment arises when I have clarity of mind. (Perhaps that's true for everyone).  I also know that when I write regularly, I gain clarity of mind.  Writing to me is a reaching into the soul and grabbing what is real and true and tangible.

Yet, I avoid it.  I've been avoiding it, turning instead, to temporary fixes or to ennui, where there is not motion one way or another.

I've found, over the past few months that I've begun to tie my identity to my work.  That is something I've never done.  I realize that it's a slippery slope.  What if the job changes or goes away?  What if it decides to find a younger, more attractive person to take my place?  What if my commitment to it is mere illusion?

I know a job doesn't betray as a spouse might, but you get my point.  The thing is, I love my job and I have no plans to leave it.  Rather, I want to mold it around myself and my personality, and my strengths.

Yet, I cannot do that if I avoid the growth of myself and my personality, and my strengths.  There is always the struggle to find the better part of me.  Maybe struggle is too strong a word.  The task?  The battle?  The responsibility?  Yes, that's it! It is my responsibility to always find the better parts of myself, and use them in my work, my home and my relationships.

It is 7 am on a Sunday, and I have no work, no children and I am free from my relationship this weekend.  So what do I do?

I struggle to fill in the hours.  But I don't do.  And I haven't done.

Laundry, cleaning, running errands - - - that's all good stuff and needs to be completed, and there is a sense of satisfaction in completing those tasks.  Yet, they're not enough.

I cried uncontrollably one time this weekend.  I heard the note of one song (The Last Carnival), and every facet of sorrow came, not on a breeze as has been happening, but on a hurricane wind.

When it was over, I sat there, stunned.  Is this what my life is?  During the down times, when work, kids and errands are completed (or temporarily muted), I get hit with a tsunami of sorrow?

Perhaps.

Yet I know there is something more, and every day is a struggle (and this time I use the word fittingly) to do something worthwhile for me.  Just me.  Not work, not kids, not home, not my friendships.  Just me.  For months now, I've struggled with that.

I reluctantly picked up this pencil today.  I knew what I wanted to write, the words in sentence form played like a banner through my mind - - - contentment comes with clarity, always seek the better part of yourself - - - but I fought putting the words down.  What's the point, I asked.  What does it matter?  I can just sit on the couch and watch talk shows until it's time to get ready for church.  Or I could exercise.  (I giggled with that thought).

There is a Van Morrison song called Underlying Depression.  The first few times I heard it, I dismissed it.  Yet, after understanding the gale winds that move into my psyche, I wonder if we all have a strand of it somewhere inside.  After all, life can be very disappointing at times, as every one of you can attest.

So now I think about that song and what it means, and I wonder.  I realize that if it does exist, if that indeed is a strand of reality, then I have to deal with it. Recognize it first, and then deal with it.  Thus the need for pencil and paper, thus the need for clarity of mind, thus the responsibility to constantly seek the better parts of myself.

Should I share this on the blog?  One part says: why not?  The other says: hell, no.  I've disappointed myself over the past few months because I've avoided pencil and paper, and every once in awhile I'll share and think:  Yes, I am back.  I can write on here regularly.  Then the ennui returns, the disappointments return, the insecurities return and the eyes that are supposed to be on the horizon are crossed or squeezed shut against the needs of myself.

It seems that hope is somewhere bobbing in an ocean current, and I am on the beach, praying it doesn't go under.

Though I am not unhappy.  I laugh every day, I work hard and come home satisfied, and I don't worry, worry, worry about the little things anymore.

I think it was C.S. Lewis who said something along the lines of the soul never truly being content until it meets its maker.  Maybe that's where I am today?  Heck of a place to be, I suppose.  Lucky me: content in all facets of life but yearning for no earthly existence so I can meet my maker?  That's a hell of a spin.  I think I might go with Van Morrison's theory, and try to live contentedly with his notion.  Yet, funny, I am pretty sure that song means exactly what C.S. Lewis meant.

So, I'll go with another quote.  This one comes from Gloria Steinem:

"When I write, it is the only time I don't feel I need to be doing something else."

Clarity of mind?  Not sure, but it rings true to me, and my paper and pencil - - - tools that I use, and need to use, to find the better part of me.