A Dark Closet

It's 11:21 pm and instead of writing a draft for my upcoming English assignment, I'm sitting here writing this. It's just as well, though: I can hardly think of anything academic or intellectual in times like these. I might as well write about those things of which I can think, rather than those things which I can't.

Also, I realize that only one person regularly checks this blog (and God bless him for doing so!), so I consider this both a regular blog post for general readership (him) and for journaling my own thoughts.

Life has been hard lately. Moving to Texas wasn't the easiest thing I've ever done. I left behind a familiar state, a familiar government (it sounds weird, I know, but there is something to be said for living down the block from your congressional representative, or the fact that your city council representative was also your high-school civics teacher. Both of which were true for me back in CA.) -- I also left behind familiar weather, familiar schooling and a whole set of cultural values to which I was accustomed. I left behind a cushy, virtually guaranteed job at our family company for a far less cushy, very much non-guaranteed job with strangers.

It would seem, from the way that I've framed it, that I've left behind a great deal without gaining very much. I have to admit that this does seem to be the case sometimes.

I find myself being an alien in an alien land. I don't know this place called Texas. I'm not from here. The plains and swamps of Texas aren't apart of me like the green forested coasts and noble snow-capped mountains of California are. No matter where I may roam, the gently trickling streams of the Yosemite Valley and the zany counter-culture of our inner cities will always flow through my veins. I guess learning to live with that is going to be just as much of a challenge as learning to adjust to a "new" place altogether.

Why did I move here in the first place? For my family.

I came for my father, of ill and declining health -- and far before his time, sadly -- to be with him and have some good memories, and perhaps even some healing of our relationship before he passes. Whether that happens tomorrow or 10 years from now is uncertain -- a fact that is strangely both comforting and infuriating. I came for my mother, who has long struggled (unsuccessfully) with alcohol and mental health issues, because she was overwhelmed by the demands of my father's sickness and the demands of raising a family at the same time. Its difficult to take out the garbage when your husband is throwing his guts up in the kitchen sink.

I came for my brother, who, for our entire lives together has been an enigma to me. I came to get closer, to be his actual brother rather than an elder stranger who just happens to show up at family events. This is one of the hardest things I've ever done, as he's my only brother, and I have no other examples to go on.

I came for my sister and her new family. I wanted to be apart of my new niece's life, to be the "cool uncle" that every child in the world deserves. So far, so good in that regard.

I came for my littlest sister, whom I adore, and whom I would do almost anything to protect.

I feel as if I've come here for noble reasons, and yet have been abandoned by the same Providence which demands my nobility. Although I can't claim to be a Christian anymore -- not by the traditional definition of that word, anyway -- the vision of Christ on the cross holds deep significance for me right now. The feeling of profound abandonment, even abandonment by God himself, is evident from (some) of Christ's last words. He feels forsaken -- or, perhaps a better translation -- betrayed. "My God, my God, why have you betrayed me?"

I, too, feel betrayed. Not so much by a God in which I don't really believe, but by Life itself -- which may as well be a kind of god now that I think about it. I feel betrayed by Life. As if my life could have amounted to a better kind of thing, but that this potential has been pulled out from underneath me.

But before I can complain about that, I must ask myself exactly what it means to have "a good life". Money? Power? Fame? Princess Di had all of those by the truckload, and she was absolutely miserable. You could say the same for most members of the European aristocracy for the past 1500 years, actually.

I think of someone like Mitt Romney, who -- as it appears to me -- is running for President for no other reason than he feels that such a high office was made by our founding father's with him personally in mind. I generally get the same feeling about Clintons, incidentally. Are they happy? Pursuing all that power at the expense of everything and everyone around them? Judging from what little I know of the Clinton's personal life, I'd have to say "No, they aren't very happy people."

And there is that word again. Happy. Is that what I mean by a "good life"? Being happy? I think thats what Socrates meant -- or one of those other greeks. So, then, I ask myself: what makes me happy? What is it that I enjoy the most?

Sex comes to mind, even though I've been absolutely bereft for over a year now. Learning comes to mind as well -- discovery of new things and stuff like that. But isn't sex itself a form of discovery? Isn't sex a learning experience -- even with someone you've been with before? So, really, then, learning, discovery and growth make me happy. All the things in my life that I truly enjoy can be seen as subsets of those three concepts.

As I sit here, I realize that something is missing. Learning, discovery and growth (from here on out, I will coin a term and refer to these three concepts together as a single word: "Lifeness") do make me happy, but none of them include "comfort". It sort of stands to reason that Lifeness implies some kind of discomfort, or at least a willingness to experience things that could hurt. Rocks cannot be hurt, since they cannot experience Lifeness. Yet, at times, I desire the comfort of stony rock-ness above Lifeness.

Yet is there some way to experience comfort in Life without the dulling of the mind or senses? I think specifically of my mother, who deadens her mind with alcohol to keep from feeling the full brunt of her situation. Is it possible to have both? A vigorous Lifeness and an abiding comfort in hard times -- which will inevitably come?

What do you think?