Philip's Tunnel to Nowhere 3

Soon I want to write up a reaction to something fascinating I read today, but first I want to have time to process it. Meanwhile, I have several stray thoughts that are sort of follow-ups to what I wrote yesterday.

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One of the interesting things I learned yesterday is that writing about my feelings makes them easier to cope with. I guess that really shouldn’t be a surprise. Isn’t that the motivation behind the classic “Dear Diary” blog posts that no one ever wants to read? Hopefully, even if I’m writing as therapy, I can find a way to provide some sort of analysis or generality that’s applicable beyond my own life. Otherwise, there’s not much reason for anyone but me to read this stuff.

But writing does make me feel better. In part I think that’s because in my mind it’s a community-oriented activity, even if the whole community isn’t present at the same time. When I write I feel like I’m communicating, even if it’s only pretend because I don’t really know with any certainty that anyone else is going to read it.

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Yesterday I also found that cleaning up even a small part of my living space made an immense difference in how I felt about things. It’s like it was an instant “accomplishment”, something I could feel good about.

It’s hard for me to keep organized because the task seems so daunting. So that’s why it’s significant that I didn’t really have to organize my while bedroom, or even the majority of it. It’s still a pig sty. I just cleaned up maybe one square meter on the floor, but that made me feel great.

Likewise, making small inroads in freeing up the dishwasher today made me feel 1000 times better about working around the mess my roommate left in the kitchen. Funny how that works.

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It’s sort of interesting that so many people are seeking community but so few know where to find it.

Do people really know they’re seeking community? Or do they think they’re in need of something else?

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I’ve never lived my life in a way that made sense to others. Picking up and moving to a new city because you’re bored with where you are isn’t the most “responsible”, predictable, typical way to live. Lately I’ve been living a lifestyle that most people would consider even more abnormal. Often I’ve been staying at the casinos until 4 or 5 am on weekends, sleeping until noon or 1 pm. I just think of it as working the graveyard shift, same as if I were working at a hospital or in security or what have you.

But it’s given me a great appreciation for how many of society’s community-building structures are oriented toward “normal” people. If you work odd hours, church isn’t for you. If you change cities every few months, you’re going to be trying to meet people who already have established social networks.

I guess it’s easier to get indignant about the first point, because there just aren’t many good church options if you’re not awake enough to worship between 10 am and noon.

The second point is more, “Like, duh!” and yet it’s probably worthwhile to ask if it’s the only way things can be. Are there ways for communities — and here I’m thinking mostly about faith communities, but it could be any other sort — to open their arms more fully to us nomads? What’s the risk for them? What’s the risk for us?

Today’s been a struggle. Actually, all week has, after I took that sleeping pill on Tuesday night (Mom said after the fact that I should have just taken half the labeled dose!) and slept most of the day Wednesday, then spent yesterday afternoon in the car driving back to Memphis. The common theme those three days — Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, wrapped up in sleep, in the car, and in my loneliness, respectively — is isolation.

We nomads live an isolated life. Perhaps that’s to teach me that it’s wrong to be a nomad, to get bored so easily. Should I move back to my hometown and live an uninspired life there?* I can’t see that as being the goal I should be shooting for, just staying in one place I don’t particularly like because I’m scared of moving.

So should I accept that, probably not for the last time, my lack of settledness has led me to somewhere where I don’t have close friends? Maybe that’s OK. From just talking to people I meet on the Internet or wherever, it seems like a lot of people don’t have close friends. At least I have a few, spread all over.

My depression today really gives me a sense of how hard it is to connect in contemporary society. And yeah, that’s a clich ?, but it’s trite because it’s true. I seriously thought about just phoning up my church’s office (the church I’ve been attending in Memphis). I’m sure if I got through to a pastor or an admin they’d be gracious and perhaps even find some time to talk to me. But I hate that thought. I don’t want to admit that I’m “needy”, not in a way like that, not in a way that burdens other people. I’d feel mortified that my need to find someone to talk to had forced someone else to rearrange their schedule.

Likewise, I thought about emailing people from my church small group. But again, that seems awfully heavy-handed. First of all, most people are probably at work anyway. Secondly, I’m not sure that I want to be known as that guy who’s always having all those emotional problems, who needs human interaction. Especially not among a group of people I feel like I’ve barely met. Really, folks, it’s not that big a deal. Honest.

In the end I did what I sometimes do when I feel like this. I changed my Facebook status. I heard back from a good friend who usually is among the first to notice these cries for help. I hate the thought that my cries for help might be a means of manipulating others. I hope they aren’t. Still, it’s awfully meaningful to know that someone even cares enough to message me.

I can’t help thinking that if I feel isolated and lonely, despite the fact that I’m somewhat plugged into a local church, that one of the first things I look for when I move cities is a church, that I value this sort of faith community more than most — well, granted that my makeup means I’m more emotional than 99% of all males** so there probably aren’t that many people who can’t function in this isolation, at least not like me. But there must be some. And some fraction of that fraction is less connected spiritually, less connected to some sort of faith community, than me. Maybe it’s half of that 1%. Maybe it’s just 700 thousand males in the US, 15 million worldwide. Whatever the number, I can’t even begin to fathom how they function. I can’t even fathom how I function! And I’m supposed to know where to turn for help.

Eventually, I got my day started, saturated in prayer and caffeine. I went to the supermarket. I called the unemployment hotline seven times and got an automated message that the call volume was too high for them to help me, seven times. I thought about my grad school apps. I drove to a shopping center in Mississippi that I thought was a mall, and decided that I was better off sitting indoors writing than walking around in the cold. It’s not much to show for six and one-half hours I’ve been awake, but it’s quite an accomplishment.

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*I may be interviewing soon for one or more jobs that happen to be in that town. If I accept such a job, it means that my inherent excitement over the content of the work itself is enough to overcome my desire not to live there. I don’t want to go making an ultimatum — for the right circumstances I’ll move back. If economic need so dictates, I’ll move back. But I’ll need interesting work or some other outlet to overcome my lack of inspiration from such a drab, prefabricated town.

**I’m not going to get myself in trouble by even proffering a guess about the percentage of females that’s less emotional than me. I guess the good feminist answer would be 99%, just the same as males, but I can’t really say that with much conviction.

I’m going to experiment with writing blog entries to respond to other people’s blog entries here. In part that’s because I still don’t know what the heck the purpose of this blog is supposed to be! I guess I want this to be stuff that doesn’t fit neatly into my other blogs, maybe a bunch of theological ramblings with bits and pieces of my life as I move around. I don’t know.

But I feel remiss in not keeping up with my friend Garrett’s blog, and so I’d like to jot down a few comments on his last entry. He talks about a “Christian novel” entitled The Shack — like most of his entries, it’s reading that requires setting aside some time to make it all the way through. Even though I’d never heard of that work before and don’t really think I’ll ever get around to reading it, Garrett makes enough points about how we appreciate art (especially art held in high esteem in the Christian bubble) in general that I want to dig deeper.

(continue reading…)