surprised by joy
i guess over the years we've all learnt to manage expectations, but sometimes just cannot help feeling that it's all too painfully just one step away...it's just this insidious, tiny frustration that almost borders on the ridiculous, and what's more, there aren't really the words to explain it. and the worst thing is when you know that, really, it should be enough.
something i got off a special someone's (not my special someone though hah!) blog. i don't think i could have said it better myself - that feeling comes around every once in a while to throw me off, and i have one of those days where i contemplate either staying in bed and eating 54 chocolate mini-bites, or going for a run in the freezing cold (i chose the latter. yes, worst decision of my life.) when i'm needlessly rude to people who are just trying to help, and needlessly unkind to people who don't deserve it. the thing with days like those is that they are so consuming and inspire such angsty wallowing in self-pity (which, to be honest, is always fun), that alot of the time you end up stuck in those funks for too long (and trust you me, speaking from experience), and it seems like those moments take up so much of your energy that you spend all your time feeling it, talking about it, thinking about it.
And today I was walking back from the social sciences library, with my gorgeous birthday-gift-to-myself coat on, and my 2 quid primark big shades, clop-clopping along on my boots (thinking back on the comment joyce once made about my heavy elephant steps haha), listening to my ipod. i looked up at the sky, and it was a gorgeous day - the kind of white clouds against blue that you see in pictures - and the dreaming spires framed against the white and blue that you see on oxford postcards, and everything was pretty, and everything was good, and I felt happy and lucky and i felt buoyant. and then it occurred to me: these moments - these "take a deep breath, it's good to be alive" feelings - creep up on you just as unexpectedly as dissatisfaction does. they're triggered off by the smallest things, and are easily as intense, as moments of unhappiness.
the thing with angst though, is that when it creeps up on you suddenly you can't function, you wallow and wallow and wallow, and it's addictive, isn't it, this thing called self-pity. and the problem with these other moments of tranquility is that when they do come round you forget to revel - to be surprised by joy - the same way you delight (and i think that's really the word) in your discontent.
i remember telling this same special someone that i know all the things i'm blessed to have, but that doesn't stop me from thinking about all the things i don't. why doesn't it work the other way around though? why am i not, while listing everything that's missing, still inclined to think about the things which aren't?
i remember a bit in a passage to india, and forster writes something about mrs. m trying to make herself feel something instead of the numbness that takes over her, and he says that if we're honest with ourselves, we don't feel much most of the time - that "to the extent that we feel anything at all", it's a little bit of this, or that, and nothing to write home about. (ok i know i'm telling it badly! i'm sure some smartarse (coughtzingcough) will come along to clarify)
my point is, it's true though - that most of life is just us plodding along, and whenever we feel - the high highs and the low lows - are moments to be cherished. in equal degree. and for everyday that i think about what's missing, i'm going to write down what isn't: that when i can't feel god, there are people who do everything they can to keep me on the (sober) path even if they feel far away themselve, just because they cannot bear to see me disappoint myself.
i think it's a blessing that we're young enough to feel everything so keenly - it's a reminder that we have so much more to live. and if i relish the effortless bits as much as the harsh bits, i think the ride is going to be that much easier. and today, i'm thankful that i know that.
something i got off a special someone's (not my special someone though hah!) blog. i don't think i could have said it better myself - that feeling comes around every once in a while to throw me off, and i have one of those days where i contemplate either staying in bed and eating 54 chocolate mini-bites, or going for a run in the freezing cold (i chose the latter. yes, worst decision of my life.) when i'm needlessly rude to people who are just trying to help, and needlessly unkind to people who don't deserve it. the thing with days like those is that they are so consuming and inspire such angsty wallowing in self-pity (which, to be honest, is always fun), that alot of the time you end up stuck in those funks for too long (and trust you me, speaking from experience), and it seems like those moments take up so much of your energy that you spend all your time feeling it, talking about it, thinking about it.
And today I was walking back from the social sciences library, with my gorgeous birthday-gift-to-myself coat on, and my 2 quid primark big shades, clop-clopping along on my boots (thinking back on the comment joyce once made about my heavy elephant steps haha), listening to my ipod. i looked up at the sky, and it was a gorgeous day - the kind of white clouds against blue that you see in pictures - and the dreaming spires framed against the white and blue that you see on oxford postcards, and everything was pretty, and everything was good, and I felt happy and lucky and i felt buoyant. and then it occurred to me: these moments - these "take a deep breath, it's good to be alive" feelings - creep up on you just as unexpectedly as dissatisfaction does. they're triggered off by the smallest things, and are easily as intense, as moments of unhappiness.
the thing with angst though, is that when it creeps up on you suddenly you can't function, you wallow and wallow and wallow, and it's addictive, isn't it, this thing called self-pity. and the problem with these other moments of tranquility is that when they do come round you forget to revel - to be surprised by joy - the same way you delight (and i think that's really the word) in your discontent.
i remember telling this same special someone that i know all the things i'm blessed to have, but that doesn't stop me from thinking about all the things i don't. why doesn't it work the other way around though? why am i not, while listing everything that's missing, still inclined to think about the things which aren't?
i remember a bit in a passage to india, and forster writes something about mrs. m trying to make herself feel something instead of the numbness that takes over her, and he says that if we're honest with ourselves, we don't feel much most of the time - that "to the extent that we feel anything at all", it's a little bit of this, or that, and nothing to write home about. (ok i know i'm telling it badly! i'm sure some smartarse (coughtzingcough) will come along to clarify)
my point is, it's true though - that most of life is just us plodding along, and whenever we feel - the high highs and the low lows - are moments to be cherished. in equal degree. and for everyday that i think about what's missing, i'm going to write down what isn't: that when i can't feel god, there are people who do everything they can to keep me on the (sober) path even if they feel far away themselve, just because they cannot bear to see me disappoint myself.
i think it's a blessing that we're young enough to feel everything so keenly - it's a reminder that we have so much more to live. and if i relish the effortless bits as much as the harsh bits, i think the ride is going to be that much easier. and today, i'm thankful that i know that.
to make dad's extremely succinct summary of ur post even more to the point, u r essentially saying 'savour every moment' are u not?
my only memory of passage to india is where mr booth took an incredibly lengthy passage frm it, split it into 3 portions, rearranged it, and asked us to figure out the order it was written. ack~ took forever (just to read one of those 3 portions) - never felt a desire to read the book after that.
Posted by
R |
2:13 AM