There’s no two ways about it. I’m at loose ends. I’m irritable with my family, distractible at work, and awash in restlessness and disgruntlement. And now—of course—I am disgusted with myself for being irritable, distractible and restless. I know I have a great life, that I am showered with blessings, that I should not natter on about my first-world problems. Nonetheless, no matter how many lectures I give myself, how many gratitude meditations I sit for, I am questioning everything from my job to my exercise routine. I am wondering whether anything I do makes a lick of difference in the long run. It’s an uncomfortable place for me, and it’s a downright unpleasant ride for my loved ones and friends.
Truth be told, though, it’s not all that different than my day-to-day state. I am at no risk of living an unexamined life. Hourly, I ask myself whether I am doing the right thing. I interrogate everything from my career path to my lunch choice. I question, re-question and still wonder whether I am making the right decision. But really, I’m used to it. That low hum of questioning is background noise. It’s just my mind doing what it does.
Sometimes, though, the faint tingle of angst breaks out into a full-blown existential episode. Like the measles—itchy, feverish, ugly to look at, impossible to be around. Yes, that’s where I am now—in the sweaty thrall of the existential measles.
It’s not an unfamiliar feeling. Often when I finish something big—a marathon, a trial, a manuscript—I feel the old restlessness start to stir beneath the surface. It starts as a kind of grumbling boredom, but then I am overrun with impulses to try to tame the feeling before it gets any noisier—learn the banjo, cut out 300 Christmas cards by hand, start an entirely new multi-part program at work. When I was younger, I jumped at the impulses—I would leap into all kinds of things to avoid the void, if you know what I mean.
But I am trying not to do that this time. Practically, I have too much to do to try to become a master belly dancer or a black belt in Taekwondo. There is more to it than just busyness, though. I guess aging has its curiosities. As I cast about, all restless and loose-endsy, the impulse has started to reverse itself. The void itself, the divine spark behind the restlessness now holds interest for me in a way that it never has before. Now, I feel compelled to question the questioning. Why is it I am chasing? What is the strange human drive to seek meaning over and over and over again? Is there any real possibility of satiating the gnawing beast? And what would happen even if we could?
So I guess it’s about standing still for now and letting the measles run their course. Sometimes, as one particular Texan I know well says, the best thing to do is doing nothing. I’ll add: and to watch what happens. For today—at least—I will do my best not to drag my family into the abyss with me, but neither will I run from it. I will take comfort from the first Canto of The Divine Comedy, written more than 700 hundred years ago and translated exquisitely by Robert Pinsky:
Midway on our life’s journey, I found myself
In dark woods, the right road lost. To tell
About those woods is hard – so tangled and
rough
And savage that thinking of it now, I feel
The old fear stirring….
Yes, I will feel the old restlessness stirring and maybe I’ll ask it its name.
