GLUE HANDS
I don’t want to say that persistence is the only thing that gets things done. That’s not totally true. It is this morning though and sometimes that’s all there is. The immediate. The “get moving”.
My seemingly clockwork like ninety day drift is drifting and I’m working through it. Again. A quarterly reminder that things aren’t always as they seem. That there’s no cures for what ails us if we aren’t up for curing.
The countdown usually starts about 79 days in. That’s arbitrary of course but I always see it coming. A slight fraying on the index finger starts to peel the palm full of dried glue, an elementary school project gone awry when you realized you could maybe pull off the whole hand if you spread it thin enough and let it dry all the way, pulled slow and easy. That when you were done this time you’d have the masterpiece, but still mildly content making a glue ball. The hand fresh and clean to start the 90 day clock again.
Is that example a stretch? Too much for the mind to jump from Elmer’ glue to the cycles of our lives? Don’t ask me. I just work here.
The unknown (and known things we ignore) have a way of exacting a certain pressure on you. You can’t see it at all but it’s there. Pressing. This Thanksgiving feels like another thing that we, my family, has just decided to forego due to the so called “pandemic times”. I’ve been repeatedly saying that the way the world consumes has totally and forever changed. This week is just another example of that. I didn’t even bother cooking Thanksgiving dinner. It seemed like a lot for 4 people, two of whom don’t really like it and another two who’d have to cook it. Who really knows if it will ever return?
The world has moved on, and it’s inhabitants are in no mans land. Stuck wishing for “things to go back to normal” (was it that normal?) and where they are lodged. Unsure of what to do, but slowly removing things from their lives, wondering if they should fill the space. Figured ll the space. Fill the space.
We’ve (the world) have been so focused on doing that filling for so long, we (I) don’t know what to do with ourselves (myself). I’ve become uninterested in almost all the things I do. Then I look at the clock and go, “Oh, it’s been about 90 days. This is just you.” (is it though?). You’ll be fine in a day or so.
This morning I started to write three different times. This is the third. It’s the same writing I do lots of times. Questioning. Soaking in the morning. Feeling like I should be doing. The doing alway feels better. It satisfies. This is why the Shiny Folks are constantly doing. Movement, even unfocused, fills the days. This is “better than”.
What I guess it means is that I’m weary of what’s going on and the usual fillers aren’t filling. The glue won’t spread thin and I don’t have the patience to wait to peel it off. I’ll start peeling when the first finger dries, meeting a puddle at the crook of a not elementary aged hand. I’ll go run. Returning unsatisfied. Because that’s what seems to be missing. The unknown of now creates a lack of satisfaction from doing the “old normal” things. Being of the mostly unsatisfied on even my best days, this is growing old.
I only know one way to change it though, and it’s simple. Add structure. Define a thing or two.
Release.
Let go.
And do.
#hugsandhi5s
