I strive to be happy. Honest, I do. But sometimes I have to ask myself completely and without guile, Is it happiness itself I seek? Or is it the process of striving that captivates me – the push/pull between satisfaction and all that fails to match expectations of what humans and life, itself are capable?
I know that expectations are like premeditated resentments. The devil is, however (as is so often the case), in the particulars: the nuances and fine tuning of my own inner frequencies. It’s a bit like orchestrating a symphony – getting all the discordant elements in harmony at all times is a tall order. Often I succeed, and other times I fail abysmally in pulling up even with my own standards. Is it simply that I observe all I see, both outside and in, with eyes wide open? And if, as so many believe, consciousness equates to bliss, I’m not so sure. Rather, I think being awake in that sense means accepting life on its own terms – meeting what is, which is forever shifting and changing and never static. Then somehow being at peace with it all.
Some are blessed to exist or coexist in virtual isolation, while others of us who admire the wisdom gleaned from those kinds of cloistered conditions are likewise graced with passionate encounters and the joys of creating everything from a wardrobe to offspring. The tradeoff for isolation is precisely that, but it’s no surprise – existence itself is rife with contradiction. For the rest of us, society’s constant tug and pull of distractions and drama create emotional highs and lows, as we struggle like oboes and strings to attune to one another’s harmonic as well as discordant qualities in the midst of creation’s chaos.