Is it just me, or is it getting harder and harder to write?
At first, I blamed it on WP’s new editor. Then I thought perhaps it was just that my life is rather dull now that I am working from home and rarely have to leave the house for anything.
Then I realized that the real reason is hidden in that last sentence, but with all the excuses removed.
“… it was just that my life is rather dull.”
That is entirely my own fault and I don’t blame anyone but myself. In my early 20s (and maybe earlier), I deliberately set out to lead a very quiet, very peaceful, almost somnambulant life.
Why would I do that, you ask?
A cynic might say, “Because it is easy.”
But that is wrong.
It is very difficult to lead a peaceful life. Nothing in modern life is geared towards the quiet, the peaceful, the serene. Everything is stressful. Everything is aggravating. Everything is irritating.
From the unceasing commercials we are bombarded with, to the traffic we must endure, the crowds we cannot avoid (even in these COVID times), to the constant din of noise that surrounds us, to the ugliness everywhere we look … there is simply not much serenity to be found.
We must create it through artificial means.
We do it by reading. We paint. We write. We compose or play or listen to music. We invent.
All of which has led me to the conclusion that serenity is an artificial construct. It was created by the human mind as a kind of ephemeral reward for doing the things we cannot avoid doing. It is a bit of cheese we find in the maze of chaos we are sniffing and trembling our way through.
Serenity cannot be found by setting sail, or setting off afoot, or working towards or striving for.
It is something we must deliberately carry with us.
We cannot find it, because it is not naturally occurring in this world.
We must will it into existence.