It is the afternoon. I make a call, feel better. An hour passes; where did feeling better go? I ask, was talking to my brother about him graduating not enough to last the rest of the day? I cannot drink tea, not this late in the afternoon. I feel better when the sun comes out (I can feel it in my stomach). It has always been a warm feeling, at least I imagine it is. Then it fades, and I return to a state of general discontent, realizing at moments that it is largely the fact that I dislike how I feel, that I feel unwell. Somehow that paradox escapes me.
I learn to relax as the evening comes. Who can tell if this is it; if relaxation is what I have been looking for. Then I want to sleep, to wake up to another day. Better or not, it will surely and truly be different. Somehow that makes life better – change. Change can hurt, help, everything in between – not to think in extremes, but to think with simplicity. In another way of thinking, change does not hurt or help us at all: When I think that running out of space on the bookshelf is frustrating, I might blame change. I might believe that changes in life are the cause of how I feel, and in a way, they might be. At one point in time, there was adequate room on the bookshelf for my books; now, there is not. I ask myself a lot, how I think, how I feel; how does how I think about what happens to me affect the way I feel about that thing? I have experimented, and most of the time I am responsible.
If you cannot sleep, you cope, or suffer. Maybe a half sleep will suffice. Wake up, do it all again; all over again. You get up for something, there is always a meaning in every action. Meaning in every word, whether we find it very meaningful or not. Meaningful life, purposeful life. I try to live with purpose, and sometimes I forget – often, actually. I find myself doing the things that I find give me purpose, and not experiencing the meaning they gave me the first time I did them. There was a time when making music was like throwing sticks into a river. Quite dull; yet, I wanted it to be enjoyable. Sometimes we find something dull because it is not time, and when we think it is time and it turns out not to be, then we sometimes keep trying. Eventually, you will probably get it.
There are other forms of it than writing fiction, writing poetry, or writing about my life; writing music. I write something, it gets dull; I read something interesting; I study for a long time, it gets dull; I work on a music project, how the percussion meets the melody; then I inevitably write again. It is not always a perfect cycle, it changes without notice, depending on mood, and so forth. I did not want to write about ways of achieving it that have much to do with finances. They help, and in fact it is a supporting factor. It can be seen in various forms, and can be found in many ways. It is subjective, and variable between people. It is universal, and you may experience it without realizing it. It does not need a name, a face to tell you what it is. It is common and personal.