Tuesday, May 17, 2011

crises

remember when i used to live here (aka emeryville)

and how now i live here (aka provo)
but in the future i could live anywhere i want?

i've been thinking about that summer in emeryville a lot lately because i'm once again falling asleep to faint car rumblings through my open window and wondering if tomorrow will be the day i'll figure life out.  i'm spending most of my days in my pajamas scouring craigslist etc, tinkering with cover letters and resumes, asking myself again and again why someone should want to hire me.  (i'm always inclined to hire the other guy, but i've never been a good self-seller.)  i'm out of sync with the daily routine of most of my peers--no babies or husband to pace the way i use my time, no job to report to, no classes to attend.  this time of life always seems so ideal, but when you're in it, you can't escape the one major hitch: it's lonely outside when everyone else is in.

as kingfish and i drove from san antonio to slc, we had plenty of time to talk about the state of the universe, and when i was expressing my anxiety re: my current directionless state, kingfish said, "you always have these kinds of crises.  you are always at the point of reexamining everything you know and don't know and where you have been and where you are going.  everything is up for grabs, then you make a choice and move on."  hm.  disappointing to be so predictable to everyone else and so novel to myself, but crises, i suppose, are my guilty pleasure.  i'm always finding my way into them and managing to stay awhile before finding my way out. 

i'd like the world to have a mission statement, an expression of purpose, so i could know if i'm working for or against.  i'd like us all to acknowledge that we're part of a team and hang the world flag.  mission statements are what get me through my crises, and a mission statement might clarify some of the world's crises too. they're kind of like those totems in inception, and when up turns down it's nice to have a message from yourself reminding you what you're all about.

1 comment:

Kim said...

I remember when you lived in Emeryville. You're a wonderful writer, Cath. You always tend to say just what I'm thinking. How lovely it would be to have some sort of overarching guidance, reminding us of our mission in life from time to time.