Monkey mind monkey mind… swinging like grapes hangin’ from a vine.
Within the span of about ten minutes I thought about how infrequently my parents have left the house since being here. How my father will go to fewer football games when I’m not around to go with him. How I won’t be here to help take care of the house (he wished I had been here to talk to one of the contractors that came by. Am I running away from my responsibilities? I thought about how I think cities should be walking safe-havens for older people (related to wanting my parents to get out more – maybe they do when they’re in the city). Why does America seem to have so much more crime (car break-ins, shootings, robberies) than other industrialized nations? Does it have more crime? Are our cities more dangerous? If so, what’s the difference, and what can be done about it? I should write about that podcast about savoring. Is my generation more attuned to things like mindfulness – has it messed us up more? Does being aware that we’re not as mindful as we could be create its own type of displeasure or sense of inadequacy? Is next Friday really going to be my last day at work? How should I set up my computer and technology for easy access on the road-trip? Do I need to keep everything charged? Will I really be out hiking and camping in a little over a week? I feel like I need a week alone just to prep (or is that just cold feet suggesting that I’m not ready for this). I’ll have to download some maps – which means I have to decide where I’m going. I should send a bunch of poems out before I go. I have to clean out my office and clean up my emails. I have to transfer accounts and passwords. I should probably do more to pack, what do I do about the garbage – can I create less garbage next week? I didn’t decide on a new daily project. Should I just keep the fifty-two thing going? I should write something… I’m all over the place. All of these thoughts in rapid fire succession are punctuated by a song or two that’s playing in my head. “It was hard, but it was fair. / We was always out there. / Out in the red hot sun. / ‘Cause the work was never done.”
This morning when I went to grab a plate and a coffee mug, they were in different spots in the cabinets. My father unloaded the dishwasher last night and put things back on different shelves. I don’t know if this was deliberate or absentminded. I’ll no longer be the primary resident soon enough – maybe this is just a small effort towards putting things back the way they would like them. The silverware is all mixed up too. Big forks and little forks are co-mingled. It’s madness. I’m living with barbarians. I don’t suffer from OCD, but I am orderly. I load the dishwasher in efficient ways. I keep the tiny forks separate from the big forks because I seldom use the tiny forks (the handles are too small and they don’t feel right). Writing that, I feel like I’m some giant trying to use little human silverware. I’m not, but I am efficient. I put my little bit of sugar in my coffee before I pour the coffee so that I don’t have to stir it in and make the spoon dirty. I keep all the mugs in one spot. Maybe I’m the crazy one. Maybe I’m the barbarian.
Sharing space for long periods of time is disruptive. I initially wrote “always disruptive” but I’m not sure that’s true. I think I’m more attuned to it than I used to be. I think it feels more disruptive now because I’m out of practice. I’ve been living alone for several years… I was thinking about how little my parents have left the house because it seems to have impacted some of my routines and I’m more aware of that too. I feel like I’ve been holed up more than I’d usually be. I’m living out of my bedroom more and spending less time in other parts of the house. I walk out of the house without my car keys because they’re now on the nightstand instead of the dining room table. I shave in the downstairs bathroom (electric razor) because I don’t want to make too much noise and wake other people up. I suppose living in a smaller space is good practice for living out of a car, a suitcase, and some hotel rooms. If I think this is disruptive, boy am I in for a treat.
But it’s more than that. I can feel a certain type of gravity or obligation when I’m living with other people like this – as though I want to, and should, spend time with them, but in doing so, I shrink myself to fit into that space. It’s almost as if I feel I need to sit and watch jeopardy with my parents… despite the fact that when I’m alone, I never watch TV. I suspect when we do these things long enough (like when we’re living with someone else), they become almost involuntary and routine. We’re not watching Jeopardy because it’s what we’re choosing to do together. We do it because what else is there to do. Despite knowing that I fall into similar mindless routines when I’m alone (scrolling social media every night), it feels different (and somehow less fulfilling) when it’s done with other people. And even there, fulfilling isn’t the right word. It’s as though this has to do with scarcity. It’s as though in the back of my mind, I’m aware that I waste a shit-ton of time on my own and somehow I expect it to be different when I’m with other people. It’s as though I know we have limited time together and ask myself, “shouldn’t we make better use of it?” I don’t know how comfortable I am with falling into a state of dull habit like that with other people (a future partner). Which then feels like a lot of pressure and overly utilitarian. Have I developed a belief that other people exist to shake us out of our own routines? And maybe because I spend so much time alone, I now feel like if I’m around other people, we collectively need to be together in a more deliberate way. All of this feels like those first moments on vacation with people you don’t usually share space with. I’m not sure where I want to be or what I want to be doing. And while it’s nice to not have the pressure of filling every moment with activity, I’m aware of how the days and nights bleed together and then they’re gone.
Unfortunately, I’m also feeling like being mindful of other people in the house is a bit of a distraction from getting done the other things I “need” to get done. It’s as if I feel like I need a whole lot of space and quiet to spread everything out and assess where I am and what I need. The monkey mind has enough vines to swing from without the added vines of advising on home repairs or figuring out why all of the plates have been moved or what we’re having for dinner. I’d be lying if I said that I’m not overly preoccupied by thoughts of leaving and what I need to do.
The other day, I started (again) to “plan” things and then reminded myself that the plan was to not really have a plan. I can see this desire for some type of certainty is going to be a constant struggle. As part of my planning, I bought my ticket to a blues fest in Arkansas and looked up accommodations (most of which are already booked). I read that for a small fee, people can camp near the festival in “Tent City.” Having learned nothing from the news about Burning Man, I think I’m going to do that and camp in tent city with the other festival goers. Despite my desire to be more free-spirited, I’ll probably have to settle for this middle ground between planning some things (like making reservations for camp sites and making sure I have hiking maps pre-loaded on my phone) and winging others.
But then there are all of the other details like how I’m going to leave the house and how do I pack the car so that I have easy access to the things I’ll need most. I have a little more than a week to figure these things out. I’m also preoccupied with the few remaining loose ends: I need to return an EZPass transponder, I should probably get rid of a grill, I need to register for health insurance and make a list of things that I’ll need to change my address on when I have a new address. Eventually, I need to get a new address. And I guess I still need to get a job.
All of this mental activity and energy reminds me of the nervous anticipation before a storm hits. You know it might be big, and at this point, there’s very little you can do but ride it out. Then, once it’s snowing or raining, all one can do is sit and watch and admire the power and beauty of it. I’m in that space before the storm. I’m trying not to ask the nagging questions – what if I don’t find a job or a place to live? I’m trying to shove to the background those things that might normally worry me. I suspect that once I get on the road, I’ll settle into some level of comfortable discomfort. I’ll wake up with very few things that I “have” to do – which I hope will allow me to be more in the moment and maybe give me fewer vines from which my monkey mind can swing.