Satisfaction in a Day

I’ve been in a funk as of late and for some reason can’t quite put my finger on it.  Perhaps it is the certainty of a big change in my life as I transition to residency somewhere else (which is uncertain as of this piece).  I’ve reflected a lot on what goes on in my life on a daily basis and have come to realize it is utterly boring.  I love what I do for work but aside from that there isn’t much going on.  It was a beautiful sunny day here in Seattle yet no one really was around or wanted to do anything.  Most of my friends barely call me (literally months go by without so much as an email).  Maybe they were more friends of convenience or perhaps the automation of friendship via the internet has replaced the need to actually put effort into contact.  Maybe they are in a funk too.

I always hear stories of my dad’s childhood growing up in a rural village and how difficult it was.  It seemed for even the simplest tasks it required enormous effort.  At the time it seemed like hell but now in his adulthood those are the fondest memories he thinks of.  That daily struggle, keeping busy fighting for something, even if it was as simple as getting a honeycomb from a bee hive, was memorable.  Indeed those were the good old days.  For all the bustle of the hospital and school the rest of life seems largely unsatisfying and boring.  I enjoy doing things.  I have my violin (which I don’t play nearly enough of), I have my movie making and art stuff but more and more I find myself doing less and less of it for no real good reason at all.  I reflect back to a comment a professor at college once made, “The biggest threat to this generation is boredom.”

I agree and this boredom I think manifests in bizarre ways.  Why is everyone I seem to run into no matter where I am is always perpetually tired?  I can tell you that people in my dad’s village who work all day working in fields don’t complain that much.  People more and more seem less unique even aside from their chronic fatigue.  Stereotypes seem  strangely accurate.  Is it really raging against the machine to wear Birkenstock’s, faded jeans and a I support Obama pin on?  The “goth” kids that walk around with countless tattoos are trying to be unique just like the countless other goth kids that look just the same.  Is it still funny to talk about how wasted someone got the other night or does it at some point end?  Isn’t there anything better to laugh at?  Have we gotten so bored and unmotivated that even our attempts at novelty and rebellion result in conformity that we think is unique?  Beyond that why does it seem we have this perpetual need to one-up each other, why can’t we just be content?

Some times in I fantasize about how wonderful it would be to be in a village like my dad lived in without any of this, to just struggle for every meal, to walk around and be entertained by the nature around me on a daily basis without having to make an event out of it.  At least things might mean more that way.  And perhaps that is what this mini-crisis of sorts boils down to, finding meaning, satisfaction, and balance.  I’ve found meaning in my work.  My conscience is about as clear as it can be.  I sleep very comfortably at night, I look in the mirror with ease at myself.  But to find those things on a  daily basis is something I’m going to have to work on.