It seems like the only thing I can focus on right now is negative space.
Like the obsession with the space between a model’s waif-like thighs, affectionately termed the “thigh gap”, I have seemingly been attributing way too much time and attention to the lack of things in my life. Life is up in the air right now—a freeze-frame of dust particles that someone has stirred up, and we all wait breathlessly to see where they will settle on the ground.
That’s it: I feel unsettled.
And this unsettled feeling has the tendency to sharpen the focus on the things I don’t have in life. The search doesn’t need to go far. I lack stability in my career, a romantic relationship, my own apartment—the typical signs that life is moving forward. I don’t know what two months will bring, let alone the next few years and, as someone who spent all but two years of their waking adult life in academia, not having a future laid out before them in the form of assignments, tests and other externally imposed milestones leaves me feeling uncontained. There is no one conducting evaluations on my life but myself.
And what an astute evaluator I’ve become:
How am I doing? The best way for the masochist to answer this question is to look at how other people are doing. There are plentiful points of comparison if I want to feel fully inferior. Everyone seems to have more patients than I do, nicer apartments and fulfilling relationships. They seem to be moving somewhere. I just feel stuck, not at a crossroads, but at the edge of a cliff. Am I just supposed to jump? Did everyone else jump? Or did they end up hitching a ride on some lucky parachute that happened to pass by a few minutes before me? Why are they lucky? What are my eyes closed to? When will it be my turn? Or am I simply cursed? The mind stirs up more dust. Sense of personal injustices prevail.
This unsettled feeling can’t last.
So I strive. The answer must lie in working harder. After all, it’s what we’re told to do. Push on. Move forward. Just do it, as Nike says, sweat beading on foreheads. There’s always sweat beading on the foreheads of the mentally unsettled.
I hand out business cards, but no one calls me. I try calling them. I look for other jobs that are poor fits. I take more shifts at the day-job I’m holding on to for secure cash. I go to business networking meetings that I don’t connect with and try to convince myself that I should just force myself to make it work. I search desperately for an apartment, and despair when I don’t get the one I finally love. I hold on to past relationships well past their due dates and complain and obsess and analyze what went wrong to my friends, whose patience can’t possibly last much longer. I notice myself compromising my values and dreams in order to get away from the edge of the cliff.
Still I get nowhere.
So I turned to the only thing I know how to when the mind is desperate and despairing and the spirit is looking to the future for salvation—I turn to the present. The dust in up in the air, so to speak. Everything is unsettled. And yet, how am I? I’m more or less alright. I’m warm. I’m fed. I’m rested. My plight is ridiculous when compared to tiny Vietnamese hands sewing buttons on Banana Republic blouses. Who taught me this sense of entitlement?
I have a place to live and some money coming in (the longer it takes me to find an apartment, consequently, the more I end up saving). I have friends who are genuinely concerned about me and a generous, loving and supportive family. I have hobbies and social events to attend. The blessings in my life are numerous.
Why am I so intent on speeding down the highway of life? What will happen when I arrive at my destination? When I have a beautiful apartment, patients booked months in advance, when I’m in a wonderful, loving and passionate relationship with someone who inspires me, what will I do then? Once the dust is settled, won’t I eventually, decide to stir it up again? If I can’t be content in the present, when will I ever find that elusive contentment that always seems to slip out of our grasp?
Most of all, I ask myself, what is behind my longings? Are the reason I long for these things pure? Or, like a perfume or Coca-Cola ad, do I really want what’s behind what they’re selling me: the beauty, enchantment, lightness, freedom and magic that life often promises us but we seldom encounter in the places we’re told to look.
I wonder if, with eyes closed and mind settled, I’ll be able to breathe clear air again. Perhaps then I’ll find a path down from this cliff, a creative alternative to the already available options: jumping, backing down or sitting and waiting for a magical parachute to come and save me.
Between all the wants, needs, dreams and aspirations, between the striving is space. In that space I might find a little room to breathe. But who can really breathe with dust in their lungs?
