What to Say? What to Be?

I’m sure this is what the inside of my mind looks like.

I want to say something, really say something, but sometimes I’m at a loss for words. I don’t always think words are effective enough to express my thoughts and feelings. I want to smile at you right now and laugh with you. I'd like us to have a conversation that goes beyond what words can express. Words are utterances, sounds that represent feelings and thoughts, but they are not the actual thing itself. It is a form of symbolism. 

The word for joy in Punjabi is Chardikala. How do you convey pure, unadulterated happiness in words? Or, let's take the other extreme: melancholy. How do you describe it? I don’t know, but I don’t know anything…

I mean, what do we ‘know’? Do we know why we are alive? Sometimes I think I’m alive in order to love, and love hard. I want people to say that about me after I die, she loved hard. She was the most passionate person I’ve ever met. She knew how to laugh and make others laugh. 

That’s why we’re here, right? To love, to laugh. No one really thinks we are here to make money, do they? Maybe that’s what I don’t really understand: the world only works if we make money. Life is dependent on us being a slave to money. 

But that’s not who we really are, is it? Money is a tool; it can buy security and freedom and lots of nice stuff. But it can’t buy love, can it? Isn’t that a song? Many songs have been written about this. 

I’m pushing fifty, and I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up. I mean, I love teaching at the college level, tutoring, and writing, but those are things that I am doing. What am I being while I am doing what I love?  What kind of person do I really want to be? Am I that person?

I think I love myself, but I could be wrong, I could be wrong about everything. If you leave that possibility open, you begin to understand how small we all are in the whole scheme of things, which brings you humility. We don’t know anything for sure. We speculate. 

I want to say I know for sure there is a power out there that is pure love, some of us call it god, others call it by other names. Whatever it is, it could be a figment of my imagination. I don’t believe that, I think there is a beautiful entity that is the sum of all of us, an oversoul, so to speak. But how do I know? I don’t. I just believe, and that’s good enough for me. 

The mystery is in her eyes

She doesn’t need to say anything.

Image courtesy of Edet Edet via Scopio

Again, I’m trying to say something here, and I am not even entirely sure what it is. I want to say something powerful, impactful, and profound. I want to be loved because I say wonderful things. That sounds so ridiculous when I think about it. I want to say the right thing? There is no right thing to say. 

We’re all out here, trying to use words, trying to have conversations with each other, but really, sometimes we just need to hug. And shut up. And stop talking, because we could talk about it until the cows come home, which is such a ridiculous phrase. But we can talk and write and say and say and say. But what are we being while we are saying all this bullshit?

We are being loud, that’s what we are being. Maybe there is something to be said about being quiet and understanding the silence. I mean, when we meditate, we are usually sitting in silence so we can center ourselves. Maybe we need more of that and less vocabulary to describe every moment of our existence. 

Don’t get me wrong, I love words. I love them so much that I like to think of myself as a wordsmith. But I can’t always say in words what it’s like to be Nina. I don’t have the right words to describe how I feel in this very moment as I write these very words. I mean, one of the words I might use is frustration. I’m frustrated that I can’t communicate all that I’m trying to say in some kind of interpretive dance. I mean, maybe that is what art is, something we can’t say in words. 

But writing is also an art, and so is talking. So are words. It all comes back full circle.

So let me just say I have come to no real conclusions here, perhaps this was just a meditation on something or the other, I’m not even sure what. I’ll just say this: I’m tired. Sometimes I’m lonely. I hate those two words, tired and lonely. But they are real, right? 

Are we real? I don’t know, maybe we are making this all up in some kind of dream state. Maybe the real us is watching us try to be real. Maybe it’s a big existential joke. Or maybe it’s not funny at all, but very serious. This is our lives we are talking about. What are we going to do with them? How are we going to live in a way that brings us peace?

I can’t answer that for you, maybe not even for myself. I’m left with more questions than answers. When I teach research writing, I’m always telling my students they are not looking for the ‘truth.’ They are looking for their truth. There is no objective truth, I think. I mean, is that the truth? I don’t know. 

What I do know is that I’m just trying to get by here, I’m trying to survive, and maybe have some moments of happiness along the way. Because I don’t know what else there is. I don’t have the words to tell you how I really feel. I feel happy, but I also feel very serious. Life is fun, but also very intense. And that is one of my truths. 

What’s yours? 

nina