Adrift means to float without being moored or steered. It describes how I’ve been feeling, lately.
The benefit of having goals and/or a mission is that we enter into that state where we steer ourselves toward a particular end point. Even in the case of adventuring, I think we are seeking something that attracts our attention where we can land for a bit.
I don’t feel like I’ve lost my ability to define a goal and achieve it. My mind and body are still intact and capable. Also, there’s lots of challenges in our chosen field of arts in education worthy of my attention. What I’m feeling is not about my career which is going well.
I think it’s more a reflection of the times we live in and, perhaps, my anxiety about the world we are handing off to our children. Doesn’t it seem like our country is adrift?
Here’s another factor.
Beth and I recently decided not to buy a house. We may change our minds, but the numbers suggest that continuing to rent makes more economic sense. A home – as we’ve been taught to believe – is something that anchors one to place. It keeps us from feeling adrift. So, a part of what I’m feeling is unmoored.
But getting back to the USA – is this still a place where middle class families seeking a stable and purposeful life can feel safe and comfortable? For the longest time, we convinced ourselves that this is “the greatest country in the world.” But is it?
Yesterday, Beth said, “Ironically, the thing that’s killing us is our healthcare.” So, a part of what is making me feel adrift is that I no longer feel physically safe here in the US. Between exorbitant healthcare costs, climate change and an unstable government, it all feels…scary. My country tis of thee ain’t so beautiful anymore.
We Americans have a variety of clever ways to distract ourselves from feeling afraid. In my case, I can use a combination of retail therapy, learning, food, work, friendships, travel, reading and television to form a web of experiences that keep me busy and productive. As I said earlier, steering toward a goal may even be a noble and wonderful way to pass the time.
But I have lately created time to pause and think and that has created a rip in the fabric of my distractions. Like a drunk who gets clean, the reasons I started drinking come into focus and it ain’t pretty.
I don’t think I’m at “life sucks then you die” but I understand that statement better than I did in previous times. As a white male born into a privileged American middle class system, I had no reason to adapt such a fatalistic philosophy. In fact, “Life is Good” was much more my experience.
Heck, I’m not in Gaza or Ukraine. I’ve got a really good thing here, right? What business do I have whining about my country or the nice environment around my well-heated, comfortable and safe albeit rented home?
Maybe I just need to go for a walk, play some music, restart my gratitude practice or forget about life for awhile. Maybe my father was right when he said, “therapy has ruined you,” and I need to stop all of this deep thinking-feeling crap that makes me feel adrift. Maybe I’m just too damned neurotic for my own good.
Or, maybe, I’m finally waking up. Time will tell.
P.S. I am a writer. As such, the contract I have with myself is to observe and feel, to wonder and wander. I see the rose and I feel the thorns. Such is the sober life I’ve chosen.
