3.18.07 / 4:26pm
Grey Lines
It could be the weather, alternately gauzy and grey and hammered with sunlight. It could be the crushing loneliness that sometimes stalks me through this empty house, ghosts of warm bodies and laughter and twenty clicky little nails on hardwood floors. Maybe it's all of those things, or maybe it's none, but things are changing.
I'm finally learning what makes me happy, what I want to do with my life. I want to write my stories and take my pictures, because it gives me great pleasure. I used to think of it in terms of "capturing", that I'm freezing moments or ideas in photographic or literary amber, but that's entirely the wrong feeling. When I take a photo, it's a composition. It's art. I see something that's interesting to me, and I arrange it in a way that satisfies me. It makes me happy that I have the ability to do that, and it especially makes me happy to see other people enjoying it. When someone looks at a photo I've taken, or a story I've written, and it makes them think, or it makes them smile, or maybe just say "wow", that has a profound effect on me. I'm realizing that I really love it when something I've done makes someone else happy, even if it's only for a moment or two.
I have a profound respect for those moments, because it sometimes seems as though my life has been a long grey line, straight and even, end point nowhere in sight, but punctuated by a series of bright spots. Those are my escape points, the moments that catapult me off the track and into unknown territory. Photos can do that for a moment, but when I write, I'm there for hours at a time, immersed in something that I created, and I know what it's like to be on the receiving end of that. I remember being the 12 year old in a sleeping bag in the closet, reading a science fiction book with a flashlight and a box of crackers and individually wrapped cheese slices, escaping to that fantastic world for an hour or two before I had to go back to the grey line again.
I want to hijack my own grey line. I'm not happy with my life, or what I'm doing. It's not making any difference in the world. I work in a microscopic business eco-system, and the things I create there have no impact. No one but other people in my company see them, and they teach people how to use business software. I'm not saying it's not important, but it isn't fulfilling in any way, and it does not leave me with any time or energy to make a difference in any other way.
Making a difference is something that I need. I don't just want to put hiccups in my own grey line, I want to do it to others, too. That's what makes me happy, if only for a moment.
And sometimes, a moment is all you need.
I'm finally learning what makes me happy, what I want to do with my life. I want to write my stories and take my pictures, because it gives me great pleasure. I used to think of it in terms of "capturing", that I'm freezing moments or ideas in photographic or literary amber, but that's entirely the wrong feeling. When I take a photo, it's a composition. It's art. I see something that's interesting to me, and I arrange it in a way that satisfies me. It makes me happy that I have the ability to do that, and it especially makes me happy to see other people enjoying it. When someone looks at a photo I've taken, or a story I've written, and it makes them think, or it makes them smile, or maybe just say "wow", that has a profound effect on me. I'm realizing that I really love it when something I've done makes someone else happy, even if it's only for a moment or two.
I have a profound respect for those moments, because it sometimes seems as though my life has been a long grey line, straight and even, end point nowhere in sight, but punctuated by a series of bright spots. Those are my escape points, the moments that catapult me off the track and into unknown territory. Photos can do that for a moment, but when I write, I'm there for hours at a time, immersed in something that I created, and I know what it's like to be on the receiving end of that. I remember being the 12 year old in a sleeping bag in the closet, reading a science fiction book with a flashlight and a box of crackers and individually wrapped cheese slices, escaping to that fantastic world for an hour or two before I had to go back to the grey line again.
I want to hijack my own grey line. I'm not happy with my life, or what I'm doing. It's not making any difference in the world. I work in a microscopic business eco-system, and the things I create there have no impact. No one but other people in my company see them, and they teach people how to use business software. I'm not saying it's not important, but it isn't fulfilling in any way, and it does not leave me with any time or energy to make a difference in any other way.
Making a difference is something that I need. I don't just want to put hiccups in my own grey line, I want to do it to others, too. That's what makes me happy, if only for a moment.
And sometimes, a moment is all you need.
A few years ago while I was working for one of the largest organisations in the world for a month, one of the full time workers confided in me how he was going to pack it all in as he didn't feel that his job contributed anything to the world. I would have killed to have his job, but there he was ready to give it all up. Is there a point to this? I'm not sure. What you said kind of reminded me of the crisis going on in this guy's head. I think sometimes I feel like you do. You do make a difference with your writing though and it would be fair to say that's more than many of us do :)And now I think about it. No, there was no point to my story. But it was a hell of a ride!
That was very nice. (I would perhaps elaborate on how that was nice but my wit and eloquence is cowering under the coffee pot at the moment and I don't want to embarrass anyone.)
I think you've hit on one of life's most basic needs, Hobo -- "making a difference". We *all* really want to do that, in one way or another. By being the best mom I could be, I know I made a huge difference in the lives of my children. I try to make a difference in the lives of the students I work with now, and in the life of the checkout clerk who is having a rough day, and in the life of my blogging friends by leaving a cheerful or supportive comment now and then. If you can find a way to get paid/earn a living for making a difference in some way that truly satisfies you, and makes *you* feel good in the process, well, then think how much better off the world will be. It's out there somewhere, that job that makes you feel all sunny inside, you just have to keep looking 'til you find it.Now, tell us about the absence of twenty little claws on paws? Did you lose some pets in the process of losing that last relationship? (Sigh) I guess even a pair of cloven-hoofed "Wild Animals" won't make up for that kind of a hole in your heart, eh?Time.Just like "they" say, it really works.Hang in there, Mister!!
san nakji: i'm not sure i'd call it a crisis - more of an ache. and thank you for the compliment. :)moose: thank you! also, i don't believe you about your wit and eloquence. i've read your blog. if anything, they're probably having a nice conversation nearby that sounds like Oscar Wilde talking to himself while on laudanum and eating a sandwich. which is a GOOD THING in my book!carroll: i've felt at other times in my life that i was making a difference...i've rescued and cared for quite a few animals, given to charities, volunteered, all of that stuff, but this time i think i need to do this for myself. i need that sun inside, as you put it (beautifully). regarding the absence of paws, look here. i still miss her every day.
Oh, Hobo -- I'm so sorry about your sweet Maisie. You had me crying at the very first picture -- for my own long-gone-but-miss-him-every-day "Best Dog Ever" Buddy, for my son's beloved Chief with whom he is blissfully in the middle of just the kind of relationship you've conveyed in that poignant set of photos, and for all those wonderful furry faces who love us so unconditionally and then leave us with gigantic, gaping, un-mendable holes in our hearts. I'm gonna go give Max (a perfectly good dog, but just...well...not Buddy) a hug right now, and am sending you a virtual one. When we do that ice cream cone, I'll bring Max along for the ride so you can get some dog hair on ya' :-)
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