An Examined Life

I have this recurring dream.  I sign up for a course, but never go to class. It’s now the end of the term and the final exam looms.  I am wracked with anxiety, remorse, and anger at my own stupidity. I have to suffer the consequence of my actions.

I wonder if I had felt guilty about my mounting absences it would have caused me to do the right thing and go to class, and avert the disaster of the failing grade? 

Guilt is the manifestation of my conscience.  It’s that little voice saying: “are you sure about this?”

However, it’s hard to trust guilt.  Do I feel guilty because my actions go against my conscience? Or is it because I might disappoint or let down my: pastor, mother, dad, wife, God, imam, rabbi, or all of the above? I am a fan the former, but the latter, not so much.

My problem is that at different times I have abdicated the responsibility for what is good and right to one or more of those outside sources.  Thus, if my trust or relationship with those sources is not strong either through circumstance or obstinance , there goes my sense of trust or relationship with the associated guilt when I veer off the road.

Maybe the guilt that is imposed by others is actually more fear.  Fearing consequences like disappointing others or punishment can alter immediate actions but I am not sure it’s a great motivator for long term change.  Guilt as it’s own consequence is a trap as well.  I can’t change my past, so feeling guilty about what has already happened is only helpful if it encourages a different result next time.

I learn and adopt what is good from others, but ultimately, it’s my responsibility. Failure is a characteristic of being human. I fuck up all the time and in my experience there are always consequences, even if only inside my head.  

Whether awake or in my dreams I want to do the right thing. I need guilt, I need that canary in my coal mine.

I am doomed to live a dissatisfied life.  Or so I used to say to describe my desire to suck the marrow out of any experience.  Instead of ‘Be Here Now’ my mantra was more ‘What’s Next?’

That attitude can make life exciting, but also a little unsettled.  Since being married we have lived in 13 homes, on two continents, in three cities, and one island.  I have had five careers. 

I was on a trip recently that only required five days, but it was in Southern Africa, so I decided I should stay a little longer to make the travel worth it.  I chose to rent a truck that included camping gear and I headed off to the desert for three nights.

While driving down a small road I found a beautiful, but non descript, campground up in some hills.  A perfect spot for my last night.  After I set up camp I did my usual thing of exploring the whole area.  Of course I checked out all the other campsites to make sure I’d picked the right one.

In the afternoon I climbed up high and decided to see how long I could sit on this one rock.  The views were beautiful, and I found myself watching the light change and the shadows lengthen as the sun dropped in the sky.  Three hours I stayed in that same spot.  The only other time I can remember sitting still for over three hours was while watching the movie Magnolia.

While I do have quite the appetite for the new, for the adventure, I believe I also can use activity as a distraction from myself. The life I am often most dissatisfied with is my own.

I was alone, quiet, and still for the longest time I could remember.  I was content not doing anything.   I was not distracted.

There, on top of that hill, no one else around, on the last day of my trip, amidst the light and shadow, I came to realize that I was, in fact, not doomed at all.

I have a fancy GPS thing in my car.  The idea is that I just plug in the address and it gives me a tiny little map and voice command directions.  I think I’ve used it only half a dozen times. I have the same opinion about it as I do with digital watches.  A digital watch only tells me what time it is right now, without the benefit of seeing all 24 hours.  The GPS shows me specifically where I am, but without any real idea of whole.

There is that great camera shot in movies.  The scene opens with the character in a situation and you develop an impression of their circumstance – then the camera slowly pans out and the perspective changes entirely.  The filmmaker is messing with our understanding of what we believe is true.

If I am looking at a highway map, I can learn so much about where I am going based on things like how many other towns are close by, how far apart the streets are in the town,  and whether the place is close to water or mountains.

I remember going to counseling many years ago. The first thing the therapist asked me to do was draw a genealogy of my family of origin going back as far as I could.  Our discussions were then around how events of the past had impacted the present.  She put the issues in a broader context than simply what was happening right now.  It radically changed my perspective and allowed me a greater sense of empathy and understanding for the present situation.

I have often made up my mind without the context. However, I am learning that it’s not just the verse or the chapter, but the whole book that has to be taken into account.

I am a fan of quick, but not so much of slow. It requires a conscious effort for me to pan the camera to that wider angled shot and ask the questions before I arrive at the answers. 

In my experience, context is to life, as analog is to the clock.

I am really attracted to the concept of self-discipline.  I like the idea of being organized, focused, committed, full of restraint, etc.  It just never works out that way in practice.  I will give in, give up, or willfully decide that it was not such a great idea in the first place.  Oddly, I am the one imposing the discipline and I am the one opposing that same discipline.  It’s me vs. me.

I do have things I do all the time, some with even religious regularity, but I am not sure checking Facebook every five minutes counts as a discipline.

During those times of resolve, when I am running, journaling, or regularly flossing my teeth I find that discipline begets more discipline.  I have a friend who trains for Ironman races.  He is a busy business guy with three small kids at home.  He is up at 4:30am to get his workouts in.  He says he does it because it helps him in the other areas of his life.  He always seems to have enough time, and enough energy.

I’ve spent the money on personal trainers, I’ve read the books.  I think part of my issue is that I believe I should be able to pull this off without outside help. I mean, if I can’t control and manage myself, what’s the point?  Is it really that difficult?  Am I that ill equipped?

It’s more than simply what I do.  It’s the way I think and it’s what I think about.  It’s how I impact those around me.  A friend once defined sin as anything that diminishes one’s own humanity or that of another.  I think, in many areas, my lack of discipline does just that.

It would stand to reason then, that the opposite is also true.   If I make the choice to be disciplined in what I do, and in how I think, then maybe, just maybe, I am on to what it means to be more fully human and fully alive.

I stood on the dock as the ship pulled away.  Patrick was responsible for the foredeck and was too busy stowing lines and raising sails to be able to give me one last wave.  It will be another two and a half months and an entire ocean before I see him again.

When our kids are growing up we spend so much time holding on.  We carry them, hold them, grab their hand to cross the road, set curfews for when they should be home.  Then something happens.  We have to start letting go.  I am well practiced at tightening my grip, but not so much with releasing it.

It’s not that I don’t think it’s the right thing to do, or even that I don’t want to – it’s just counterintuitive for me.

I watched Patrick arrive a few days earlier. He was on the foredeck preparing for docking.  I found myself calling out to mind he doesn’t crush his hands as he leads the bow line around the capstan.  Here this boy has already sailed the coast of South America, crossed the Atlantic to Africa and suddenly he needs a reminder from me about safety?

I think from all my boy’s point of view, letting go is synonymous with trust.  The more questions I ask, the more directions I give, the tighter the grip. ‘Have you applied for that job?’  “Are you sure that’s such a good idea?” “Why did you only get a 78 on that exam?” 

They are now on their way to adulthood.   Maybe they don’t need me so much to remind them to be responsible as they do for me to trust them and be their biggest fan. 

On further thought I guess I have been working at letting go, bit by bit, since they were young. There was that point that I had to assume they understood that green meant go, and red meant stop. 

But as the ship leaves the harbour I am reminded again that holding things with open hands is so much harder than with clenched fists.

Ok, so here I am.  New macbook computer.  New website (thanks John).  I am ready to write.  Now what.

How can I possibly presume that what I am going to write is worth reading? What makes me think that my ideas are important enough to be documented? Am I fooling myself?

Starting isn’t easy.  I have the same kind of conversation with myself when I start most things – running, journaling, only drinking wine on weekends.  It’s why I never really announce my intentions – thus when I fail, no one knows.

That’s the problem here.  If I fail, you’ll know.  But why have I even gone there, why do I begin with assuming my demise?  I like to have a plan, I like to play out the scenarios. Unfortunately when I am about to risk anything, my list of potential options is usually limited to what happens when it doesn’t work out.

Oddly, it’s why I am writing in the first place.  It’s the hardest thing I have ever done, but also the most rewarding.  There is no plan B here.  Like that guy balancing on a wire across Niagara Falls.  Imagine how he feels when he makes it to the other side.  Imagine how he felt when he began.

I remember acting  in a main stage show for the first time.  I was almost twice the age of most of my fellow actors.  They were all graduating students in theatre.  I had a significant scene where I had a lot of lines, many of the other characters had lines too that depended on my delivery.  I forgot my lines, really forgot them. It screwed up the scene.  Walking into the ‘green room’ at intermission I expected side looks, and shaking heads.  Instead I got pats on the back and smiles.  It happens, and it’ll happen again.  Move on.

Everything was done a first time.  All creativity requires risk.  You never know.  I certainly don’t know.  But I do know that the consequences of not risking are far greater.  So, here I am 340 words in.  I’ve started.  I am on the wire now, no looking back.