I am having a crisis of faith, as it were.
I’ve heard it said such things are self-indulgent.
I supposed I agree.
I, I, I.
But telling myself I am self-indulging is annoying, not mood-curing. So my crisis of faith continues.
I can’t explain the cause. I think part of it is due to a paralysis resulting from - feeling overwhelmed? Drawn-and-quartered in too many directions? Or, conversely, having too much time to sit and - erm - indulge my thoughts? Having too much ego? (I, I, I.) No diagnosis means no cure.
For most of my life, I have wanted to do One Thing. I have pledged my life to this One Thing with the near-unwavering conviction of a born-again zealot who hasn’t quite kicked all the cussin’ and boozin’. Almost every fantasy I’ve had involved life with this Passion, every plan ended with ‘and someday I’ll do This.’
Lately, I’ve been looking at This, and thinking - what’s the f-ing point? Why bother?
Is it possible to ask ‘what’s the meaning of all this?’ without sounding overly dramatic? Probably not. I bet odds are even lower when it is written (as opposed to being said). But, seriously folks, what’s the meaning of all This?
Why f-ing bother?
I look at my glorious Plans and think - if I am the only one who truly gives a shit, they can’t be terribly worthwhile plans, now can they?
If you do something because it makes you happy, is it worth doing?
Idealists, artists, hippies, radicals, free-thinkers, leftists, creators, and a rare philosopher in a good mood will probably say “of course” or “hell yeah” or “rock on, man.” Good friends, sympathetic family, and spouses will probably tell you the same thing. But, when lives need to be saved, when wrongs need to be righted, trains need to be caught and children require villages to raise them - isn’t it more self-indulgent to waste time on That Which Makes You Happy than to - indulge in a crises of faith?
Honestly, I just don’t know.
And thus, metaphorically speaking, I sit - pen in hand, blank page in front of me, inspirational works on the side. And I stare - and stare - and stare - at the wall. Hijacked into inertia. I want a cause and effect. I want to be able to measure what my happiness brings to the world. I want to see an output for my bothering to bother.
I, I, I.
But that’s just it, isn’t it? Happiness is always about one person - you. Or, rather, ME. Companies, marriages, relationships, vacations, ideas, books, vocations - they all simmer to one common ingredient - what makes ME happy. If it makes me happy enough, maybe I’ll do it. But, seriously, that’s a lousy f-ing outcome, now isn’t it?
Isn’t it?
Or is it too self-indulgent to think so?
I, I, I just don’t know.
Posted by acr at April 20, 2005 07:00 PM | TrackBack