Milk and Cookies

I realized it's been almost four weeks since I posted on my blog and found myself mired in disappointment. Am I so uninteresting that I have no thoughts worth sharing? I could share interesting tidbits so any readers can know that a hand-written will is invalid in the state of Kansas. Perhaps I could discuss the irony of classmates cheating in an ethics class, but nothing has inspired me to put fingers to the keyboard. Hopefully that simply means I've firmly established my standards for what qualifies as inspiration.

Still, my lack of writing is not for lack of wanting. Myspace has been fantastic for reacquainting with those I have not seen in quite some time, but my favorite component of this site is the prospect of writing once again. Certainly I could write in a journal, but the cathartic nature of private writing does not feed the exhibitionist performer stirring within me.

The only conclusion I had while ignoring the concerns of annexation in local government law is that twenty-seven years of exerting effort has left me in a perpetual state of apathy. I despise falling subject to the stereotypes of my generation—a class with a marked sense of privilege but no desire to justify such privilege with work. I don't think I'm alone in my boredom and I am consequently left with the questions as to whether I will fight these feelings for the entirety of my life. Should I expect to feel the rising pangs of indifference seven years from now in the midst of employment? What motivates? I know that I should work hard and give my best, but to what end?

I came across the following quotation from Soren Kierkegaard, a Danish philosopher: "If I were to wish for anything, I should not wish for wealth and power, but for the passionate sense of the potential, for the eye which, ever young and ardent, sees the possible. Pleasure disappoints, possibility never. And what wine is so sparkling, what so fragrant, what so intoxicating, as possibility!" When I was younger, I was filled with passion and ideas—thoughts of making my surroundings better. I was convinced that my God-given capabilities would lead me to making a difference. I may not have the tools or interest in curing AIDS or inventing the fusion-powered car, but I felt (and still sometimes feel) that my skills in prose, rhetoric, and policy could make a difference. I would sit in my classes and enthusiastic thoughts flowed from my mind and lips. I would genuinely be excited, which is quite the feat for an unexcited person, and the excitement would build so fast that my words could not keep up with my thoughts. Why has that passion fallen?

Ecclesiastes 12 instructs to "Remember your Creator in the days of your youth, before the days of trouble come and the years approach when you will say, "I find no pleasure in them"" I find it hard to believe that my days of youth are already lost. Isn't 60 the new 40? If that's the case it only seems natural that I should be toddling to kindergarten excitedly awaiting recess and the next Scooby-Do rerun. Unfortunately, the youthful excitement that the baby-boomers feel doesn't seem to extend to me. Wouldn't it be great if it did? Can you imagine feeling the simplistic joy of after-school cookies and cartoons? The happy innocence of thinking Scooby and Shaggy just had chuckle-worthy overactive appetites instead of the munchies? Or better yet, preferring recess over naptime instead of welcoming a quick nap as sweet relief from the day's monotony? Ah, youth.

Solomon continued in Ecclesiastes and notes that life is "Meaningless! Meaningless! Says the teacher "Utterly meaningless! Everything is meaningless."" (Ecclesiastes Chapter 1:2). However to contrast this, Ecclesiastes notes at least four times that "So I commend the enjoyment of life, because nothing is better for a man under the sun than to eat and drink and be glad. Then joy will accompany him in his work all the days of the life God has given him under the sun." (Ecclesiastes 8:1). It seems being the wisest man on earth still doesn't free you from the bonds of confusion and apathy. I think though, in my moments of clarity, that Solomon had it right. When you really believe in the work you do, if you find ways to help others, there is great satisfaction in work. Finding satisfaction does not assure non-stop pleasure, but it's a good start. It's certainly better than the alternative of wasting away.

I unfortunately don't have any insight to offer any readers that might care what I think—I actually hope someone else might be able to offer me the wisdom I lack. Hopefully, I just need the attitude adjustment that comes with the warmth of spring. Yesterday's 55 degrees and sunshine certainly was a good start. Unfortunately, I still have the brooding concern that I'll wage this war in the same way Solomon did—meaninglessness to joy and back again. I certainly hope for the passion that Solomon seemed to find in his efforts, but at this point I'd probably settle for a Scooby Snack and a nap.