“Sometimes you have to find meaning in the meaningless.”
Returning home from a dull day at work, I put my bike away, kicked off my heels, and walked through the garden in my tights knowing very well I’d create a run in them. I studied a snail trail on our garden wall while wondering what to do with myself.
Shuffling to my bedroom, I put on my pink loafing robe and mentally rummaged through potential activities: read the rest of Ursula Le Guin’s The Left Hand of Darkness, run through the park, go bowling….throw shit away.
I retrieved a trash bag from the kitchen and scavenged my bedroom, eventually finding a box of toiletries I’d been saving for a rainy day. Knowing a few people who haven’t used skin products in years and smelled pretty OK, I pitched the expired ones and decided to ween myself off the remainder.
After gyrating to Rihanna’s Phresh Out The Runway, I set my sights on our junk drawer, throwing away purposeless odds and ends, as well as a nearby, nearly-empty whisky bottle from a recent party (but not before swigging down the last bit). I pushed myself to track down the vacuum cleaner and suck up the most recent layer of sawdust. I did the dishes, wiped down the cupboards, made my bed, and when I couldn’t find anything else to clean, got my lap top out and wrote about my first garden endeavor.
Middle class blues, Gen-X blues
While I feel bored, blue and no sense of urgency right now, I recognize that we can’t be happy unless we know our sadness. We cannot know where we’re really needed unless we experience where we’re useless. Sadness and boredom is a part of life. It propels us to make change.
I know my meaning exists. To be continued.