Searching

 I crumpled into tears at Sunday Chatter last week. V.B. Price was doing the spoken word portion. He read his Christmas poems for this year. They were based on a quote by William James:

"The art of being wise is the art of knowing what to overlook."

This is, of course, making the very large assumption that otherwise, a wise person is noticing all the other important factors that should NOT be overlooked but rather meditated on, distilled, integrated, decided, etc.

After hearing Barrett's wisdom, which he shared so generously and unguardedly, I fell into existential angst. I am so confused by my life. I do not know what to overlook, and lately, I'm so tired that I'm overlooking EVERYTHING just to try to be peaceful.

I do not understand who I am, what my gifts to the world should be, what I know, what I don't know, how to act, how to show up, how to support others. It's as though I am living in reverse, since when I was younger, I knew all these things with a vengeance... or thought I did. Maybe it's better to have a little uncertainty to keep one humble. But I am well beyond that into just spinning. 

I have had several long conversations with friends lately, remarkable because they are the exception to my rather insular, homebound life. 

• With my very oldest of friends, who has been my friend since we were both 2, I could see my life as a mother and a woman. How 47 is a turning inward kind of year. Yet still middle age enough to be plenty angsty. 
• With my college friend, I could see my life through my college-age eyes. He asked me what I do for fun. Ummm.... no good answer. Enter crises here.
• With my poet friend, I could see my writer self, ignored, discounted, and underfed. She probably has things to say if we were brave enough to face some hard truths or have enough rationalizations ready for all that we admit we should be doing but ... can't (for good reasons!).
• With my neighbor friend, who was my friend when I was 8 through college and then again now, I see my reader self - not the one who knows anything but the one who reads because I don't know nearly enough. 

All of these parts of me are more interesting to me than my mother self (perhaps because things are rutted) or my wife self (who is mellowing but not all that engaged) or my work self (who has recently been trounced by political winds). 

And is it the failure of my mothering and my working that have led me to question myself? Or have I paid attention only to those most important aspects, to the exclusion of all the other parts of me that I actually like more? 

I think COVID let me hide from friendships in not-good ways. I think I'm more isolated at work now that my work-wife is no longer there. And Terra seems far away, too. 

I've lost my gear. Lost the thread. Lost. 

I'm not sure what to do next.