I have the most surreal conversations sometimes. (Don't we all)
On Saturday my sister's husband shipped off to Iraq. Saturday night she called and we talked. My sister has never been comfortable alone, so it mostly consisted of her saying "I don't know" and me saying "Yes that's true." She's going to miss him; it's not going to be easy. Here comes the surreal bit: we also talked about coping, about how, though it will get better through time, his absence will hurt - perhaps every day. The objective then becomes focusing elsewhere and devoting time to other things, like work and friends, that, while can be seen as mere distractions, are necessary not just for mental stability but other more tangible concerns like finances. As we talked though I could not help but reflect on my own life. In a way we are all searching for distractions to keep us from bitter pains or unresolved grief, seeking stillness in academia, music, art, drugs, the bottom of a bottle or the arms of a lover. I find stillness in none of these - except I wouldn't know about the lover part. I told her the distractions were helpful. They would make the time go quicker and he would, in all probability, be home safe in time. These tricks work when the object of grief is finite, when there is a definite end, a cap on the duration of anguish. But how does one distract or soothe when there is no sure end, no denouement looming just over the horizon? I keep trying to undistract, I keep trying to fall back but without anything on which to land I tumble. To be satisfying a person's life must have purpose that is created by the self - not imposed from the outside - but though I look and look I can find nothing.
But find it I must, right? I am not suited to this task.
On Saturday my sister's husband shipped off to Iraq. Saturday night she called and we talked. My sister has never been comfortable alone, so it mostly consisted of her saying "I don't know" and me saying "Yes that's true." She's going to miss him; it's not going to be easy. Here comes the surreal bit: we also talked about coping, about how, though it will get better through time, his absence will hurt - perhaps every day. The objective then becomes focusing elsewhere and devoting time to other things, like work and friends, that, while can be seen as mere distractions, are necessary not just for mental stability but other more tangible concerns like finances. As we talked though I could not help but reflect on my own life. In a way we are all searching for distractions to keep us from bitter pains or unresolved grief, seeking stillness in academia, music, art, drugs, the bottom of a bottle or the arms of a lover. I find stillness in none of these - except I wouldn't know about the lover part. I told her the distractions were helpful. They would make the time go quicker and he would, in all probability, be home safe in time. These tricks work when the object of grief is finite, when there is a definite end, a cap on the duration of anguish. But how does one distract or soothe when there is no sure end, no denouement looming just over the horizon? I keep trying to undistract, I keep trying to fall back but without anything on which to land I tumble. To be satisfying a person's life must have purpose that is created by the self - not imposed from the outside - but though I look and look I can find nothing.
But find it I must, right? I am not suited to this task.