Existentially Speaking

I don't mean this to sound trite Marcy, but hang in there. Keep doing whatever helps you feel as balanced as possible. I can identify with quite a few things that you have written here. And it wasn't even until I'd finished reading your post that I realised which song you had included! 'There Is No Such Place' is my favourite Augie song. It's just gorgeous. (It's also the only good part of the live gig that I caught late last year, but that's another story). The lyrics are beautiful and somehow I always find comfort in them, despite the somewhat sad overtones. I think the end is my favourite part, I love the imagery. 'There is no such place, o yes I have seen it too Just a little different from how you do, A house upon a hill with no windows Just a can upon the sill To catch your tears To feed your garden' To those of you who have never heard it, download it now or else! Take care Marcy.

I'm glad that you are back, Marcy. I'm always somewhat taken aback that you are able to put into words so much that I am feeling. And that you match it with such spot on music makes your blog a very special place to visit. I completely understand that unsettling realization that something is missing and needing something to look forward to. I found my husband, we got a house we love in a part of the country we adore, I dreamed about and then was fortunate enough to have my children. (Of course the children put me in a coma for their first few years so I didn't have much time to dwell on life in general!) But now that the fog is lifting I'm left to wonder...what next? More laundry, more cooking, more endless driving to get the kids to their activities... basically more of the same each day. It is hard, especially when I start questioning if this is it. Then feel guilty since the reality is that I have a pretty good life here. The gnawing sensation that something is missing is awful.

Sigh...

Dearest Marcy, I both sympathize and empathize. I also suspect that there may be a bit of change going on around you, which might well be a source of this unease. I don't think you should ignore the feeling, as it won't go away. May I suggest speaking with it, looking at it, examining it, all with the aim of eventually understanding where it's coming from. It may not be an easy or a swift process, but it might ultimately be a revelatory one.

And anyway, I think you know my view: it's more about enjoying the trip, than enjoying the destination. Or, as Rainier Maria Riilke wrote: "And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer." So with that in mind, yes, writing about it will help...

P.S. I hate laundry too!

I don't want to sound flippant or trite either, but I think it's called "middle age." I had this feeling about 12 years ago, when I was 38. I got pregnant soon after these feelings hit, and I haven't had time to dwell on it since. I'm not suggesting pregnancy at all, but pointing out that it could take some major life-altering event to help you up. Or I might be full of crap.

Whatever it is or whatever it takes, I'm sending good juju your way, Marcy.

you guys are all the best. i mean it. each of you brings a different perspective to the matter and i really appreciate it.

agnes--i'm so glad you quoted those lyrics. they are really so moving. i also love the part where he sings "if you lower yours to mine, will you kiss me on the cheek, and if you're looking for an unmarked place, there is no such place." really beautiful. you'll have to tell me about your bad concert experience with them. sounds interesting to say the least!

tricia--yes, the fog that envelopes you when your kids are young is so thick that you can't really examine your life, how true. then it clears a bit and you're left to realize that there's a whole lot more living left to do and you need to find something for yourself to not just carry you through but hopefully to fulfill you. and of course it can go much deeper than that, as you say.

dear fil, you are so wise. i really am trying to live with this question and get it to talk to me. it is indeed a process. i love that rilke quote. very apropos to my life at the moment.

and nat, dearest nat, you are quite right when you say it's a midlife crisis. unfortunately, it's been going on for several years now! it intensifies from time to time, and i guess this is one of those times. thank you for all the good juju and keep it coming. :)

Oh Marcy...where do I start?! I wrote about it here http://itallstarted.wordpress.com/2008/01/14/ground-componentsaugie-march/ earlier in the year, but it's really summed up in these few sentences: "You see, due to the apparent heavy drinking of Augie March’s lead singer and his desperate need to tell long rambling stories about nothing, combined with the 20 minute Kris Kringle the band made us suffer through in the middle of the show, theirs was the most disappointing gig I have ever been to." Was really bad. They allso forgot the words to nearly every song and faffed about, even to the point where Glenn (lead singer) stopped midway through 'One Crowded Hour' to continue to babble on about rubbish. Not impressed! Actually couldn't listen to them for a long time, such was the depth of my disappointment, through 'There Is No Such Place' luckily managed to escape banishment!

wow, that is really, really sad. the lead singer has such an amazing voice, too. what a waste. it just goes to show you what a destructive force too much alcohol can be. what a shame. the other band sounds pretty cool though--i'll have to check them out. they sound a bit like a band from around here called man man. extremely wild, exuberant performances that their recorded music doesn't do justice to. maybe they're the same band! :)

I get hit at the strangest times just now as I float between dull and dreadful, but there things out there pushing us all along still. A friend recently wrote to me and said nothing but 'refer to signature' - and the signature, a quote from a Quaker minster Stephen Grellet said "I shall pass through this world but once. Any good, therefore, that I can do or any kindness that I can show to any human being, let me do it now. Let me not defer nor neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again!" I agree it is indeed all about the journey - we all have just the one destination (there's wisdom from way down here) so it's the journey that matters. Just keep paying attention, and keep asking questions, and keep looking out for opportunities to give - like you always do, for us, on here. Take care. x

Your post and the amazing comments are so moving. I'm still in the 'fog' stage of the early childhood years but every once in a while I get feelings like this piercing through it. I think it's one of the reasons I took up with the poetry, actually. I love the lines that FiL quoted and believe absolutely that we just have to make each day as good and as much fun as we can and do what we can for others. As cornball as that might sound :). Hang in there, girl.

adam--that is a great quote! it's interesting, i feel my best and least depressed when i'm at work, which gets me out of my own head and puts me in the position of actually helping others. it's amazing how much better i feel when i'm there. sometimes the moment i sit down in my car my feelings droop dramatically. maybe i should just work all the time! j/k. :) thank you for your support. i truly appreciate it.

greer--everyone's comments are really amazing, aren't they? i had this thought that i wish i could gather everyone i know from the blog and thank them all in person for the kindness and the empathy and the validation they've given me lately. each one in his or her own way has said just the right thing. :) p.s. i was at a party today and was watching the mothers with little ones and was ever so grateful that mine are older now and that i could relax and enjoy myself instead of running ragged making sure they didn't fall in the pool or kill themselves on the slide . . . but then you realize how quickly they grow up and you kind of miss their little selves. it's bittersweet.