In Which F. Scott Fitzgerald Teaches Us Excellent Posture and Faulkner, That the Best Stories Are Never Told. Apparently.

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!