A good friend of mine has a plaque on one of the walls of her house that says "Having children is like being pecked to death by chickens." (The sign hasn't seemed to have done any lasting harm to her children.) They all understood the concept: they had chickens.
Readers of this blog have some idea of how my life has gone in the past year and some. I haven't blogged much in the last couple of months, what with dealing with the estate, having surgery, finding work that is low-paying but gratifying (and anxiety-producing), and now getting a fairly solid respiratory infection that may have also endangered or even ended another work situation before it started. In fact, it feels a lot like being pecked to death by chickens, Universe-style.
I'm just trying to make progress. All I want is a life of health, financial stability, and the chance to pursue my happiness and my dreams. Given all my fortunate advantages — white, from a middle-class family, well-educated, and highly experienced in my field of endeavor — getting the life I want shouldn't be so hard. But every time I think I have my feet under me, things beyond my control knock them out from under me again: Mom, overwhelming grief and depression, unemployment, emergency surgery for god's sake!, illness, and timing.
Good things have happened: friends have helped and supported me in some places, I found a great therapist (and a mediocre psychiatric nurse), I got the one project. I know that life is hard. I also know that life was simpler and easier for my parents; it wasn't a painful struggle. We were all very happy and content (until my dad died and our lives completely fell apart, but that's a separate story). I just think that continually having to try and shovel myself out of a hole full of mud is harder than it needs to be. Add to that the continuous and uneven peck-peck-peck of my life's disasters — small and large — prevents me from making progress. And it wears me out completely.
You'll notice I haven't given up. I keep trying through some, potentially foolish, belief that I can grasp that life I want, one where I can withstand the difficulties because I have enough of the good to cushion my falls. Or maybe I keep on because, really, what else is there to do?
Only keep trying to dig myself out of the mud and avoid the damned chickens at the same time.
I'm not that fond of chicken.
I always equated it more to being eroded by a slow dripping of water, wherein I am the rock and they are the drips. (Just don't tell them I said that. ;) )
ReplyDeleteWe keep going because we do have those beautiful moments, those blissful minutes, those peaceful hours, those joyous days.
Julie
Hmm, I could always use your drips metaphor as potential extortion .... :)
ReplyDeleteThose lovely things you are talking about, they have become so few and far between in my life I've even forgotten to look for them.
So it comes down to: wake up, get out of bed, long tea and breakfast while reading email and blogs, then the rest of the day tends to just morph into endless time on the laptop and the internet, doing nothing useful.
I tried to spend the time of drinking my entire first mug of tea without even opening the computer to turn it on. My intention was to think and be and consider my day in a peaceful manner. I think I managed 20 minutes (that includes all the time starting the hot water, brewing the tea, et al.) before I had to give in. Can you say "addiction"? Sigh.
"In fact, it feels a lot like being pecked to death by chickens, Universe-style."
ReplyDeleteMore good writing!