The God of Small Things

All my life I’ve had a problem finding value in the day-to-day actions of everyday life. It’s not that I craved constant drama or anything of that sort, in fact I tend to shy away from drama even when it’s a genuine crisis. I just never learned to worship at the altar of the God of small things. Maybe it’s repetition that causes me a problem, although I just spent hours over the past three days organising hundreds of music files by dragging them to new locations on a hard drive. Or possibly the lack of challenge involved in doing things that require little or no new learning. It could be the pointlessness of doing something, like cleaning or repairing, that will simply need to be done again and probably sooner rather than later. Honestly I don’t know what it is, but from time to time, and more frequently now I no longer have employment to help fill my time, it becomes the scourge of my waking hours and some of my sleeping hours too.

I’ve read thousands and thousands of words, trawling through articles and books over decades, trying to find a solution to this periodical pain in the ass. From time to time I find something that might provide some temporary solace but inevitably it just becomes a mental sticking plaster and the comfort it brings wains over time. I can almost hear people think “champagne problems” and in some ways I agree but it also feeds the pilot light of depression that’s always waiting to fizzle into flame when we begin to question too deeply without the glimmer of a solution on the horizon.

I can go for weeks enjoying something simple like cooking dinners and then “blip”, I wake up one morning and that pleasure has departed – perhaps not for good but the sudden absence is disconcerting because there’s a mild panic caused by the new void. Now I have to find something else to provide a pleasant distraction to ensure I don’t slide into overthinking and turn inward. A vicious cycle that has lasted for nearly 60 years.

Meditation and mindfulness provided temporary relief until I realised these practices were just another example of a distraction and they too disappeared overnight. Lost in the constant grind of searching for a genuine passion and new purpose in life.

To say I’m jealous of people who find their passion and are faithful to it for the rest of their lives would be like confusing mild irritation for hate. I look at them in awe and have even wondered what’s wrong with me. Which of course gets nearer to the heart of the matter.

The answer is – nothing. This is just my normal. My butterfly brain was genuinely useful in my career where problem solving was essential and no two days were identical. It served me and others well when I could ignore the issues of the day long enough to see clearly a way out of the situation and a path to greater progress in one, five or ten years time. Unfortunately now those valuable skills are redundant when age and context have little use for forward strategic planning and timescales in years. The ability to live in the moment and see a week or a month as a relevant timeframe for serious mental and emotional investment is now a far more valuable skill, but sadly one that has always eluded me.

Let’s be clear though, none of this impedes my ability to be grateful for the life I’ve led or the people I love. It’s simply an issue for me and how I want to live now in my third age. One I’m certain is not unique and is shared by others.

So here I am, aware of the context and issues impeding my potential mental and emotional comfort in my day-to-day life and powerless to permanently alter the situation. I will of course continue to seek a solution, because that seeking is within my skill set at least. And who knows maybe I’ll be lucky enough one day to learn to simply enjoy the journey in hope of reaching a destination.