Life of the Mind

It's a common saying that it isn't a good thing to live too much inside one's own head. But why? Are most people really that prone to depressive thinking, that to be inside their own heads too much is so bad? Aren't there any happy people out there, who will continue to be happy even if inside their own heads all the time?

It's another common saying that crazy people don't see reality the way other people do. Maybe this is why so many writers end up committing suicide or otherwise dying young. What is being a writer but creating reality, seeing things differently from other people? Is hearing and speaking and living with your characters day in and day out really any different from "hearing voices"? I guess in the former, you are aware that they're not real. But how distinct is the line?

I was reading an article in an issue of the New Yorker from a couple of weeks ago, about neuroscience and research into so-called vegetables. In one part of the article, it discussed people with a certain condition, who are not aware that they see or hear something, but react to the stimulus nevertheless. For example, they are shown two pictures, one of a burning house, and one of a nice, normal house. They are not aware of what they are seeing, don't know that they're seeing anything, because some wire in their brains got crossed somehow. But when asked which picture they preferred, they almost always pick the one with the normal house.

It made me wonder if there isn't some level of "vision" out there that "normal" people haven't achieved, that we are, all of us, deficient and missing a piece of the picture. And yet we feel its presence. Maybe God lives out there. We don't know we're seeing Him, but, for the most part, we choose to live in the house where He is.

And maybe it's like being a writer, an artist. Maybe there's something out there we don't see, but somehow, it makes its way into our subconscious. And it guides us.

Sea change

It was ninety-plus degrees when we left home, summer in full tilt. What a difference only a few weeks can make. We've come home to fall. A mild, beautiful, sunny, seventy-degree fall, but fall nevertheless. The maple leaves have begun to turn. Our garden is full of reds and browns and oranges. The tomato vines have begun their slow demise.

It's a change of seasons in our lives as well. I go back to work next week. Sometimes the thought scares me. Others, I just want to get it over with. How bad can it be? I've survived it once before.

Fall. It makes me nostalgic, and dreamy, and a little bit sad.

Summer days running by

Dinner with a bunch of friends last night, many of whom I haven't seen in a year or more. It was really nice. I'm starting to feel more at peace, with the job, with life in general. I'm so used to thinking of myself as a misanthrope that I underestimate how important it is to have people around you who care about you. I came away from dinner feeling encouraged.

Plus, the weather is just so beautiful, the days still long and lazy, it's hard to be depressed. I do have bad days, bad nights, but I'm getting them under control. It's easier to get out of bed in the mornings; I no longer feel the need to sleep away my days. I've been more productive: took care of paperwork for the new job, put in a drip system for the garden, spent time shopping for friends and friends' babies. Mercenary as it sounds, the best thing about the job is anticipating the paycheck: I love giving gifts, and it's nice to be able to do it without worrying about the bills. Although maybe I'm anticipating the paycheck a little too much, seeing as how I won't actually receive one for another month yet.

New Life

On repeat today: Kanye West's Can't Tell Me Nothin'. The man is gifted.

In other, happier news: my sister-in-law finally had her baby! We were at the hospital until late last night; she was in labor for fifteen hours, but both she and her baby girl are doing well! It was really something to stand at the nursery window and watch the newborns. We're so excited to welcome the newest addition to the family.

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"I've found I'm scared to know I'm always on your mind." - Howie Day

Life, London, this day in June...

It's odd to wake up one day and realize that your happiness or lack thereof has little to do with your circumstances. I was dreaming about a house, with a little garden, and peace, and freedom to do whatever I wanted . . . a long-time dream for me. And then I realized - I already have all these things, and more. Much, much more.

Off the Hook

For the sake of my sanity and because it is a constant interruption, I no longer answer the phone unless it is someone I know. I suppose you could call this screening. The screening process is complicated by the fact that some people will not leave messages. For instance, today the phone has been ringing off the hook all day. Four times, it was a recorded message (from banks, utilities, etc.). Screening spared me from having to interrupt my work to answer these calls. BUT - three or four other times, the phone rang until the answering machine picked up, and then whoever it was hung up without saying anything. Friend? Headhunter? Telemarketer? Now I'll never know. If you are my friend, I DO want to talk to you, so please please please say something to the answering machine so I know it's you!*

* As I was writing this, the phone rang twice more. Same thing - no message. The last time, I was so frustrated I went to go answer it, but didn't get to it in time. Who is it that wants to talk to me badly enough to call six times, but not badly enough to leave a message????

On Weddings

I was one of the many, many people around the world who attended a wedding on Saturday, 7/7/7. And it was a beautiful wedding. Both my husband and I choked up, as we almost always do at weddings, particularly when the bride and groom are both such good friends of ours. The bride is an organizational genius with a great deal of style and an eye for detail, and all of these powers were brought to bear in their wedding. We've attended far more lavish and expensive weddings, but few more elegant or beautiful. Heartfelt congratulations again.

My favorite weddings are the ones where you can tell how happy the bride and groom are to be getting married. At one wedding I was at, the bride leaned, briefly, against the groom during the minister's sermon, and he briefly put his arm around her. Immediate tears. At another wedding, the groom, normally an impassive military man, had the biggest smile on his face the whole time, particularly as he watched his bride coming down the aisle. At yet another wedding, it was the way he looked at her while the pastor prayed for them.

It's also touching when the family gets in on it. At one wedding, the groom's older brother - a tough-looking guy with a crew cut and scowl - suddenly started sobbing. This happened at my own wedding, too: I have no recollection of what the pastor said, but I vividly recall how loudly my brother-in-law was crying.

Also, there's something about hearing the vows again, for us old married people, that kind of gets you choked up too. Not only does it take you back to your own wedding, but it makes you think about the days, months, years of your marriage - the joys and hurts and all of it - and how you measure up against the solemn vows you took: "for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness or in health, to love and to cherish 'till death do us part."

Crossroads

Why do we idolize our choices? Agonize over every decision, make much ado over the act of deciding? Crossroads, forks, unmarked doors, candy shops, all the metaphors for choice and choosing. So many movies about choice and consequence, about what happens when you make one choice versus what happens when you make another. Do we really think it's so simple, our lives so linear, that one can trace different paths so neatly from their trailheads? "Choosing not to choose is still a choice." How many times have I heard that, passed off as wisdom?

Our obsession with choice is nothing more than our need to exert our will, to demonstrate in the act of choosing the fact that we were born and blessed with free will. I don't downplay the importance of the gift. God gave us free will so that we could choose to love Him, or choose to turn away from Him. Souls turn on the choice. But nevertheless, free will does not make us God, and our choices are not the fabric of our lives. Our choices are not the meaning. Love is more than a decision, even if it starts there.