Another season of forced heartiness, expense, and smarminess. Another season of “this was the year that was” and reviews of the %@%$*&%@ federal election here in Canada, which went on too long beforehand and shows signs of dragging on (please God, no!).
I had some lovely times over the holidays (Christmas with my son and his delightful partner in Kitchener, and their associated family), and some horrid times. Try as I may, I just can’t seem to keep myself from spending New Year’s reviewing the past year and realizing how very little I’ve accomplished in the grand scheme of things.
Sure, I made and sold over 100 small furry creatures.I created. That’s something. I did some volunteer work, walked miles, travelled to NYC, did some writing, went dancing, raised some money, toured Nova Scotia. I read over 100 books. I played my ukulele, and knit, both adequately.
But I’m feeling barren, as if it was all for naught.
Was I good enough? Did I help others enough? Was I kind enough, patient enough, did I give of myself enough?
There’s a dimension missing, a dimension that needs filling.
And I’m not just talking about the severe lack of kisses this year. Which were rare. And I miss them. There’s a reason I’ve fought with my weight all these years. No kisses = more milk chocolate needed. I can’t explain the connection, but it’s right there.
But I digress. I think I’m missing the spiritual connection. I’ve felt it, moments when I’ve been walking outside in a forest or by the beach or even along a busy street, when I’ve felt the hand of god or whoever she is. Times when I have heard music (See: Barra MacNeils) when I’ve been transported, pushed to another level of being. Times when I’ve laughed so hard I could barely breathe and happiness flew out of me. Times when I’ve been dancing and found a giggle in the heart of my being that is pure, unadulterated joy. The well. The well from which all goodness and cheer springs.
I’m having trouble refilling that well. The opening seems smaller as I age, and yet I’ve vowed I would rather spend my later years as a giggling outspoken and shocking gal than a crusty negative one. I’d rather be considered teetering on insanity than wallowing in cynicism, and yet….
You see, there are SO MANY people telling us that the world is awful, we are all going to die, the earth is burning up, we are killing ourselves to death, there’s too much crime and people are terrible.
It may be true. But the world is also beautiful, we were all going to die anyway, the earth will return to normal as soon as we are all killed off, crime is falling, and most people are kind, though ignorance seems to be multiplying.
See, I can’t even get through one paragraph without making a cranky remark.
The question is, is all of this negativity helping anything? I’d argue no. It simply makes people angrier and less pleasant and spins the earth in an ever more negative spiral.
So maybe it’s okay that I am merely doing small things and not taking on huge projects or leading the debate into the fray. Maybe just being cheerful and helpful is enough. Maybe if we all were like this things would be better. I dunno. I can’t speak or act for anyone, and I long ago learned you can’t change anyone else’s behaviour except through legislation or threat of imminent demise (see: public health initiatives), so there’s not much point in my railing at things.
Seems small, and insignificant. But my well is small at the moment. This seems to be all I can do. So I hereby vow to go about smiling when I can and spreading my little bit of Pollyanna-ish cheer. It can’t hurt, it might help.
And meanwhile, I’ll do some well expansion, feed my spiritual side, get outside more, breathe deep.
hmm. May still be missing the point…;-)