Can’t Quite Commit
I’ve been having a rough time lately, but reading some great authors. Emotionally, it’s been rough trying to organize the move myself and get rid of stuff. On the other hand, reading has been a sort of support.
I have all my degrees in a box now. A box. Not even a big box. It kills me that I owe almost 50k on these degrees that I may never use. They are unquestionably the most expensive pieces of paper I own.
The authors I have been reading are Stephen and Ondrea Levine and Melody Beattie. I really relate to these people. I feel like they “get it.” However, they all state that for a person to move forward in life, they must fully commit to the life that they have. Can’t do it. Nope. I would be disingenuous as hell to pretend to fully commit to a life that I am praying will end. I can’t commit to a life that is so little about me and my needs, to a life where my needs are such a low priority. Part of me will always be consciously or subconsciously looking for the nearest exit.
I suck as a Buddhist. I am no bodhisattva. A bodhisattva is a being that keeps coming back until everyone is saved. I don’t even want to be here now. Okay, I accept that I am selfish. Part of that selfishness comes from being horrified that I am pushing fifty, not working, not going to school, and only endlessly taking care of a chronically sick husband. And we are planning to move to an apartment that is more handicap accessible. What I want and need are really not relevant at this point. The hope is that maybe I can work if I am not taking care of a house. But that might require me fighting with the insurance company that has already deemed my needs as invalid and illegitimate. They collect premiums while providing no benefits. The insurance industry needs to made non-profit. Now.
So I am expressing my selfishness in do-able ways. Today, I took a bunch of books to MSU to be recycled. I got a haircut. I went to Planet Fitness. I bought some kefir. That stuff is amazing. It helps me to relax and sleep, no matter my emotional condition. All of my errands involved driving around. The weather has been spectacular. Global warming probably stinks in Texas in July, but it is totally awesome in Michigan in October. The leaves are brightly colored. It is warm, with a fabulous breeze. This has been the Indian summer of a lifetime.
I do not consider what I am living to be a “lifestyle.” I consider it to be a “death style.” I am basically waiting for Barry to die so I can start to really live my life. Taking care of him is just not quite meaningful enough. I so wish it were. I just never thought my life would come to this. I feel that life is essentially humiliating and only meaningful to the degree that you manufacture meaning. The human brain in a meaning-making machine. Only we could see a dead president in a potato or the Virgin Mary in a piece of toast. I can’t quite jerry-rig meaning when I know that that is what I am doing.
The Levines suggest trying to commit to “just this much.” Sometimes I can do that. And that is what I will have to settle for at the moment.