Some Persistent Questions

People with a certain peculiar turn of mind, and I am one, ask questions that others wouldn't bother to consider. They certainly weren't topics at dinner in my family. They weren't discussed in my schools. Well, to some small extent in philosophy graduate school, but even there, not so much. Even there, the discussion was what historical figures had said, and what others said in reply. But what I want to know is what is true in my experience.

I want to know, who am I? What is it to be me? What is really fundamental about me, and what aspects are extraneous? It can't be my body, because my body changes continually, and even if my body were changed by surgery or accident, we'd still all agree that it remains my body. And it can't be my emotions, which vary depending on what I've eaten, what I'm encountering, what memories are arising, and many, many other factors. I'm surely not a different person if I become less angry, am I? Yet when people do something embarrassing or stupid (and we've all done that, haven't we?), they say, "I just wasn't myself that day." And we do know what they mean. Sometimes in the heat of the moment (and there is heat in that moment)  we feel as if we are swept away by forces that are alien. They certainly aren't who we normally think we are. People often find it hard to apologize for these situations -- precisely because they can't really believe it was something they did. It's a most mysterious situation.

So -- who is the "real" Janet? Is it the Janet I aspire to me, the one who represents my best intentions and acts in accordance with inner dialogue? The self who models what I like to be? Or should I say the "real" Janet is the sum of all of the behaviors I've ever exhibited? That would be highly theoretical, and kind of impossible to document, because no one is serving in the role as record-keeper of this "real" Janet. There is no one who has tracked all of my behaviors -- the good, the bad, and the ugly.  Nor is there anyone who would want to! This theory of self would also be highly challenging for me, because included in this huge catalogue of behaviors are many moments I have forgotten precisely because they conflict with and disturb my image of myself. Hmmm. . . .

So that's one set of questions. Troubling ones. I have some provisional answers, too. But first the questions.

Another set of questions is about reality. Why is it that in some situations everything seems to flow and your words and actions feel like they simply fit the situation flawlessly? There is neither effort nor calculation. The world seems vibrant and alive, and I am a seamless part of it. These magical moments arise, and then they just disappear. And in other situations there is an almost aching absence of vitality, a dullness, and a lack of connection.  Everything feels awkward, there's an awareness of the distance between intention and result. Everyone present seems to notice the heavy, clumsy nature of the interaction. Nothing I or others do seems to work in those moments.

So one basic question, and it's a practical one, is how to arrange my life to have more of the sparkling, flowing moments, and less of the clanging, awkward moments. That's pretty basic. And yet it's still something I'm learning, as quite a neophyte.

My quest is to have more moments of connecting to the simplicity and the movement of the world. Being more alive. Being with what is happening without getting lost in stories that take me two and three layers away from this moment. I'm here at a keyboard, with a dog snoring behind me. Let me see how closely I can live to this tapping of fingers, feet on the slick floor. There's nothing so elevated about it. Yet there's something precious in it, nonetheless.

After all, life is short. And that's so easy to ignore -- and even to forget. I'm painfully aware of both the brevity of life and the tendency to push it to the periphery of our thoughts. Just yesterday, I was speaking to a friend who was told this week that her cancer has returned, and she may have only months to live. She said, "It's so hard to take in." Of course! How can our minds grasp such news? We live to live. Every day of our lives have been geared toward another day, a future. Yet there are no guarantees, even for those of us without stark diagnoses, that we will have more days. My friend has a grim diagnosis, and we all will meet that moment of death. And it seems so important not to have missed my life through inattention. Already, I've missed so much.