Illusive chase

I wrote this post in 2021 but never published it.  

'What is so wrong with reality' Dr. R questions in a calm voice, but with peering eyes. He didn't want to miss the slightest body language. 

" W ...well ... I want to have a fresh beginning, I mean a clean slate ..." I stuttered. 
"what's making this current slate dirty?" he had the question ready. 
"I am not sure ... I think I can go to a new place, begin everything from the start ... no one will know us. We can make new friends, build a community ... you see ... housing is so much better. I always hated this place. I love my job and the university, and friends and colleagues - but ... "  The words were not even making sense to me.
"What is stopping you from making friends here?"  Dr.R tries hard to understand.
" noo ... I mean a new house, new neighborhood. I can start ... I don't know Dr. R. I just want to go away".

This was becoming a routine drill in our weekly therapy sessions. Maybe not verbatim. But in a similar form or shape.  I want to go away ... either to Alaska, Norway, or even Reykjavik. Eternal issue of 'running from' rather than 'running to'. From childhood to young adult life, daydreaming has plagued me. I took solace in the 'what if' scenarios, rather than taking the slow and tested path of grit. 

Fast forward to 2020. I did 'go away' - from California to New Jersey. A cross country move, I convinced myself, was what I needed. Am I happy now? Not really ... yes, the housing is affordable, but I no longer care for buying a house. The long winter with the initial excitement of experiencing snowfall has given way to more practical problems -- getting the car plowed out, driving in snow. I miss Stanford ... miserably. I long to shop at my familiar Trader Joe's, eat at my favorite restaurant, and share weekend drinks with my friends. But at least now I know something for sure ... I will hate that too. 

So what is this illusive chase about? How can I learn to ground myself in the present? It is so painful not being comfortable in one's own skin and I wish I knew how to help myself. 

To live or to die?

I read this article in the Washington Post and mused on the purposes of life.

 My death is close at hand. But I do not think of myself as dying.

By Paul Woodruff

How often do you think about death? “Every third thought,” said Shakespeare’s avatar Prospero in the last line of the last speech he gives in Shakespeare’s last play, “The Tempest,” aside from the epilogue that follows the play. My friends say they think of death at least as often as Prospero. I do, too. If we think about death so much, we ought to know what to think about it. Philosophy is supposed to have answers, but the answers we hear most often from philosophers are not good for us. “Live every day as if it is your last,” we are told. “Remember that you are on the way to death each day.”

A friend recently wrote an email message with this line in it: “Paul is dying of a lung infection.” He had meant it for someone else, but he had misdirected it. That sentence infuriated me. I do not have a lung infection. My death is close at hand, however, because of a lung condition called bronchiectasis, and I am on oxygen day and night. But I do not think of myself as dying. I am living each day with as much life as I can put into it. For me, that means going to bed each night planning at least one project for the next day — something worth getting out of bed and living for. As I think of dying, I make each day a time for living, for having something to live for.
What kind of project is worth living for? Not a project I could complete today. Worthwhile projects spread out over time. Writing this small essay and finding someone to print it will take at least a week, and today is only the first day. I will make sure that the last day for this essay will be the first day for something else. Thinking of death, I want to live every day as if it were the first for something.

Living as I do, with projects that continue over time, I can be sure that my death will cut me off before I finish something worth doing. I want to be cut off when I die of something I care about doing — not from thoughts of death alone. Unless I am in unbearable pain, I should be able to live right up to the last moments. Here is an inspiring (although slightly gruesome) example: Under bloody Queen Mary, Archbishop Thomas Cranmer, the author of the lovely Anglican prayer book, was burned at the stake for his Protestant views despite signing false confessions of faith in Catholic doctrine. Even as the flames licked up around him, and his death was moments away, he was very much living (not dying) when he put his right hand into the heart of the fire to punish it for signing false confessions.
I know I will die soon. But must I be miserable about it? Why not find a cause for joy in each day? Some corner of my mind always knows that sad thoughts lurk behind my projects. But my dying will be much harder on my loved ones than it will be on me. Survivors often think they have failed to keep their loved ones alive. I want my survivors to know that death is not unwelcome to me, although I want to be living each day. There’s nothing wrong with dying. All the best people in history have done it. Let foolish philosophers see themselves as dying every day. Thinking of death, I choose life.

And here is my maunder about life and living ...

'For me, that means going to bed each night planning at least one project for the next day — something worth getting out of bed and living for ' - 

this is the crux - the most decisive point, I wake up because I have two sons (a human and a four-legged one) to take care of, I have a job that I made a commitment to, and an aging parent who depends on me, friends with whom I like connecting at times ... these were my reasons when I argued with my alter ego who strongly professes death. Not so long ago, living came with additional incentives -  finish reading the innumerable number of books I have on my wish list, the unseen movies, visit places on my bucket list ... even indulge in the pipe dream of finding the right companion! I cannot tell you when and what changed, but I have resigned to the fact that this life will be a repository of unrealized dreams -- nothing I do (or not do) will course correct this life. Yes, there might be a few random reasons - enjoy the house and wake up to the smell of jasmines that I planted, move to another role,  help my son find a meaningful engagement .. but they don't seem worthy. If I end today, the undone projects will not matter to me / others. Maybe hanging around for a few more years will benefit my son, but life will move on for him - with or without me. 

The cruel truth reminding me that life will remain a far cry from what I envisioned is painful and despairing - throttles the will to live. What I am doing today is not going to move me an inch closer to what I wanted my tomorrow to be ... besides, one needs a ton of energy to dream/ fantasize/ hope ... 

I feel bone tired, and if I had a genie granting me a wish - I would wish to have an adult standing behind me, assuring me - 'You have been running for too long, and look exhausted, it's okay to fall down now'. S/he doesn't have to catch me when I fall, just give me the permission to do so.