Last week’s poem was a few days/weeks in the making.
I have been feeling a desire to return to writing poetry as sometimes prose is too wordy and lacks an elegance that poetry has in expressing thoughts or emotions. It has been a while since I have used it as a way of expressing myself, but it finally turned into something. This poem came out of recent conversations and ponderings.
My father has always had a zest for life. My husband carries that same attitude toward it. Pea (our female Beagle puppy) seems to have it, while Monty (her brother) is less cheerful – albeit still very cheerful. I do not have it. I never have. In fact, I barely even understand the concept of it.
Still, aside from one or two moments in my life, I have not considered escaping it by my own means. It is not the case that I even hate it. My life is good. The Universe and God have given me more than others might even imagine possible. Yet, I do not love the act of living.
For as long as I can remember, I have said and felt that if I were to die tomorrow, it would be with relief and satisfaction that at last my time in this world is ended. This is not to say that I actively put my life in danger nor that I have a completely blasΓ© attitude about how I go about living. It is to say that I do not hold on to any particular passion or mission that I feel I must fulfill in order to live fully. In fact, passion and mission are not something I think I have ever had nor desired.
Some people are driven by a passion for a craft, a political stance, a fight, an activity, a sense of changing the world. Some people think it is their mission to achieve some goal of success whether it is money, life changes, global improvements, human advancements and the like. I am not. I do not.
So, why do I get up every morning? Why don’t I just kill myself as my husband once asked me in a frustrated conversation about my laissez-faire attitude toward life?
The truth is that I don’t have an answer. I no longer actively consider what gets me out of bed. I no longer actively desire to know my purpose. When I was younger, I spent a lot of brain power on these questions and contemplated, read, discussed how I should live a purpose-filled life. What I found was that, it doesn’t matter.
All our aims at finding happiness, wanting what others have, trying to change the world, being concerned about the state of society, etc. contribute to a continued cycle of discontent and frustration. I have learned that by finding contentment in myself, my life, my ways – all the areas of my control – I do not need nor desire to be involved in the other thoughts. Call me selfish, if you like, but honestly I don’t care.
I have always felt that we, humans, are too controlled and dependent on others. My belief in the power of humanity is based on the power of individuals realizing their strengths and then working with others respecting each other as individuals to create something better. Unfortunately, this rarely ever happens – but it does, and when it does – WOW. Perhaps, it is those moments that I live for….
In any case, I do not feel that life is meant to be about being happy or having zest for the living. While I hope that I have and give value to others, I am also content to just do and be – me.
~T π₯πβοΈ
