signposts

It’s Thursday again. This morning I had to “endure,” as I do every week, the lone stupid segment on NPR Morning Edition – some lame three-minute local production called Star Watch. I mean, who really cares about black holes and life on Mars when wars and famine and disease are plaguing us on this planet, right now? Anyway, sorry for the grumpy rant. But I guess today, amid switching off the radio in my typical annoyed huff, I realized that for months now, silly little rituals like this have become signposts in my life, one of many perpetual benchmarks of the passage of time.

Who knows what my subconscious calendar is really measuring, but I do know I make a deliberate (etched-in-stone type) mental note for recycling every 2^nd and 4^th Wednesday of the month, and every Tuesday most restaurants have specials, Thursdays is The Office night (on DVD if not on primetime), and every Sunday I plan to go to church but usually go to brunch instead (sorry, God).

So, I guess what I’ve begun to wonder is… is this really all there is, passing by one insignificant mile-marker after another and trudging along like I was on the AT trail of life? I mean, I know it’s not, per se, but is this really what it’s like when you (that being me) lead a life of excruciatingly (and slightly unexciting) routine?

Maybe I’ve just been too blessed to have the last decade or so of my existence constantly interrupted by trips, and if it wasn’t trips, it was moves, and if it wasn’t moves, it was monumental earth-shifting changes and/or actual natural disasters (wait, did I just say I was blessed by those things? Ok, I guess I am).

But the past few months, as my work travel has abated, and I’ve cooled my jets for a bit, I’ve found myself sucked into some sort of vortex-esque day to day grind. And, by the way, whoever came up with that “grind” description of the daily get-up-and-go, had it right on –– at the end of most days, I totally feel like I began as a whole coffee bean but hour by hour I was chopped into virtually flavorless specks by tiny helicopter blades. Ok, so of course it’s not that bad, but it is Real.

Seriously, if it wasn’t for the dog, I probably wouldn’t move off my red chair most evenings. Whoa is me. But really, what I’m trying to drill down to is… this Thing, this monotonous hole of existence that I’ve tumbled into… aren’t I made for more? Aren’t we all called to something Better?

It’s not like God said, “Well, during this time period, I’m going to drop Bonnie Jean into big ole a rut. Let’s see how she likes that.” Quite the opposite, really. I know if I looked in a spiritual mirror I’d be standing here dirt-covered and holding a shovel. Day after day after day, I’d dig a little (with a bad attitude about some situation at work), then some more (skipping church), then even more (not making an effort to get out and do stuff) and … viola! What a lovely pothole I’ve created for myself!

Even with my writing, this blog especially, I bemoan how I’m “oh so busy, I just don’t have time” when really, I just don’t make time. It’s a choice. Writing ideas? Plentiful. Motivation? Not much of that going on right now. Day after day, for months now, I’ve gotten ground up at work (with measured success most days, but not with much Joy) because I’ve accepted my place, complacent among the other coffee beans.

I heard a speaker years ago talk about how once when she and her husband felt like they’d gotten into such a big rut of work, routine, and not enough fun, that she decided to get aggressive about getting out of it. On whim, she found herself standing at a Corvette dealer and soon sped away in a shiny, black Corvette convertible (albeit rented)… because she thought that if they were really, really stuck in that rut, then a Corvette could certainly help propel them out, and when it did, it would probably do so even faster than normal. (Her theory later proved correct.)

So, all that said, and all these confessions now written (it is good for the soul, right?), if you see me fly by in a little red (rented) Corvette sometime soon, don’t be alarmed. I figure if I’m going to keep passing all these silly signposts in life for awhile, I might as well blaze so fast that I don't even really notice that they're there... because I'm on my way out of this rut.