A Place to Dwell.

It could be because human beings, when left alone, tend to dwell on what’s wrong in their lives. We have evolved to become problem solvers and meaning makers. What preys on our minds, when we aren’t updating our Facebook page or in spinning class, are the things we haven’t figured out — difficult relationships, personal and professional failures, money trouble, health concerns and so on. And until there is resolution, or at least some kind of understanding or acceptance, these thoughts reverberate in our heads. Hello rumination. Hello insomnia. – No Time to Think by Kate Murphy for the NYT.

It’s really true, you know. I fail at life more times than I would like but I guess the remainder of the year ought to be spent doing right by those I’ve failed, including myself.

I was sitting in a cab today trying to stay alert on the way to a friend’s house. I was calculating the many ways this ride could go wrong and figuring out what I could do in case something, anything, happens. The recent spike in criminality that’s been all over the news has done much to feed my already fattened anxieties. Yet, despite my insistence on being present, I found myself drafting an essay on lost time, second chances, and the necessity of making mistakes. I promised myself that I would find the time to write it all down but this seems to be one promise I keep breaking just because it’s so hard to sit with one’s self and deal.

Ever since I started working for government again, I put up a wall between myself and the world and chose to write my observations elsewhere. There’s a market out there that feeds on insecurity and mistakes genuine questions for ineptitude in government service, so I figured, why risk being open and honest about work? Since social networking has hastened both the flow of information and stupidity, I worried about how my own curiosity might trigger a backlash causing people to criticize what I know they don’t understand.

But isn’t that condescension, too? Let me try not to worry so much about my audience and remember, instead, a time when I believed in my readers–because I know you are all wise. You will see past my petty anxiety and understand what I’m trying to say.

Two hours into a Monday I am already dreading the thought of drafting my weekly task list. It’s a mix of things I’ve been putting off, things I have to get a hold of, and things I cannot know yet because they will surprise me. Something will always come up.

I am lucky this time to work with an uncanny bunch of believers. I trust that they are good people who genuinely work because they know it’s a mission, it’s a vocation. But then why is there still that itch to keep questions in mind? Why don’t I sleep soundly knowing all of this?

I feel all of this overwhelms me because I don’t write honestly anymore. So I return to the original purpose of keeping this site–apart from telling stories. I’m compelled to write about my experiences because they unsettle me and while I know I can’t write my way to solutions, it does a great deal to just get this load off my chest.

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