The Winter of my Discontent

We don't talk about it.

Not in polite company, anyhow. 

And needless to say, we love our children, we love our spouses. We love many things. 

But then there are those things. The things that haunt the dreams, the things that culminate in middle-aged depression. Those things that creep into the shadows of our discontent, and become poisonous leeches in our soul; threatening to capsize our way of life.

The things that, when we were 19 or 25, we were certain we would do, someday. The things that are our purpose, our mission, our calling. Those things that our life couldn't possibly result in NOT being, because those things are who we are, integrally, intrinsically.

But we are told along the way, or maybe we learn by osmosis through the languishing of older people we know, who wag their wise fingers and say, "Be content. Love the life you live", that those things are childish fantasy, and we must soon learn to live in the real world -- the mature world.

But somehow, you cannot. You don't love the life. You hate to bake, you do not sew; hell you don't even own a machine. You don't like domesticity, not one iota. Or you hate your job, but cannot escape it because it pays the bills or because you aren't trained for anything else.  And yet, it seems to think it is what you signed up for. And you regret it. Or maybe you just signed up for it a mite too soon, before the dreams had a chance to take flight and tire you out. Or flesh themselves out into some alternate version of reality.

And at 40, we begin to realize that someday will never come. We will never be who we thought we would be when we were 19, or 25.

We have mortgages and grocery bills and marriages and commitments. We may have chosen them, or they have chosen us, or we may have wandered blindly into them, once upon a time when we believed we knew what we wanted but really knew nothing at all.  

Sometimes those things awaken us in the night. Those things. Those things, that in the reality of our best optimism will never come to pass. Those things that we define ourselves by, even if they have never materialized.

And yet, somewhere along the way, we learn that, quite possibly, those unrealized dreams are nothing more than fantasy. We might see the fork in the road in perfect hindsight. We may know exactly what we would have done differently. But we also know that life isn't a 'Choose Your Own Adventure' book; least of not having any chance to go back and try again. We cannot ever know what direction those forks in the road may have actually taken us. Possibly somewhere greater than we imagined. Just as likely, not. 

What is sensibility? When are we to be old enough to give up on the old dreams? When might we learn that quite possibly there ought to be new, more manageable, more achievable dreams ought to replace them?

Because I haven't learned it yet, apparently. As much as my intellect screams at me for being a spoiled brat, I cannot find smaller dreams that have the potential to fulfill me. And yet, that same intellect tells me I'm doomed for disappointment and ought to stand down and be content.

Well. I'm decidedly not content. Polite company or not, I have dreams on this mountain of mine. Dreams that are MINE. Dreams that are not driven by the demands of others. Dreams that I still shake my fist at, dreams that still see me stand and holler that I WILL catch up to them some day, before I die. 

"I have dreamed on this mountain,
since first I was my mother's daughter,
and you can't just take my dreams away,
not with me watching.
You may drive a big machine,
but I was born a great big woman,
and you can't just take my dreams away,
not with me fighting.
This old mountain raised my many daughters,
some died young – some are still living,
but if you come here to take our mountain,
well we ain't come here to give it.
I have dreamed on this mountain,
since first I was my mother's daughter,
and you can't just take my dreams away,
not with me watching.
No you can't just take my dreams away,
without me fighting.
No you can't just take my dreams away."
-- 'Mountain Song' by Holly Near,
-- as performed by Star Nayea & Primeaux & Mike
-- from 'Sacred Ground: a Tribute to Mother Earth'

I am still seeking that which will fulfill me. That thing that is attainable, that will cause my unrealized dreams to fade into the past as a new and realized dream takes its place. For that is the true stepping stone, a bridge between the past and the present. The thing, this, the one thing that will fill the gaping void of what never came to pass with contentment and peace. Maybe we didn't know as much when we were 19 or 25 as we like to think we knew.

I don't think we can really begin to know our purpose until the middle of life comes and goes. Only then will we, perhaps in light of the wisdom of what we have dreamed but know will never be, understand what is meant to be. And those new dreams move mountains.

Some call it a mid-life crisis. I call it a great awakening.