The Uncertain Not-Yet
Had an existential crisis today. A minor one. The thought hit me
about 8 p.m. that my life, such that it is, will not likely improve in
the direction I would like it to. My finances are ruined; my social life
is dead; my work is such that nothing I do can bring to it any more
meaning than it has. I do know I am serving my family to a degree, that I
am helping other non-family member employees to continue to have an
income and provide for their own families, but I worry about the future.
No one plans very hard for it in my family. Maybe there is a sort of
rescue in store somewhere veiled in the mysterious mists of the
uncertain not-yet, but I don't see it as very likely. I expect shock.
The terrible, unfixable mistakes we blithely wander into because we were
not diligent enough to work to achieve something better. Being lost is
upsetting not because you do not recognize where you already are, but
because you do not know how to get where you want to go.
I've also been chewing on the idea that our physical life in this 'contingent' world is so impermanent. I know this. You know this. But, as I get older, as I mull over my past mistakes, chewing on them as a dog would an old bone, I begin to see how one hundred years—the most time anyone could reasonably, honestly hope for—is so frighteningly short. How do you fix something locked in the past? Atone for the opportunities that have escaped you? But those thoughts are not as worrisome as the one that, in my present, I may be headed to a worse future without knowing how or what I can do to prevent it. I feel uneasy, trying to cope with these emotional fears.
But I am in my forties, so I know that, rather than give into the fear, I have to steel myself to accept the consequences, come what may. I have lived through terrible before. Because I am stronger than some, I know I can live through terrible again. I'd rather not have to, of course, but it's the ignorance, the not-knowing, that has me concerned that I can't avoid the consequences of ignorance and paralyzed effort.
We're, all of us living, sitting on the edge of forever, all of the time. Not quite on either side of it. As I had been hundreds of millions of years unborn in the past, I will be eons after-life in the future. One hundred years, which I will almost certainly not have quite so much, seems so shockingly short. Most of my time on the planet is a journey to something, and as the next something happens to be forever, whatever that forever is, it has to be the most important of the two existences, right?
Maybe these thoughts wouldn't be so difficult to grapple with if I could see the meaningfulness of the present more often. Perhaps there is an infinite ocean of meaningfulness in front of my face that I can not yet perceive. I hope to see more of that in my personal life, in the choices I make, the paths I take. The answer, most wise-men have said, is service to others. Maybe if I start by changing my perspective from one of self-fulfillment to service, that would a good start. But, what actual service do I follow it up with? I did not know. Still don't.
Ultimately, lonely and worried, I shut the shop down for the night, turning off the water valve, and stood by the back door in the softening light of the setting summer sun. I took a few deep breaths, and tested the lock, not trying to listen to the people still at the back doors of the other businesses along the alley. I stood on the sidewalk, looking over the tall bushes on the edge of the parking lot, up into the high clouds of a darkening blue sky. I had the urge to flee to somewhere, but did not know where. It was too late for most coffee shops, most of which, the decent ones anyway, were in other cities. Instead, I drove to the authentic Mexican Fast Food restaurant and had a 'Jamaica' tea with a couple of churros. When I get depressed, I tend to eat a lot of sugar. I rounded out the night, by driving home to do my laundry, later looking for things to distract myself with, and finding them (which only half-worked) in simple computer games and television.
I've also been chewing on the idea that our physical life in this 'contingent' world is so impermanent. I know this. You know this. But, as I get older, as I mull over my past mistakes, chewing on them as a dog would an old bone, I begin to see how one hundred years—the most time anyone could reasonably, honestly hope for—is so frighteningly short. How do you fix something locked in the past? Atone for the opportunities that have escaped you? But those thoughts are not as worrisome as the one that, in my present, I may be headed to a worse future without knowing how or what I can do to prevent it. I feel uneasy, trying to cope with these emotional fears.
But I am in my forties, so I know that, rather than give into the fear, I have to steel myself to accept the consequences, come what may. I have lived through terrible before. Because I am stronger than some, I know I can live through terrible again. I'd rather not have to, of course, but it's the ignorance, the not-knowing, that has me concerned that I can't avoid the consequences of ignorance and paralyzed effort.
We're, all of us living, sitting on the edge of forever, all of the time. Not quite on either side of it. As I had been hundreds of millions of years unborn in the past, I will be eons after-life in the future. One hundred years, which I will almost certainly not have quite so much, seems so shockingly short. Most of my time on the planet is a journey to something, and as the next something happens to be forever, whatever that forever is, it has to be the most important of the two existences, right?
Maybe these thoughts wouldn't be so difficult to grapple with if I could see the meaningfulness of the present more often. Perhaps there is an infinite ocean of meaningfulness in front of my face that I can not yet perceive. I hope to see more of that in my personal life, in the choices I make, the paths I take. The answer, most wise-men have said, is service to others. Maybe if I start by changing my perspective from one of self-fulfillment to service, that would a good start. But, what actual service do I follow it up with? I did not know. Still don't.
Ultimately, lonely and worried, I shut the shop down for the night, turning off the water valve, and stood by the back door in the softening light of the setting summer sun. I took a few deep breaths, and tested the lock, not trying to listen to the people still at the back doors of the other businesses along the alley. I stood on the sidewalk, looking over the tall bushes on the edge of the parking lot, up into the high clouds of a darkening blue sky. I had the urge to flee to somewhere, but did not know where. It was too late for most coffee shops, most of which, the decent ones anyway, were in other cities. Instead, I drove to the authentic Mexican Fast Food restaurant and had a 'Jamaica' tea with a couple of churros. When I get depressed, I tend to eat a lot of sugar. I rounded out the night, by driving home to do my laundry, later looking for things to distract myself with, and finding them (which only half-worked) in simple computer games and television.
20 July 2018
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