Drifting

12 Nov

Right now I’m in a very drifting chapter in my life.  You know the feeling, like everything’s going fine but you don’t feel like you’re going anywhere?

Drifting is like being bedridden for something like a broken leg–bad enough to keep you in bed, but not so bad as you couldn’t imagine being somewhere else  than bed.  Somewhere around day 15 of a 30 day stay, a fidgety feeling comes in, and the thought comes that if you spend one more stinking day in this stinking bed you will just go insane.  And you hate how the walls look, you’ve looked at them so much, and you’re tired of tv, and you couldn’t read if you tried, you just lay and stew and stew and lay.

That’s where I am.  I want an idea, a goal, a something, to woo me over that next hill, and instead I’m paddling through the swamps not knowing where I’m going, not even knowing if I’m getting anywhere, just paddling, paddling.

What there is to do about drifting varies according to what you think life is for.  Some people think everybody has a purpose that they were meant to perform, and they just need to find that thing.  I’m skeptical of this idea–I think life is more like a sandbox, where the meaning we find we make ourselves.

Goodness, life is like a bed, life is like a swamp, life is like a sandbox…no wonder I’m drifting, I can’t even get my metaphors lined up properly.

Maybe I need a new word–instead of drifting….exploring?  NO!  Although exploring sounds like a nice positive word, exploring has certain demands to it, like reporting some information or finding out something, this is not guaranteed.  Wandering?  Wandering is better.  Wandering through a new city seeing what there is to find–small delights, small wonders, little nooks.  I like that, like the wandering through the wilderness part of the Bible.  Some people live their whole lives as nomads, though as a nomad my world is kind of small…

…but it’s just the right size for me right now.  I can’t go comparing people’s worlds, after all, we all have different dimensions, Emily Dickinson saw the whole world from her garden, and Donald Trump has probably visited a much bigger chunk of the world than I ever will, yet I doubt if he saw any of it at all.  Could perception be the companion of drifting?  Could noticing and seeing be all that’s expected of me right now?

Maybe that is so.  Maybe I just need to see and notice right now.  That’s what I’m going to do–see and notice and mend.

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