I have a little time to myself, with no immediate obligations on the horizon, and I can’t seem to find anything to say. This may not be such a bad thing. Sometimes, a little peace and quiet in the mind can go a long way, as long as you maintain an awareness of the real world, knowing that it won’t be long before you are called to have busy-ness and noise back in your mind.
When I was less mature and gray, I would feel the need to constantly find ways to validate how I was especially different and exceptional than others. Such times like this needed a little action of some kind to make give them color and remind me that I was living a very special sort of life. Most likely, this meant drinking a six pack alone while eating a sandwich from Central Market and watching a show on Hulu or a DVD I’d purchased from Half Price Books. I was really too scared to go downtown by myself and just mix it up with people.
This was probably a good thing. I had allowed enough people in who didn’t need to be let in, and none of them had changed me for the better. I didn’t need more experiences in dark, smoky bars with tattooed characters who reveled in being treated like shit by bouncers and bartenders. I didn’t need to find more people who would judge me if I passed on taking a hit from the bong.
I think I had the right spirit or intentions, but was hopelessly going about it all wrong.
Yes, I needed to change. Yes, I needed to discover that which was unique to me, though I would hardly assert anymore that I am exceptional or in any way better than other people. The quiet time spent alone doing soulwork was vital to me getting on with becoming a better human, but the quiet time was maddening. I craved it, and then when I had it, I was restless–I didn’t learn about the word acedia until many years later. Now, there really isn’t very much in the way of true quiet time. As I write this, the time to myself has already passed, and the TV is on again, the distractions are back, and my search for that still, small voice is strained.