Existential Ramblings...

There's this feeling I get every now and then: A tight, achy heaviness. A little like disappointment, severed from its source, I guess... With a secondary, tummy-burning sense of foreboding, and fear of the future.

I used to get it far more than I have in recent years, and back then, it would come in oceans, not waves. Twice or thrice, in the way distant past, it was so overwhelming and all-encompassing, that I marvel at having survived it. I have a few photographs of myself, taken at those times, and occasionally look at them and think, "jussie, you were just SOOO unhappy".

It's never that bad anymore. Not for years and years. It no longer throws the balance into the red. But it gives it a bash.

But it's "around", at the moment, in its most moderate, and least threatening form. But around nonetheless.

Perhaps it's because there are a few situations in my orbit, more complex than I have wisdom to navigate... And a little much year left at the end of my energy... A few too many bills to pay (and dreams to realise) at the end of my money...  And several nebulous threats to my livelihood, which bark and bark and bark, but haven't seemed to lunge forth with teeth, just yet...  (I don't know if it's a normal part of being a Self-Employed Human Adult with Offspring and Major Responsibilities, but I worry about money, and it's ability to be generated. A lot).

And then, ironically, and seemingly contradictory, I have existential conflicts about being a happy, fulfilled person, in a very unhappy, troubled world. And this then triggers that tight, achy feeling, and tummy-burning foreboding... This sometimes takes the form of survivor guilt... Be that "white guilt"... Or "I'm-having-quality-time-in-the-Drakensburg-while-ISIS-attacked-Paris guilt". Or the-world-is-burning-and-I-haven't-schooled-myself-in-WHY guilt...

There was a Syrian teenager featured on Carte Blanche last week, who refused to join ISIS, and was punished by amputation of his right hand and left foot. How can I plan beach holidays, and splash my Barbie-clad toddler on the swimming pool step, in a world in which knife-wielding terrorists hack off limbs..? It doesn't make any sense to me.

So today, I was wondering around a supermarket, with Ariana, getting some groceries for the week, and pondering this current crisis of existence in my soul...

"What's the meaning of life..?" As I choose free-range over grain-fed eggs, and acquiesce and buy my child an expensive, cheap-looking doll.

"Is it enough to just work and work, pay bills, and let months roll into years into decades..?" Sparkling water, cream, coffee...

 "And is it not a special kind of wonderful to succeed in being quite happy..? Is that not something of an achievement, in and of itself..? Is that not actually a contribution, in this crazy world, to be well-adjusted and create well-adjusted children..?" As I search for my store card to get some alleged bonus or discount.

"What is my purpose? Should I not be striving for something more..? Something bigger than a lovely Saturday evening with extended family, a Sunday morning lie-in, and a day whiled away under the lapa..?". What about charity..? But then doesn't that detract from family, which is apparently where charity should begin..? And isn't philanthropy self-serving anyway..?" As I pop into the awful Chinese clothes shop and try on something so see-through, I'd need to wear 6 of them to protect my honour.

"I'll ask Yaghoub", I decided. As soon as I get home. He's my husband... He should be able to help.

And he did, actually. His answer to my "I'm depressed; what is the meaning of life?", sprung on him from nowhere, was quick, but considered: "Yes, our purpose is to work hard, and be grateful. Gratitude is very important". 

So that's that. We work hard, because that's how humans survive, and there's a fundamental satisfaction in that. And we give thanks. Children. A home. A good marriage. Work to do. Health.

And, he says, when any of these things fail you, you move to the next level of gratitude... There's always something to be grateful for, and, when your time on earth seems to be failing, due to illness, or death, your gratitude would be for what you had. But in the time you have, while you have it, you work hard, and have gratitude for your lot. And that's it.

He then mocked me a little, for being a depressed psychologist. And called me a fraud.

But he made a lot of sense. I have patients who quite regularly apologise for their existence, and their presence in my office, affirming that others have it far harder than they do... Professionally, therapeutically, I go to great pains to assure them that we are all dealt a hand of cards, and we can only but play the hand we have before us. We don't play our friends or opponents' hand, nor our peers'. We don't feel guilty for having a few strong cards, and we are free to bemoan even one or two dud ones. While our hand is good, we can play that with charm and aplomb. The next hand may be worse, and we'll see to that when we get there... But all we can do is play this now hand. This isn't an original concept, by any stretch. But my point is my double standards and hypocrisy, more than the analogy at hand.

So I haven't had any epiphanies, nor resolved my angst... But I will go into Another Monday invigorated by a quality weekend, and ready to work with all my heart... To make the maximum difference to the people I engage with... And I will plan activities over Christmas, that will give special experiences to my two little children... Sand in their toes, salt water on their faces, jungle gyms to climb, new people to meet... And I'll see raising them well, as part of my purpose, even in a world that seems to need a far bigger gesture...

And maybe such bigger gestures will be dealt in my next hand.

Shimmering.

Blogging, and life, are tricky things.

In order for either to be of value, they need to be authentic. They need to be honest. They need to be outward expressions of inward realities. The people we most sidle up to, as authors and as humans, tell their truths without apology or embellishment. We find ourselves in the grappling narratives of those who have not been double-dipped in the boring, overdone rhetoric of the day. Which is falsehood anyway.

But, in blogging, and in life, Truth is something that has to be managed, and not just told. 

Parables exist for this reason. Novels. Poetry. Social clubs. 

They give a semblance of reality, but without needing to stake any particular claim... Without having to commit. The door remains ajar.

Maybe you misunderstood.

You didn't misunderstand.

But maybe you did.