I’ve been struggling a long time to figure out what I want to do with my life. I used to joke I had my life planned through graduation this past May. It wasn’t until August and September came that I realized how much I had relied upon this plan–and how much I lacked the direction to proceed since then.
I’ve been journeying this winding path for weeks. I’ve taken personal inventories and gone to job interviews and spoken with advisors and friends about what I’m doing–and none alone has given me more help than my closest friend. She told me flatly that I’m fooling myself. That I’ve always known what I want to do. That I’m just thinking too much.
Well, maybe I have thought too much. But now my thinking is over.
So elections were yesterday and despite distractions galore, I still managed to reach my daily word count goal for NaNoWriMo. Through antihistamines and philosophers, economic speakers and communication workshops, I thought the day would end on a solemn note. And when I saw some of the election results, certainly it seemed solidly solemn enough, but somehow there is clarity in these wins and losses–clarity that my vote didn’t count.
But don’t mistake me for apathy. There’s more to it than that.
Life is a lovely conglomeration of chaos at the best of times. At the worst it is pure tovavo, that bleeding existence before creation where there was something, something so beyond human understanding, it was purer than any chaos we could hope to understand.
The irony of chaos is that it can feel very calm at the center of things. Take me for the moment: Right now I’m very at ease. I spent the afternoon sleeping. I woke up around six or so and didn’t even know what day it was. Things seem serene.
But right beneath–no, not “beneath” this at all; my awareness is somehow transitory, superficial, as if I am a fish and it is the fishbowl and I am looking out at a world distorted by the very medium that keeps me afloat–right around all of this, I can see and feel everything unraveling.