"Sitting With It"
The new neighbors moved in. And the sound of the HUGE Saint Bernards, Molly and Ben, is staggering. "Huh HUH HUH HUH HUH", the continuous pull of their breathing as they pace the new boundary that is the fence. That cadence, that pulling, is echoed from within me as I continue to face the Sysphian Task that is searching for gainful employment. Pulling. Pulling a tractor with my teeth. Coming home from interviews that string out time like really, really bad dates. Feeling that there is just about as much luck in finding the Right Job as finding the Right Partner. Thankfully peeling out of Work-Type clothes, slipping of the Silly Shoes, and sliding into baggy shorts.
Wondering...pondering if I am worthy...enough.
Harder still, is "sitting with it". Staying calm in the center of Not Knowing. Feeling the pinch of poverty and the fear of the IRS burgeon underneath the exterior jocularity that is my mask. Wondering how many times my kid will eat the .99 cent Spanish Rice from Save a Lot.
Sitting with it. It involves Grace. And some Trust. I sense a slimy film of Trust on the surface, just enough to make those around me calm their fears about maybe having to support me in my thrashing. They see that I am not, they don't look much deeper. They have their own chaos to manage and train into something workable.
I have love, Great Love. And I have my art. And I have my health and so many other valuable things. But the crack in my cup is leaking Faith these days, and the spillage pools into shiny puddles of twinkling malaise. I tire of waiting, of trying, of mailing resumes and making calls. I want to work. I want to feel the clear outline of Is-ness, identity, that comes with Doing Something.
"What do you do?" , my least favorite question.
I wait. I try. I sit with it. Somedays better than others.
Wondering...pondering if I am worthy...enough.
Harder still, is "sitting with it". Staying calm in the center of Not Knowing. Feeling the pinch of poverty and the fear of the IRS burgeon underneath the exterior jocularity that is my mask. Wondering how many times my kid will eat the .99 cent Spanish Rice from Save a Lot.
Sitting with it. It involves Grace. And some Trust. I sense a slimy film of Trust on the surface, just enough to make those around me calm their fears about maybe having to support me in my thrashing. They see that I am not, they don't look much deeper. They have their own chaos to manage and train into something workable.
I have love, Great Love. And I have my art. And I have my health and so many other valuable things. But the crack in my cup is leaking Faith these days, and the spillage pools into shiny puddles of twinkling malaise. I tire of waiting, of trying, of mailing resumes and making calls. I want to work. I want to feel the clear outline of Is-ness, identity, that comes with Doing Something.
"What do you do?" , my least favorite question.
I wait. I try. I sit with it. Somedays better than others.
posted by Sparkmonkey at 6:52 AM
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