Chronic memoriaphilia. Or, the glass is half over.
Two weeks left on the Sabbatical, and actually looking forward to getting back to work. A relatively spur-of-the-moment houseguest over the Memorial Day weekend served as an impetus to get some house projects done before her arrival. That's all over. There are a few more painting odds and ends that have been hanging over my head for years....but without a reason to complete them now, they still hang.
It's been great, yes....but also not so. This one, Holy Grail thing that I've been longing for for years (a chunk of time off) has happened, and yet I have not become a better Me for it. Instead, it seems as though too much time alone and undistracted from your thoughts may not be the best thing for personal growth, ironically. In fact, as life progresses, I find that getting the things you've always wanted is not always the best thing...because, then what?
Is it a mindset, an innate pessimism? Been thinking a lot about it....why the lingering ennui even in the best of circumstances. Perhaps it is an irrational inability to see the present without pining for the past or worrying/hoping for the future. Isn't everything doomed to degeneration? I spend an inordinate amount of time yearning for the past...my own (parts if it) and even more, the general past. The early/mid 20th century nostalgia is sometimes all-consuming, too, in a larger sense. And I know it's my idealized version I'm longing for, but still...
Can things ever be better than they are? In that way, I do appreciate the present....in this desperate, grabby way...like trying to hold onto a slippery fish. Sometimes it seems (historically) that things can naturally only go down from here, from 36. I mean, I am pretty sure I am at or near my career zenith, so no big events there to look towards. I'm about as financially well-off as I'll ever be...which is not very. I'll likely never crack $40,000 in my lifetime. But, I've adjusted to my station, honestly have a passion for my vocation, stay away from credit cards and don't want much materially.
Children won't be happening, so there's a whole slew of both happy milestones and heartbreaking events that won't come into play. Marriage? Hm. Not looking like it. Pretty sure my romantic life is all played out, too....not that I'm not content in that department because I am. But, I've probably had all the romantic novelty and excitement in my life that I'm ever going to have. Don't get me wrong...the boy and I just hit 5 years...we are on a mortgage together...his idea of "quiet contentment" that enchanted me so much is definitely what I would call our life. It's all good. But marriage? I'll never give up my name again. And we'd probably rather buy another old car or at least finish the Falcon with what we'd spend on a wedding, so...
Honestly, not too much bad has happened to me in the way of tragedies....but Life doesn't let anyone get away unscathed, so I must have a housefire or breast cancer or a break-up queued up down the road. The body ages. As do all the bodies of people in my life....I will go through loss of those I love. That's going to be difficult....I've had a few heaping helpings of that already, and there will be more. And I fear I'm being ungrateful and like I'd better watch out because if you aren't mindful and appreciative of what you have at every moment, the fates will happily kick you in the nuts...and then you'll wish you'd been paying attention.
It's that the present is always caboosed by the uncertain future, whose constant cronies are certain Inevitabilities....and it's foolish to get too comfortable. Perhaps it's a scar from the miasma of illusions and subterfuge that was my old marriage, but I have a fear of contentment. At some points, I was captain of the S.S. Contentment, and I just about went down with the ship in the end. Contentment is ignorance. If I am content, then I am missing something....letting my guard down. When your life involves other people (and, whose doesn't??) perhaps you can never relax with your contented assessment of reality. You can naturally never know all the factors well enough to assess and relax. Afraid to be happy- how simplistically effed-up is that?
Dunno if I'll ever trust feelings of contentment again.
And to me, at this point in life....also being one who has always actively searched out experiences, sensory stimuli, art. etc....it seems obvious that things will never be better than they were or are. Is this a symptom of middle-age? I am pretty sure that I've found nearly every asthetic, type of music, cuisine, school of thought, etc. that can arouse me. I hope to remain open-minded and perhaps surprised again at any time, but in general I long for old, not new. I withdraw, not expand. I simplify, not complicate. What is this process?
I feel trapped between young and old. Between has-been and could-be. Unsure which is worse, the thought of the certainty of the future or the uncertainty of it.
And perhaps that's the draw of nostalgic obsessing....there is no uncertain future because it's already here and you know how it all turned out...you are free to enjoy the past as present.
Blegh...I don't even know what I'm saying and this is boring and self-involved and tedious....always the disconnect between how I thought I would feel when certain things happened (love, home-ownership, time off, blah blah...and add in there another recent drastic change in personal appearance) and how I actually feel in the ever-persistent and never-quite-good-enough Present.
I am monumentally grateful for things....it could be much, much worse. Honestly grateful. But even that becomes a neurosis when you get caught up in whether you may be punished for not being quite grateful enough. "I'll give you something to cry about!"
And the favorite, default form of escapist daydreaming is to wish it was 1952 or something, conveniently forgetting that I must, unavoidably, be overidealizing.
Stupid.
I need to get my ass back to work, is what it is. It's. That. Simple. The end.
And in the midst of all this silly vomitation, a woodchuck strolled across our little hill outside the window right here, standing on hind legs and eating flowering weeds. And like a suckerpunch I realize that I am the biggest asshole in the world because this home, this surrounding, in New England, is all I ever wanted in my whole life. Off to the feedstore to buy some grower crumbles for our month-old chickens. It's a lovely day, I have blessed solitude for several hours and am going horseback riding later on. So what the hell is my problem?!
It's been great, yes....but also not so. This one, Holy Grail thing that I've been longing for for years (a chunk of time off) has happened, and yet I have not become a better Me for it. Instead, it seems as though too much time alone and undistracted from your thoughts may not be the best thing for personal growth, ironically. In fact, as life progresses, I find that getting the things you've always wanted is not always the best thing...because, then what?
Is it a mindset, an innate pessimism? Been thinking a lot about it....why the lingering ennui even in the best of circumstances. Perhaps it is an irrational inability to see the present without pining for the past or worrying/hoping for the future. Isn't everything doomed to degeneration? I spend an inordinate amount of time yearning for the past...my own (parts if it) and even more, the general past. The early/mid 20th century nostalgia is sometimes all-consuming, too, in a larger sense. And I know it's my idealized version I'm longing for, but still...
Can things ever be better than they are? In that way, I do appreciate the present....in this desperate, grabby way...like trying to hold onto a slippery fish. Sometimes it seems (historically) that things can naturally only go down from here, from 36. I mean, I am pretty sure I am at or near my career zenith, so no big events there to look towards. I'm about as financially well-off as I'll ever be...which is not very. I'll likely never crack $40,000 in my lifetime. But, I've adjusted to my station, honestly have a passion for my vocation, stay away from credit cards and don't want much materially.
Children won't be happening, so there's a whole slew of both happy milestones and heartbreaking events that won't come into play. Marriage? Hm. Not looking like it. Pretty sure my romantic life is all played out, too....not that I'm not content in that department because I am. But, I've probably had all the romantic novelty and excitement in my life that I'm ever going to have. Don't get me wrong...the boy and I just hit 5 years...we are on a mortgage together...his idea of "quiet contentment" that enchanted me so much is definitely what I would call our life. It's all good. But marriage? I'll never give up my name again. And we'd probably rather buy another old car or at least finish the Falcon with what we'd spend on a wedding, so...
Honestly, not too much bad has happened to me in the way of tragedies....but Life doesn't let anyone get away unscathed, so I must have a housefire or breast cancer or a break-up queued up down the road. The body ages. As do all the bodies of people in my life....I will go through loss of those I love. That's going to be difficult....I've had a few heaping helpings of that already, and there will be more. And I fear I'm being ungrateful and like I'd better watch out because if you aren't mindful and appreciative of what you have at every moment, the fates will happily kick you in the nuts...and then you'll wish you'd been paying attention.
It's that the present is always caboosed by the uncertain future, whose constant cronies are certain Inevitabilities....and it's foolish to get too comfortable. Perhaps it's a scar from the miasma of illusions and subterfuge that was my old marriage, but I have a fear of contentment. At some points, I was captain of the S.S. Contentment, and I just about went down with the ship in the end. Contentment is ignorance. If I am content, then I am missing something....letting my guard down. When your life involves other people (and, whose doesn't??) perhaps you can never relax with your contented assessment of reality. You can naturally never know all the factors well enough to assess and relax. Afraid to be happy- how simplistically effed-up is that?
Dunno if I'll ever trust feelings of contentment again.
And to me, at this point in life....also being one who has always actively searched out experiences, sensory stimuli, art. etc....it seems obvious that things will never be better than they were or are. Is this a symptom of middle-age? I am pretty sure that I've found nearly every asthetic, type of music, cuisine, school of thought, etc. that can arouse me. I hope to remain open-minded and perhaps surprised again at any time, but in general I long for old, not new. I withdraw, not expand. I simplify, not complicate. What is this process?
I feel trapped between young and old. Between has-been and could-be. Unsure which is worse, the thought of the certainty of the future or the uncertainty of it.
And perhaps that's the draw of nostalgic obsessing....there is no uncertain future because it's already here and you know how it all turned out...you are free to enjoy the past as present.
Blegh...I don't even know what I'm saying and this is boring and self-involved and tedious....always the disconnect between how I thought I would feel when certain things happened (love, home-ownership, time off, blah blah...and add in there another recent drastic change in personal appearance) and how I actually feel in the ever-persistent and never-quite-good-enough Present.
I am monumentally grateful for things....it could be much, much worse. Honestly grateful. But even that becomes a neurosis when you get caught up in whether you may be punished for not being quite grateful enough. "I'll give you something to cry about!"
And the favorite, default form of escapist daydreaming is to wish it was 1952 or something, conveniently forgetting that I must, unavoidably, be overidealizing.
Stupid.
I need to get my ass back to work, is what it is. It's. That. Simple. The end.
And in the midst of all this silly vomitation, a woodchuck strolled across our little hill outside the window right here, standing on hind legs and eating flowering weeds. And like a suckerpunch I realize that I am the biggest asshole in the world because this home, this surrounding, in New England, is all I ever wanted in my whole life. Off to the feedstore to buy some grower crumbles for our month-old chickens. It's a lovely day, I have blessed solitude for several hours and am going horseback riding later on. So what the hell is my problem?!
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