Ennui, Shoulds & Beachballs
Ennui
a feeling of utter weariness and discontent resulting from satiety or lack of interest; boredom:
I am constantly amazed at the degree to which many of my friends, family and colleagues seem - in varying degrees - in a perpetual state of unease.
Whether at the coffeepot or over drinks, I rarely hear a recounting of joyful weekends or exciting projects. Instead, I hear - and sometimes myself speak - tales of weariness and woe.
And I understand - that even in times of technological wonders and scientific discovery - the world can be a difficult place. And even in the midst of what we call "first world problems", it is easy to forget that in the third world, people die every day for lack of basic healthcare, food and water.
In so many ways, like the frog in the frying pan, we have lost the ability to feel. And whether it is gratitude for things that once brought us joy - or sorrow for the suffering of Syrian children - it is sadly true that modern life tends to numb rather than enliven us.
Is this condition from which we suffer without cure? Even more pressing, is this malady fatal to our heart and soul?
As I approach my 60th birthday - an age at which I had earlier expected to be mostly dead - I find myself surprised at the renewed vigor and joy I am finding. Please do not think me boastful, for truly I have my days where all is dark and foreboding - befitting the part-Irish, wholly introverted human that I am.
But, I cannot resist the repeated sense of overwhelming gratitude I experience when I withdraw from the noisy world, and attend to the quiet pleadings of my own heart.
Thomas Moore, in his excellent book Care of the Soul, writes:
"Philosophy lies at the base of every life problem, but it takes soul to reflect on one's own life with genuine philosophical seriousness."
We tend to think of our lives as machines that can be tinkered with, or software that can be tweaked to meet our deepest needs. Moore and Jung - together with Lao-Tzu and Jesus - would call us to something deeper and more mysterious for answers to our ennui.
I remember a pivotal moment in therapy several years back, when my therapist asked "what do you want?" I was gobsmacked to realize that I had no idea. Being raised in a guilt-ridden, conformist religious home - what I wanted was never a consideration. All that mattered to my parents, my teachers and my peers was "doing the right thing". For most of my life, the overriding imperative was "what should I do?" - not "what do I want?"
I know from having heard many tearful conversations and raging rants from friends, families and lovers, my experience was not unique.
So many of us live our lives as we commute to and from work - with little thought for the scenery. And as those times we arrived home without remembering how we got there - many of us live our lives similarly.
My father has reached that age where he has finally stopped to look and listen to his life. Unfortunately, having never done it previously, he now believes it too late to salvage a life of wrong decisions, wrong turns, and missed opportunities.
My father is like many of his generation who kept their "nose to the grindstone" until both their faces and their souls were ground down to such an extent as to be unrecognizable to themselves and others.
I am forever grateful for a skilled therapist who led me down a path with the hope of avoiding an old age filled only with aches, pains and bitter regrets. Yes, we have learned a life of shoulds from our parents, but we are not damned to their fate as long as we are alive and capable of kicking.
My father and mother should have divorced long ago. Their toxic marriage poisoned both them and us. And yet, the shoulds of their parents - the fear of failed expectations kept them together. And sadly, many of us live similar lives of empty obligation.
I knew a Christian therapist who - although admittedly gay - chose to stay married in order to satisfy his need for respectability and acceptance. And I was not surprised when he contracted prostate cancer. For when we deny our basic selves - when we try to contort our souls into a mold built by and for others - we should not be surprised when the souls sickness presents in our bodily organs.
Had my father had the courage to divorce my mother, who can say what roads would have opened to both of them - paths that might have lead to better ends than the sad state of life in which they now find themselves. Sadly, both of them are mere shadows of their formerly vibrant selves - my father lost in regret and self-pity and my mother succumbing to a merciful dementia that has allowed her to return to a world that exists only in her wishes.
Because I find that - no matter how much we try to deny our own dreams and desires, as Emily Dickinson wrote, "The heart wants what it wants - or else it does not care."
Both my father and the gay therapist chose to deny what they truly wanted, and what they got was a life of bitter exhaustion.
Because, in case you haven't tried it, take a beachball to the pool or beach sometime, and see how long you can keep it submerged and unseen. It is difficult to do for any length of time, and impossible to do forever.
A common experience in my childhood home was angry outbursts from either parent - that seemed to have little relation to the present moment or any recently departed ones.
I later learned that this is a common occurrence for those whose desires are so smothered - and voice so strangled - that they can rarely express an honest thought or desire.
As a result, that beachball burst forth from the depths unexpectedly - resulting in hurt feelings and confused children.
If you recognize yourself in any of these anecdotes (and we all do), you might want to stop and reconsider your own soul. If you experience that "utter weariness and discontent" of ennui, please do yourself and all those you love a solid favor, and choose differently.
I leave you with the wise words of the Welsh poet, Dylan Thomas…
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Dylan Thomas
dg
1/26/17
73° Partly Cloudy
Providenciales, Turks and Caicos Islands
Comments
Post a Comment