Today kind of sucked. On my way home, I was listening to Jill Scott, who was singing something about God’s plan for her and I thought… damn. I miss the feeling that someone else is going to figure it out for me.
Once upon a time, I read that people who are depressed have the most realistic sense of how much control they have over their lives. Happy people think they have everything under control and can impact outcomes through various means both impractical and practical. Profoundly depressed people know there is a fine line between them and utter ruin.
Having been to rock bottom (see: divorce), I’m in some unmentioned group between. I am no longer profoundly depressed, but I also haven’t lost my awareness of that membrane that once seemed like a fortress and has turned out to be about as sturdy as one of my soft contacts (and equally likely to distort my natural vision, which happens to be terrible.) So I flirt at the edges of a nebulous spiritualism that may have settled on defining God as the interconnected system, where a sneeze in Seattle turns into a blizzard on the Seine. Interconnected, yes. Looking out for me specifically? Still seems unlikely.
On the other hand, you have The Robert Glasper Experiment tearing apart Smells Like Teen Spirit and, I promise you, if you can walk away from that performed live and not believe that there is something larger and wonderful and whatever is behind you happened exactly like that so you would be in the right place to go swimming in that specific experience… I got nothing.
So, I miss God. This is a good and a bad thing. On the up side, absolute responsibility and therefore absolute ownership. On the down side, it really sucks to be stuck figuring it out for yourself with only the occasional signpost in the general direction of joy to rely on.