Nice and neat; everything where it belongs. I like a sense of order about me. Furniture just so, clothes just so, collections in well their respective collections and nothing randomly placed on walls or table tops. Rugs where rugs should be and dogs on rugs.
Am I a reflection of some universal law about order? Perhaps. Is it an intuitive sense; a constant burden to deter me from an uncomfortable living in the moment? I can't live in the moment, you see because chaos lives in the moment. I don't do chaos and try to prevent it's presence in the lives of those important to me.
Where does this neurosis stem from? Surely not in my present life; at least not directly or internally.
Growing up, my family lived within expected limitations set forth by mom and dad; thought that was normal. We could have things as long as the things had a designated place. When company came and the kids were uprooted and moved to Grandma's, the things had a second designated place; usually in a cupboard, cabinet or box in the basement.
There were boxes of past lives there which remained unopened my entire childhood. The sheer quantity of organized boxes, crates, wardrobes and heavily duct taped parcels, stood guard and their usefulness lent to many games of hide and seek. My mother died and the boxes remained unopened on their final journey to the dump.
I don't want my boxes to end up in the dump.
I don't even know if I have any boxes, I'll check the attic, but my whole life is pretty well where anyone
could view it.
I have stuff and a couple of remaining pieces of stuff from dead relatives. I married, moved across the nation and all the stuff I thought I would inherit fell into the hands of other family members who decided that I needn't be bothered with it. I miss that stuff. I remember that stuff and now I mourn my loss.
Sense of order is paramount to my survival. I realize it's usefulness in any circumstance. I think too much and I'm not a risk taker. Everything planned down to the last detail, even in times of crisis'. It's quite comfortable knowing how and when and what and where. It's the "why" that causes me to pause and formulate a plan B.
As my life expectancy flows from present tense to past tense, the sense of urgency has become the "why" in the equation. The spans of unlimited time which used to define me in my twenties, thirties and even into my forties came to full stop and now I can't plan beyond a turn of a calendar page.
Never a good and faithful follower of the "rule book", I have practiced circumventing rules most of my life. I know that my soul is wanderlust and ever searching for that answer to "why".
Why am I? Other's phrase it more delicately: "Who am I"? My quest goes beyond the available options of "changing hats" of "discovering the talents, weaknesses and strengths" of my human condition.
I have a constant writhing in my gut. I awaken with it and it is my last conscious thought before sleep.
Why am I?
The clues along my journey have been missed. Surely there have been clues…I just can't remember them. Maybe it's an unending board game where the pieces evaporate and the pathway falls off the edge of the board.
Recently, I have discovered the truth of existentialism; a continuum of the soul's journey. Lessons learned are rewarded, failed lessons remain until the soul succeeds and determines that there is no need to return.
Again, Why am I? What is my lesson?
Truth be told, I don't have much "sticktoitniveness". I am not a patient person; this I learned in my first foray into college. I asked for and received the opportunity to take a career questionnaire to help me choose a fitting college major and hopefully positive and lucrative career. The results were devastating to me at such a pivotal time in my life…I knew what I did NOT like, period.
How could this be? How could I be so closed to life at the age of 19? I had been given a good beginning, enjoyed learning all the things my parents shared with me. I loved being a big sister. I loved the responsibilities to live with and care for animals. Time with my grandmother provided me with memories to lift my heart decades after her death.
So, somewhere in my preexistence I got stuck in a gerbil's wheel and remained unfulfilled. The challenge is still unidentified, the purpose waning as I am three quarters the distance to my next reincarnation (basing my equation on the current life span statistics).
Maybe it's all about perception. Ask those who have entangled their lives with mine, and I bet they'll tell you that I am a problem solver and a force to be reckoned with if I believe the cause is justified. I create and release artistic endeavors. I avail myself to those who need a shoulder during their crisis'. I believe in the goodness of others and the unlimited universal energies which guide my destiny.
I shall try the uncomfortable choices. I will write my own obituary. I shall quiet the turmoil within and meditate. The "why" is not mine to question; the beauty of it is that "I am".
