Restlessness

I heard Hugh McKay speak the other day about his book, 'What makes us tick?'. He has identified 10 desires that we all have and one of them, of course, is the need to connect. No-one knows that better than me. I hate to think how many times I have typed that word over the past couple of years in this journal. We aim to connect in three important ways: with ourselves, with others and with the natural world/the cosmos.

In blogs I read regularly much thought has been given to the notion of balance and I can't deny that balance in life is important: time for oneself, time for others, time to work, time to play. You get the idea.

I feel extraordinarily guilty right now about that: that I don't have a balanced life. I still look after my family. I still have lovely times with my husband. We had a particularly connected day yesterday and I know that made him very happy. I still walk the puppies every day and I still engage with other people and place dates for events in the diary. I am still functioning all right on a superficial level.

But, on a deeper level, I know I am in trouble. I see a play or a musical event I'd like to see but have to really remind myself over and over, literally force myself to buy the tickets. I know I should arrange lunch with my mother but rather picking up the phone, I put it off to later. I would probably enjoy the Garden Day coming up but can't seem to be bothered to ring a friend to join me. At this time, I have such little motivation to engage with others that circle around my life - to arrange a dinner party or put together that outfit for the Derby.

I search my mind for the explanation for my ambivalence. Am I a bit depressed? Is a black dog chasing me, barking at my heels? I don't think so. The truth lies in the fact that at this time in my life I am engaging deeply with myself and that engagement with myself requires engagement with others who understand that process and don't find me barking mad for revelling in it.

I could sign up for the Garden Day. I could force myself to do it and I could spend a whole day talking about this and that. I suspect once I got there I'd enjoy myself as I almost always do: engagement with nature, a lovely lunch, possibly even some good conversation. But you see, the thought of it exhausts me right now; the effort required to dress up and say, 'Here I am as you know me to be. Here is Vesta. She will smile. She will engage. She will give you her full attention as you tell her about your trip, or your family, or your car park details for the Cup'.

I think what is happening to me is that I am becoming increasingly frustrated with splitting myself in two: one part "gurl" and one part bimbo, who seeks to be controlled and plenty of it. I am as trapped in the spider's web as any fly has ever been and the more I fight it the more bloody entangled I become!

I've broached the subject with my husband now three times; the possibility of heading out; catching a plane to see my daughter in the U.K. for a few weeks. "Where would you stay?" he wanted to know yesterday. "A little boarding house nearby," I suggested. And, I do desperately want to see her. I have been just fine about her being away but the need to see her enveloped me last Friday and the lack of her presence suddenly hit me like a shot. But mostly, the thought of running away from myself and my obsessive launch into this dark side of myself is incredibly appealing because the interaction with a unknown environment would force me to come to the surface and smell the fresh air; retrieve my balance.

To explore your own mind is very brave I think because once you start digging you just don't know what you are going to find.