Series Finale-and Life's beginning

I wish I could tell you all where I've been these last few months...but the truth is, I don't even know. My body has been in the usual places, save a few necessary variations, but my head...I can't quite say the same for my head. Have you ever experienced a time when you realize that everything you've been doing, you've done on "autopilot?" When without even noticing, everything you do, you do robotically? Watch a hamster on a wheel. Then you'll know what I'm talking about. He just runs...without purpose or destination. He just GOES. The fact that I can't easily recount the highlight clips of my life within the past few months tells me that I have become that hamster. I just go-and I even have the nerve to get irritated when anything (or anyone, for that matter) interrupts my pace. It's a scary place to be. You know why? Because eventually you have to stop. During that pause you begin to catch up with yourself, and as you attempt to retrace your steps you realize you can logistically recount things you've done, but you couldn't say to save your life how you felt, or even how you feel. In a sense, you lose your identity, because you are not you; rather, you are little more than a machine performing tasks up to a manufacturer's specifications. It's disorienting to feel this way. For lack of a less-cliche way to put things, life is a journey, yet what is the point of going on a trip when you have nothing to show from having gone, no pictures, no souvenirs, no interesting facts, no funny anecdotes, no pseudo-horror stories to recount? You might as well have just been asleep the whole time.

Now before I scare anyone into believing that I'm at the point of what John Mayer aptly called a "quarter-life crisis," and that soon I'm going to sell all my things and move to the mountains to meditate (I don't have anything to sell and I have asthma so me and mountains don't mix for extended periods of time. Breathe easy, people), I just want to make clear that I know that there is absolutely nothing wrong with my life. On the contrary, everything is right with it. I'm surrounded by family, loving friends, I have a healthy spiritual life and work that is meaningful. I don't worry about my daily necessities [that often]. My life is good. The problem is, sometimes in working so hard to keep it that way, I forget to show up for it; to be proactive in living and experiencing it. Rather, I work tirelessly behind the scenes to make sure everyone else gets to enjoy the April Show, with its gorgeous backdrops and colorful cast of characters. And I'm constantly making production changes to stay relevant to the audience. But I'm tired. Plain and simple. I want to really see and feel as this story unfolds, and participate...before it's all over.

Believe it or not, that's part of the reason I cancelled my Facebook account. My daily thoughts had become entertainment for hundreds of people, and I liked it. I know I'm darn near 30 years old, but I've always had issues with peer acceptance and I probably always will. Hey, at least I'm real with mine. (I'm sure that has something to do with some daddy-issues from my childhood or something, but whatever, that's another day and another post.) Anyway, it's a reality that has always made social networking risky business for me. A normal person could have such an account and use it occasionally just to keep in touch with friends, share something funny, let everyone know they are alive and well. For me, that's always how it begins. But then the next thing I know, I post something...and people respond. They like what I had to say. They like ME. I post a picture of myself; oh wow, someone thinks I'm pretty. So I have to keep this up, whatever it is I'm doing or saying. Gotta keep 'em coming. And so it begins, a cycle of posting and waiting for approval, or applause, or sympathy, or some form of attention. As many friends as I have outside of cyberspace, there's no logical reason for me to have become hooked on watching people "like" me online. But we mortals aren't always so logical, are we?

This is embarrassing to write about, but it needs to be said. I started this blog knowing that I might say some incriminating things, but my self-incrimination may help someone else, so I'll put my business in the street for that purpose. My life was no longer mine. I condensed it-along with my candy-coated versions of my innermost thoughts and feelings, my hopes and dreams (or at least what I thought people would care about; I knew my audience) down to 420 characters or less, at least twice a day, and didn't feel at rest until someone said something about it. If no one said anything, I was no longer relevant and that just wouldn't do. I didn't like the way the dependency felt, but I couldn't quite stop; I just didn't know how I'd feel once I was detached from all my "friends." I made excuses for myself, and some of my pretexts wore the cloak of validity (I was finally in regular communication with my extended family, and I was told on several occasions that my post about my experiences in the Christian ministry had encouraged some to think seriously about taking it up full time). But was Facebook the only way I could do these things? I went back and forth with myself for a long time, until recently, an article about social media appeared in an issue of the Awake! magazine. Included in the article was the autobiographical account of a youth who had found himself addicted to social networks. "Well, I wouldn't exactly say I'm addicted," I quickly countered to my own self-interrogation. And maybe I wasn't addicted to the social network itself. But I was addicted to something that in some ways could be far worse-attention. I say it's worse because I've been working for years on freeing myself from the tendency to live to please those around me. Facebook had become just a high-tech way to keep doing the same thing I'd been trying to undo in every other area of my life. I'm just too old for this to keep being an issue, and if I don't stop it will make me crazy or, (who am I kidding, really?) it will turn me back to crazy with the same quickness with which Cinderella reverted at midnight. But again, that's another day and other post.

So in the last couple of weeks since I've been off Facebook, I've made a concerted effort not to go backwards. After all, just because I'm no longer part of an Internet social network doesn't mean my old ways are gone. I've said, and done, and not said, and not done, alot of things in my life, all with the common intent of staying on the course that would keep people loving me. And I got really good at it. But many of the moments that have appeared so triumphant to everyone else, I wasn't even around to feel. I was too busy trying to make sure people were still tuned in. So lately, I've just been trying to live, completely organically. I'm not talking free-range meat or hemp-based clothing. What I mean is, living life and being present with myself in every moment of it, without editing or cropping or cutting and pasting. And it's been nice. I let myself feel all the warmth in a full hug from a good friend, instead if rushing and doing a half-hug real quick so I could make sure I hugged so-and-so because otherwise they'd be mad at me. I did yardwork today and watched the sky change her night-clothes twice, instead of being so worried about my own attire for the weekend being something everyone could praise. I went away to see my other dad last weekend and just let myself be there, and every time my brain started drifting to my doubts about how I'd explain my absence to those who didn't yet know how the branches of my family tree were braided, I just told myself to shut up and be happy I was there with my dad. And I felt no necessity to give anyone the play-by-play. Even this blog will change in some ways, because now, dear reader-and forgive the icy tone; I never want to be rude, but I'm just teaching myself to be real-I'm really not too concerned as to whether you are entertained by what I have to say or not. I may even lose some followers because I get too boring, or sappy, or talk about love too much, or too little, or write too many or too few poems. It's ok. No one has to read this. It would be nice if you did. But if you don't, no worries. My life is to be lived, and shared with those I love. But the curtain has closed, and the "April Show" is no more.