Gonzo Girl

Opening up this document to begin writing, I intentionally wanted to start with a blank page.

It can feel a little overwhelming.  Seeing nothing. Which is a little strange. How can nothing be overwhelming? Is it the idea of so many possibilities? Is it the absence of an external structure? Is it the notion that in the end, what I do is entirely up to me? Does it go straight to the core of simply trusting myself? Is seeing nothing ok?

Yes. All of the above.  

With retirement, (and intense therapy) I’ve found that I’ve moved away from and lost interest in  most of the things that once consumed me. 

Work.

Travel.

Writing.

Collecting Social Connections.

Organizing.

At first, I felt a sense of guilt. I couldn’t muster the energy to “do” anything. I didn’t feel depressed (a diagnosis from which I have suffered).  I just lost interest. I had discarded all of my distractions. But, distractions from what?  I felt like I was swimming in a giant float tank.  Bobbling around. Still getting the bills paid, still weeding the garden, still enjoying life. Just a bit adrift. I guess the guilt came from enjoying all of the nothingness. I mean, how dare I do nothing?  

There is a woman here in town that I call the Jesus lady. Her actions are simple. Stand near a road wearing a high vis jacketand hold an enormous sign that simply says JESUS. You never know when or where you are going to see her. Sometimes, it’s an obvious location choice. Outside of the QFC, or at a busy intersection.  Other times, it’s along a lonely stretch of a rural road. Wherever she is, it’s always the same. Hold the enormous sign.  

Sometimes I wonder how she landed on this idea. Did she wake up in the middle of the night knowing this is what she should do? Did she see someone else do this and decide it was a good idea? Did a friend or loved one do this first, then they died and she picked up the sign to continue the mission? Or maybe she had come to a point in her life in which she discarded everything, became a blank slate, and began rebuilding toward this purpose.

In the world of Psychology, this ambiguous sentiment is what is commonly called a liminal space. By definition this is a moment of transition, or an “in-between” state. It alludes that there is a place to go. Another chapter waiting, just around the corner. It’s pretty enticing, the idea that maybe I’m on the brink of something.  If I let my imagination wander, I can picture a best selling book landing a million dollar contract. (Is that still a lot?) Or, perhaps a second home in France where I tend to a vineyard which is more picturesque than hard work. In this next chapter I’ve healed all of those childhood hurts and forgiven myself for all those things I regret. I’ve stopped drinking for good, I weigh my ideal weight, and best, I have a PURPOSE.  

But what if all of life is a liminal state? And the non-liminal fantasy is just that. A distraction from the fact that every structure built is just a way to make sense of an otherwise formless existence. 

Whoa. So existential.

Maybe. Or maybe not. The real challenge is in accepting exactly what’s in front of me. Some of this is so concrete. My wonderful family. Nature. My garden. Seasons and celebrations. All rich with meaning and purpose. (Lowercase intentional.) My small contributions to my small world. Still bobbling around in my float tank. Still pondering the bigger meaning. 

Is it possible that all that pondering and existential angst is part of my purpose? That is, to try to understand the weird nature of being human and question how we participate in this fragile life?

 Now there’s a thought. 

It can be hard, this liminal state. Especially when you don’t try to push it away with some bigger PURPOSE. Sitting in a storm, knowing it will ebb and flow and never really knowing if it will end is incredibly humbling. Just writing these words increases my anxiety. 

It’s the fire. You know the one. The fire that we approach, feel the heat until it’s too hot and then move away. The normal back and forth of life. Touch it and then retreat. 

And maybe, each time we touch this fire, we see a little more clearly our true self and in it, our purpose. That small, plain kernel of our own truth.