Wednesday Shenanigans

I am whining in public. That’s what social media is for, no?

What is the purpose of social media? Well, I believe it is so that I can whine in public. I try to do so with a veneer of humor, but it’s still whining. Yesterday, I whined about being on social media too much. How’s that for meta?

Is that meta? Just a little ironic? Something?

I know I have been on social media too much in one day when I start to become depressed comparing myself to other people. In this case, it was a post from Interlochen about some of their young musicians. I wish I had been a young musician. I wish I had been self-possessed enough to be able to claim something about myself when I was 16. That just wasn’t me. I was the quintessential Gen X “child of average intelligence.” I had zero aspirations and believed I had zero talent. Underachievement was my super power.

Why does that matter in my 54th year? Good question.

Why It Matters

You see, when I’ve been online too much in one day I tend to lose my sense of self. I fall off the old “being human” wagon and get on the “doing human” wagon. It’s a shitty ride, I must say. But on some deep level, I believe that my value as a person resides in what I do and not who or Whose I am.

Yes, I’ve read Henri Nouwen. I know all about my belovedness in the eyes of God and my goodness as part of God’s creation. But that voice in my head that denies all of that as hokum is loud and insistent. I am only as good as my worth in the market. If I do not achieve some degree of success, I am a waste of oxygen.

As I have said in previous posts, I have an excellent therapist who is helping me to silence these voices. I’m sharing this with you today because it helps me locate the tendency, to name it, and to put it aside.

Over the years, I have tried on various professions in the hopes that something might stick. And, in some ways, that approach has worked. I am currently employed as a hospice chaplain, a job for which I am qualified and enjoy. What more could one want?

How about a job, a profession, that reflects the deepest longings of my soul? Isn’t that the very heart of vocation? My deepest longings siding up to the deepest needs of the world? Is that too much to ask?

Ha! Yes.

I mean, it’s nice when it happens for people, but it is far from the global norm. Most people are subsistence laborers in the Marketplace of All The Things. So many of us are living paycheck to paycheck. Even in the largest economy on the planet, some of us just cannot seem to keep up much less get ahead. Throw in there the myth of sacred purpose and you have a fine recipe for psychic disaster.

We are required to monetize our dreams to be considered whole.

My feelings of inferiority and failure are real, but they are based on a fiction. I am trying to untangle myself from that fictional world that I have created in my head. I bought into something and it’s just not working for me. I need something different.

I don’t need a “purpose.” I need a life.

No, I have a life. I need to hold it gently and allow myself to enjoy it, to love it, to treasure it. I have commoditized it for too long.

The Jesusy Turn

My deepest desire is to please God. I can get that notion pretty twisted, though. I keep moving the goal posts on myself. If I do “x” then God will be pleased. If I don’t, God will become peevish and stop loving me.

What the hell kind of God is this, anyway?

Here’s Jesus, minding his own business dispensing Grace all over the joint and I’m all caught up in “making God happy.” Making God happy is an ontological lie. God loves. It is Who God is. I mean, there’s Matthew 25:40 to contend with, of course. “Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.” God’s love has a trajectory, but everyone and everything is within its purview. We only need join the dance.

On my better mental health days, I try to live into “do justice, love mercy, walk humbly.” That’s it. The rest is circumstance. It’s just that yesterday wasn’t one of my healthier days. Jesus knows this and he sits next to me in full knowledge that I’m punishing myself for being alive. He waits for me to come around. He sends help. I take my meds. I get out of the house and help people as best as I can. That’s it.

It’s that simple, I guess.

But the specter of All The Bullshit is there…looming just outside my periphery. I pray that it may one day vanish entirely. I pray that I might one day toss that shit to the waste bin. Perhaps, it will make good compost. Who knows?

Until then, I will whine on The Interwebs.

Y’all be excellent to each other.