In My Life

I just got home from being away for two days. My fellowship program required us to stay at a college campus and have discussions on class in America, international issues, etc., while simultaneously getting to know the new fellows that were just accepted to the program. I had a lovely time although it made me sad to think that my time in this program is limited. All good things must come to an end, and this has been one of the best things to ever happen to me.

I have been debating whether or not I should write certain things here from day one. As honest as I have been, many things have been withheld because I don't feel entirely comfortable disclosing them. It is not the fear of having strangers read my innermost thoughts - that is somewhat liberating, although I don't know exactly why - it is the thought of those of you who know me in real life. I don't particularly like the idea of revealing these things to some of you because you will have them in mind when we interact. Those of you who don't know me probably never will and for all you know, I could just be writing this for kicks. Those of you who do know me, however, know that these things are true and I don't know if you should know that. But then again, how much of ourselves should we keep guarded and how much should be revealed? I'm sure it varies depending on the individual. The fact that I have an audience at all makes this more rewarding and more therapeutic for me. Your comments are wonderful. Feedback is the best thing in the world for me because I can actually learn from others instead of wrestling with these things alone. But there is something else that is totally unrelated to feedback, a joy that I would get even if no one commented but people still read. I feel that there is some kind of pleasure in writing for an audience, and since I will never be a writer of fiction, this is the best that I can come up with.

With that said, I'm going to share with you something that I wrote on the bus coming home from my trip today:

Well, I am on the bus ride home. Our weekend at ______ _______ is over. I had a really good time this weekend, but at the same time, it was depressing. I have noticed that this is a phrase that I use a lot - "it was depressing." Walking through _______ Park on a beautiful day is depressing. Being with my fellow fellows is depressing. I was thinking last night as I lay in the stiff bed of a ______ ______ dorm that I am a depressed person. Now I have a valid reason to be, because of Dad's condition and everything, but I was like this before it happened. Years before it happened. It seems like I will always lament the loss of parts of my life rather than simply living it. I will never quite understand time, and how it is spent and runs out like currency. That's what it is, in effect. When you're born, you are given a certain amount of time to spend as you wish. The only problem is, you never know how much. Could you imagine trying to live your life without ever knowing how much is in your bank account? How would you plan like that? And then you have your thrifty individuals and your big spenders. It's a very good analogy.

People always say that the missing piece in a person's life is God, and until we acknowledge that and take steps toward connecting with Her/Him, we will never be fulfilled. If that's true then I'm screwed because I feel that I'm looking at God through a foggy glass wall that I can't penetrate, no matter how hard I try. Not only is there a separation, but there is a limited perception issue there as well. Peering through the glass and trying to make out shapes and colors, taking guesses... that is all spirituality will ever be, isn't it? How does that not depress/frighten/frustrate/insert-your-favorite-negative-emotion-here everyone else?

Cynic and I have discussed this point before. He is the same way. We let things from the past haunt us. Things that we miss, that we'll never experience again. I just find it so sad. And not knowing what lies ahead, not only after death but in life as well, doesn't help. Counselor told me that she thinks I'm more philosophical than most philosophy majors. It has come to be a real burden, though. Why can't I just stop thinking so much and enjoy my life? Is it really because I don't have God, or is it simply a personal issue to be dealt with?