The fall rains have started in Michigan in earnest and they bring with them an overwhelming sense of melancholy, of dashed dreams, of unfulfilled promise. I've spent the last few weeks in a state of anxiety over the numerous goals I had for the summer which have gone un-met, feeling as though I squandered my time on useless ventures. At the beginning of summer, there was so much to look forward to, so much time that stretched out into the future, time enough to get all these things done. And now the summer is gone, school is in session, the weather is rapidly cooling (although it never actually got very warm), and we are beginning to think of hunkering down for the winter.
So many things have gone wrong these past few weeks, so many hopes have been dashed, so many nasty surprises have occurred that it feels as though I'm adrift in an open ocean. I feel like that famous Winslow Homer painting, with the sharks circling around and no hope in sight. I dread going to work each day; I dread coming home for fear of encountering yet another emotional confrontation. I have tried to trim off all the extraneous commitments which have filled up my hours to the detriment of my family, yet still feel compelled to help people when they describe a need that is not being met. I feel overwhelmed by all the tasks on my plate both at work and at home; and my anxiety level for my children's well-being has exceeded my ability to cope with it.
I have to get out.
So I do.
Some people have their prayer closets; I have my shop. When I go into my shop and close the door behind me, I leave all those worries and cares and concerns behind. I hold a tool in my hand and meditate on the feel of it as I use it to shape or fix or clean or smooth it. My mind relaxes; words form in my head that are clear and concise and correct; images come to mind of truth and beauty and purpose; my muscles relax and my headache disappears and a grand feeling of peace fills my soul.
After an hour or so of cleaning my head out, I am finally able to go back into the house and deal with the momentary emergencies of the day/week/month.
Knowing that the anxiety will build up again.
Knowing that I will soon find reason to return to my shop again.
And looking forward to it.
So many things have gone wrong these past few weeks, so many hopes have been dashed, so many nasty surprises have occurred that it feels as though I'm adrift in an open ocean. I feel like that famous Winslow Homer painting, with the sharks circling around and no hope in sight. I dread going to work each day; I dread coming home for fear of encountering yet another emotional confrontation. I have tried to trim off all the extraneous commitments which have filled up my hours to the detriment of my family, yet still feel compelled to help people when they describe a need that is not being met. I feel overwhelmed by all the tasks on my plate both at work and at home; and my anxiety level for my children's well-being has exceeded my ability to cope with it.
I have to get out.
So I do.
Some people have their prayer closets; I have my shop. When I go into my shop and close the door behind me, I leave all those worries and cares and concerns behind. I hold a tool in my hand and meditate on the feel of it as I use it to shape or fix or clean or smooth it. My mind relaxes; words form in my head that are clear and concise and correct; images come to mind of truth and beauty and purpose; my muscles relax and my headache disappears and a grand feeling of peace fills my soul.
After an hour or so of cleaning my head out, I am finally able to go back into the house and deal with the momentary emergencies of the day/week/month.
Knowing that the anxiety will build up again.
Knowing that I will soon find reason to return to my shop again.
And looking forward to it.
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