I considered calling this blog entry ‘Into the Abyss: How I
Got Lost in the Nothingness of Being.’ But, sitting on a wobbly chair in a
jazzy coffee house, the blue sky having finally peeped out (after two
interminable grey days—think California time, where two grey days is a LIFETIME
instead of the usual in Londontown), that title seems like a bit of a downer
really. No, you say!? And I have to say I appreciate your incredulous sarcasm.
I feel compelled to
point out that it is an honest downer. Here’s what happened. (By the way, I may
also have watched a couple of seasons of Monk since we last met). Anyway,
here’s what happened.
When we last met, Mr Findingmoxie and I had just found a
lovely flat in San Francisco, the sun was out, and our futures looked bright.
That is not to say that there weren’t the usual blights upon otherwise happy days.
But somewhere along the months, the same blended into the same, days bled into
weeks, and we began to feel very Victorian indeed. And by Victorian, I mean
long stretches of ennui broken by snappy segments of determined
self-improvement. Taking inspiration from our friend, Scraps, we decided to
turn our term of unemployment into a renaissance—a moxissance—where we would
pick up skills and hobbies we had always imagined taking up. And so, we toiled
through online computer programming courses, accepted a dare to run a half
marathon, taught ourselves how to chop a whole chicken via youtube, trekked
through Faulkner and Fitzgerald novels, wrote a few vague starts to a novel and
a children’s book, choreographed a trampoline workout, powered through seasons
of TV and kicked ass at being a stay-at-home cat mama.
To stave off the dreaded ennui, I tried to set a schedule of
hourly installments of activity. For instance:
10:00-11:00 Read The
Sound and Fury
11:00-12:00 Look through job listings/apply
12:00-13:00 Lunch and telly
13:00-14:00 Write stories/blog
14:00-15:00 Catch up
on correspondence (those of you who were my unlucky correspondents can totally
take a moment to snicker here)
15:00-16:00 Physical fitness (trampoline, yoga or running)
16:00-17:00 Shower
17:00 Ukulele practice?
17:15 BEER-THIRTY?!
Catch up on seasons of TV.
The more sage among you will realize that this schedule fell
apart pretty quickly. Maybe it is my ‘Goldilocks complex,’ but any endeavor I
undertook meant that I had to get comfortable and my comfort is fickle. By the
time I settled comfortably to a task (fetched a cup of tea, warm socks, found
the right musical accompaniment, plugged in my laptop, etc.), I only had a
quarter of an hour left. Curses! For me,
oddly enough, gainful unemployment meant there were less hours in the day. Yeah,
I still haven’t been able to work out the math on that one. I only know that if
I planned to achieve five tasks, I actually got through two, tops. Le sigh.
Soon enough it became sharply clear to me that while I chose
Mr Findingmoxie as my life companion, I didn’t think he would end up being my ONLY life companion. Suddenly, all my
words had only one focus. I think I can safely say that we both felt the
strain. Keenly. Marriage can be a delight, but you need the chaff of everyone
else to find the wheat of your chosen partner. The dangers of becoming
seriously co-dependent or seriously independent of each other loomed over the
findingmoxies.
And so, the ABYSS opened. What am I supposed to be doing?
What am I supposed to be feeling? Am I not utilizing my experiences to the
fullest? Why aren’t I happier to be back in the states? What the heck do I want
to do? And the ever popular, am I overthinking everything, again?!
I honestly don’t have any of those answers. Still. But The
Nothingness of Being has faded. Mr Findingmoxie staggered, but stood strong
under the force of all my words. Two little kittens to look after gave me much
needed focus to my energy and love. The sun, after all, shone nearly every day.
Some days, the Nothingness seems like a gift, a blank canvas with which to do
anything in the whole wide world we fancy. Other days are simply Bleh with
Nothingness. But such is life.
I know, I lure you in with
promise of perfect posture and bore you with angst. Never fear, you shall be
rewarded. This much I can do for you. According to Fitzgerald, you have to walk, rising from the small of your back, rather than slumped on your
hips. Seriously, doesn’t sound like much, but it’s a game changer. And Faulkner? Well, I’m told it’s more powerful to
allow every single character but the
main one share their story. The main character is then made larger than life. I
am still struggling to accept this. Frankly, silence has always seemed like
marginalization for me, but I’m sure Faulkner would point out that that’s my
own hang-up.
There, you’ve been schooled.
In any case, I hope this means we
can be friends again. I promise not to disappear again. Oh, and cute cat photos
will probably be de rigeur again. So, hang in there!
