Life is stabilizing- we haven't had any jarring upheavals in the last couple weeks- so, I catch myself fanning embers of discontentment. I'd love a new couch. A new wall color, too. A new front door even. My boots are getting pretty scuffed looking. I wish I had money for new ones. Thankfully, I am relatively strong willed and frugal. I am not prone to impulse purchases. But, it is sad, isn't it? And it's not honest. Do I really "wish I had money" for new boots? No. I don't really care about my boot scuffs. I like my boots, just the way they are.
The issue here is not really the stuff itself, nor is it the temptation to buy said stuff. The issue is the heart that finds itself wanting rather than resting.
Why can't I rest?
This is a place of vulnerability I sidle up against again and again: identity. Who am I? More truly, in what do I root my identity?
Stuff is a mere distraction. It is something to shift my attention from the reality that I am not where/who/what I want to be. I have always rooted myself in what I do. This is pretty common, I think. We meet people and we ask what they do. We have LinkedIn accounts. We put our occupations on our Facebook profiles. Ya' know. This is not ground breaking. But, I am weary of fully and deeply identifying myself in this way. "I am a theatre artist." Am I? Really? Theatre is a part of my ability, an outlet and a tool I have invested myself in, an occupation for which I have studied and been paid, but is that who I am? And, if so, what now that I am not spending my paid hours doing that very work? Who am I now? An altogether new person?
Well, no. I'm still me.
And who is that again?
Nora Ephron, in all her wisdom, addressed this in a more lighthearted fashion: “We have a game we play when we’re waiting for tables in restaurants, where you have to write the five things that describe yourself on a piece of paper. When I was [in my twenties], I would have put: ambitious, Wellesley graduate, daughter, Democrat, single. Ten years later not one of those five things turned up on my list. I was: journalist, feminist, New Yorker, divorced, funny. Today not one of those five things turns up in my list: writer, director, mother, sister, happy.”
Ten years ago I was a freshman in college, about to turn 18. Clearly, I had much more hair, was into making dramatic faces, and would occasionally temp dred said hair for added effect. My words would have probably been something like: actor, writer, passionate, seeker, Christian. Now? I'm not sure. As I have already made somewhat overly clear, I'm rummaging through this prompt right now myself. Still, here is my current draft: mom, wife, daughter, seeker, wrestler
What are your five words?
The issue here is not really the stuff itself, nor is it the temptation to buy said stuff. The issue is the heart that finds itself wanting rather than resting.
Why can't I rest?
This is a place of vulnerability I sidle up against again and again: identity. Who am I? More truly, in what do I root my identity?
Stuff is a mere distraction. It is something to shift my attention from the reality that I am not where/who/what I want to be. I have always rooted myself in what I do. This is pretty common, I think. We meet people and we ask what they do. We have LinkedIn accounts. We put our occupations on our Facebook profiles. Ya' know. This is not ground breaking. But, I am weary of fully and deeply identifying myself in this way. "I am a theatre artist." Am I? Really? Theatre is a part of my ability, an outlet and a tool I have invested myself in, an occupation for which I have studied and been paid, but is that who I am? And, if so, what now that I am not spending my paid hours doing that very work? Who am I now? An altogether new person?
Well, no. I'm still me.
And who is that again?
Nora Ephron, in all her wisdom, addressed this in a more lighthearted fashion: “We have a game we play when we’re waiting for tables in restaurants, where you have to write the five things that describe yourself on a piece of paper. When I was [in my twenties], I would have put: ambitious, Wellesley graduate, daughter, Democrat, single. Ten years later not one of those five things turned up on my list. I was: journalist, feminist, New Yorker, divorced, funny. Today not one of those five things turns up in my list: writer, director, mother, sister, happy.”
Ten years ago I was a freshman in college, about to turn 18. Clearly, I had much more hair, was into making dramatic faces, and would occasionally temp dred said hair for added effect. My words would have probably been something like: actor, writer, passionate, seeker, Christian. Now? I'm not sure. As I have already made somewhat overly clear, I'm rummaging through this prompt right now myself. Still, here is my current draft: mom, wife, daughter, seeker, wrestler
What are your five words?
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