What is it about tomorrow that permits every one of us to channel Scarlett O’Hara? Tomorrow is just another day, but so is today. So was yesterday. Why do we put off until tomorrow what we could do today? What’s going to change about ourselves, about our motivation, our abilities, about the world we live in? Is it about the promise, the idea of starting anew, starting fresh - as if we’ve already ruined today’s chances? Is it merely a scapegoat, a hairy excuse with horns lazily wandering through our thoughts with a mouthful of weeds that reminds us the grass is always greener on the other side of midnight? Of course, the opposite problem is always possible, so afraid of tomorrow that there can be no rest for the weary.
The dilemma is, how does the weary rest and accomplish life’s goals?
My dad is dead. He didn’t pass away - he died. He spoke to my mother on the phone, walked out of the house, got into his car, started it up and put it in reverse. Then he died. And ran his car into the corner of the neighbor’s house. It wasn’t a stroke or a heart attack. He wasn’t suffering from a chronic illness or a debilitating disease, he didn’t have an accident, he wasn’t attacked nor did he meet his fate at the hands of a natural disaster. He dropped over dead.
I’m not sure what he thought about that day, if he was contemplating his retirement or planning a visit to see me in Kansas City. Maybe there was a basketball game on that evening or perhaps a pile of work shirts that needed ironed. Was he thinking about Christmas?
The date was December 6. It was 3 days past his 65th birthday.
He never did visit me in Kansas City. He never saw his grandson play soccer or meet my dog. He also never had that sports car he’d dreamed of.
I don’t know what else my dad wanted. I doubt it was very much. But I wish that I’d asked him.
This isn’t about what my father did or did not accomplish in his lifetime and it isn’t about the idea we could all drop dead at any moment.
It isn’t entirely about those things.
Though they both weigh heavily on my mind. I try not to perseverate on those thoughts of gloom and doom or else they’d invade my world with a crippling darkness that sucks me deeper under the covers each morning until one day I’m unable to leave my bed.
Ah.
That’s it, isn’t it?
That’s tomorrow.
Whether we’re well or sick, happy or sad, rested or tired, joyful or fearful, alive or dead - tomorrow happens.
Tomorrow will happen.
Suddenly the blinds are flung open and rays of sunshine stream in through the windows and I indeed am greeted by a new day, by tomorrow.
Tomorrow is hope.
Because tomorrow happens there is also the opportunity to create a tomorrow, any tomorrow that fulfills our needs. Obligations, dreams, desires, fantasies, challenges, chores - all will be greeted by tomorrow, just as we will be. It’s a mental manipulation we can carry around ourselves like a security blanket. We become Linuses of the lies, using tomorrow as an excuse and wrapping our souls in swaddled promises and breathe easy, a sigh of relief, tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow…
I can do it tomorrow!
I don’t need to worry about it until tomorrow!
Tomorrow we can be anyone and do anything and accomplish whatever we put our minds to doing.
Tomorrow things will be different…
And things could be different - the lies are only poison insofar as we allow ourselves to betray what we know to be true: We have control over our own lives and we alone are responsible for the choices that we make. Are you freaking kidding me? It’s called free will! We are the puppeteers and the masters of our own fates. We can’t be afraid of the challenge - it’s too easy to allow the world to take over and dictate the day.
It’s not only that we put off the unpleasant, we seem to put off anything that deviates from routine. For someone that hates routine and throws around the word “complacency” with the same amount of contempt I exhibit when I pronounce Sarah Palin’s name, one might think that I would do anything to escape a routine. Yet I find myself in a daily revolving door.
Tomorrow will happen. If not for me, then for somebody else.
Oh, yeah…Three years later my parents’ neighbors have yet to fix the corner of their house. Perhaps they keep putting it off, until tomorrow.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
I'm not really sure what it is, but I know it isn't indigestion...
A friend of mine is bored. Yes, you - my only male follower. I read your blog and your reflections on life and your frustrations of boredom. Sleepwalking through the world, your job, with only your motorcycle and your blog to entertain you. Certainly, companionship has its merits and your lovely wife and wuppies tolerate your cranky ass; devotion of which I know you are eternally grateful. But you are bored nonetheless. It may not even be your own boredom which creates a haze of lassitude, an uncomfortable awkward feeling that settles in the pit of your stomach and causes you to stare unblinking for minutes at a time until you're suddenly aroused by an auspicious noise and turn hopeful looking for excitement, entertainment, anything to awaken your brain from the hum of its constant stupor and -
oh wait. that could be me. fuck.
OK - so I am bored. But it just isn't my boredom alone that causes me frustration. I am profoundly affected by others' boredom, only I don't think they know they are bored. I think I get the greatest frustration out of those who should be bored but appear to be just fine and settled into their innate little lives, long paved roads of which they have been traveling since before they can remember, no potholes, no deviations, no construction, not even a passing lane. I have written about this before. Obviously I've come no closer to an answer. I feel like there is so much about our lives, about our world that is cause for exploration, for adventure. I cannot say that I empathize with folks who are satisfied with routine though I can honestly say that a part of me is envious of their complacency.
But I'm not really sure that it's boredom. It's more of.....a longing for the unknown.
no. dumb.
A propensity for change.
ugh. Be patient, I'll come up with something once I am on a roll.
I enjoy many aspects of my life. I love my family and friends. Spending time with my son is outstanding.
you know, for someone who frequently writes/types as if the words were flowing from my fingertips like Guinness from a tap, those three sentences were excrutiatingly slooooow.
Not that I am making them up, however. Are you freaking kidding me - my kid is rock star. And I have great friends and family, along with a very supportive and loving boyfriend. Let me tell you why I am so affected by the "boredom" of others, why the moronic complacency of my fellow person seems to suck the wind from my lungs. These zombies with a heartbeat are so fucking happy with themselves, at least to the point where they don't analyze the hell out of it all. My problem is that I haven't fully accepted myself yet and reconciled those life commitments and responsibilities with my passions. I'm not comfortable with myself, and that is a very uncomfortable feeling, and I have such difficulty with that reconciliation I shut it down. I repress it, because if I didn't it would remind me that I have absolutely no idea what it is I want to do with myself and I won't be able to figure it out, I'll have a terrible headache with a crippling depression that lasts longer than Cialis. I'm already half-panicked at the idea of growing old and dying so losing 36 hours of my life because I decided to think about it which resulted in an emotional bender and a full-blown pity party is pretty much not on my immediate to-do list.
But if I am so unsettled, if I am so out of place, if I am so bored, then why don't I just fucking do something about it?
oh, ok. so it's that easy.
What is it that I am going to do? Because I can't spend another 33 years watching other people live their lives and referring to them as zombies with heartbeats and poking fun at their seeming lack of intelligence. Because it's me who is the fucking moron. If I could only get inspired. But that's the thing, I write that and read it over and I know it's total bullshit - I shouldn't be looking for inspiration. It's as if I am always looking for something - for a reason, for an excuse, for a sign, for someone else to do it, to make me do it, whatever. I should try living a little in an active mode rather than a reactive one.
So maybe that's what it is - I'm an electron looking for a chain reaction, a battery in need of a jump...good lord, those are hideous analogies. I'm really reaching for straws here.
I'm not bored, but I'm not...comfortable.
I can blame it on the pad Thai I had for dinner.
Blame it on the ADD?
Blame it on the rain?
The matter of contention is that I am smart as a whip and though I couldn't pass an elementary school test I could kick the teacher's ass in the facts of life. But that and the loose change in my wallet won't get me very far.
This is all coming back to my job again, isn't it?
oh wait. that could be me. fuck.
OK - so I am bored. But it just isn't my boredom alone that causes me frustration. I am profoundly affected by others' boredom, only I don't think they know they are bored. I think I get the greatest frustration out of those who should be bored but appear to be just fine and settled into their innate little lives, long paved roads of which they have been traveling since before they can remember, no potholes, no deviations, no construction, not even a passing lane. I have written about this before. Obviously I've come no closer to an answer. I feel like there is so much about our lives, about our world that is cause for exploration, for adventure. I cannot say that I empathize with folks who are satisfied with routine though I can honestly say that a part of me is envious of their complacency.
But I'm not really sure that it's boredom. It's more of.....a longing for the unknown.
no. dumb.
A propensity for change.
ugh. Be patient, I'll come up with something once I am on a roll.
I enjoy many aspects of my life. I love my family and friends. Spending time with my son is outstanding.
you know, for someone who frequently writes/types as if the words were flowing from my fingertips like Guinness from a tap, those three sentences were excrutiatingly slooooow.
Not that I am making them up, however. Are you freaking kidding me - my kid is rock star. And I have great friends and family, along with a very supportive and loving boyfriend. Let me tell you why I am so affected by the "boredom" of others, why the moronic complacency of my fellow person seems to suck the wind from my lungs. These zombies with a heartbeat are so fucking happy with themselves, at least to the point where they don't analyze the hell out of it all. My problem is that I haven't fully accepted myself yet and reconciled those life commitments and responsibilities with my passions. I'm not comfortable with myself, and that is a very uncomfortable feeling, and I have such difficulty with that reconciliation I shut it down. I repress it, because if I didn't it would remind me that I have absolutely no idea what it is I want to do with myself and I won't be able to figure it out, I'll have a terrible headache with a crippling depression that lasts longer than Cialis. I'm already half-panicked at the idea of growing old and dying so losing 36 hours of my life because I decided to think about it which resulted in an emotional bender and a full-blown pity party is pretty much not on my immediate to-do list.
But if I am so unsettled, if I am so out of place, if I am so bored, then why don't I just fucking do something about it?
oh, ok. so it's that easy.
What is it that I am going to do? Because I can't spend another 33 years watching other people live their lives and referring to them as zombies with heartbeats and poking fun at their seeming lack of intelligence. Because it's me who is the fucking moron. If I could only get inspired. But that's the thing, I write that and read it over and I know it's total bullshit - I shouldn't be looking for inspiration. It's as if I am always looking for something - for a reason, for an excuse, for a sign, for someone else to do it, to make me do it, whatever. I should try living a little in an active mode rather than a reactive one.
So maybe that's what it is - I'm an electron looking for a chain reaction, a battery in need of a jump...good lord, those are hideous analogies. I'm really reaching for straws here.
I'm not bored, but I'm not...comfortable.
I can blame it on the pad Thai I had for dinner.
Blame it on the ADD?
Blame it on the rain?
The matter of contention is that I am smart as a whip and though I couldn't pass an elementary school test I could kick the teacher's ass in the facts of life. But that and the loose change in my wallet won't get me very far.
This is all coming back to my job again, isn't it?
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