chasing after the wind

I've recently been borrowing and working my way through a few seasons of Seinfeld. In one particular episode, 3 of the friends sit at a diner table eating and contemplating what it is they should be doing with their life at that very moment rather than what they're actually doing. I must say I've wondered the same, especially recently. And thus, the series promoted as the show about nothing got me thinking about the growing nothingness that seems to be filling my days between the hours of waking and sleeping. While there is never a lack of busyness, is there an increasing lack of substance? Is my recent relative contentment with life a sign of acceptance or resignation? Have I been without stimulation and challenge so long that I'm starting to regard the absence of such as relaxation instead of stagnation?

It's true that life lately seems to have reached a certain state of balance. My general contentment with where I am and the current state of things distracts me from future planning. So again I'm at odds with myself debating and contemplating the root to what appears as a lack of motivation. Is that really it? Is the drive gone or have I been simply finding simple joy, seizing it, allowing it to sustain me, and observing a shift in how I approach life because of it? Work last week brought this new idea into light.

Lately, I've found that I've been enjoying my job, or at least moments of it, and it almost makes me sad. I've been glad for the opportunity to be teaching because I feel it's likely to be very different from whatever I find myself doing next and as such, I consider this time in my life a gift to be doing what I'm doing right now, even though it feels like I'm not doing much at all.
Last week I spent a sunny yet chilly blue skied morning at the park hanging out with some of my school's youngest tots. Somewhere in the midst of chasing kids up twisty slides, having imaginary races on rocking zebras, playing monkey-in-the-middle, and marveling at the fast retracting leaves of the touch-me-not's we'd batted, I suffered one of those simple joy moments where I knew I was exactly where I was supposed to be at that moment doing exactly what I was supposed to be doing, as silly and meaningless as it was, and I found myself filled with joy.

I've been experiencing a new found joy in my close friendships as well. The joy has not been found in what we do but simply in being together. I can, at times, get so caught up in activities or being productive that it's somewhat of a new thing for me to spend time with someone that I know wasn't wasted despite not doing much of anything. It's just hanging out - perhaps some are chatting, reading, napping, playing piano or computer games, grading papers - whatever, but it's choosing to do something I'd normally do alone in the company of others. Just being there with friends oddly matters though no perceived meaning in it can be found. It would appear that I've gotten around to installing some windows and doors in my walls that can be opened from time to time letting the outside in and I've found joy in not only making myself reachable to close friends by in reaching out to them.

And so I wonder, is meaning overrated? Do we wear ourselves out trying to justify our decisions by attaching meaning to what we do so we don't feel our life has been a waste by the end of the day? At house church, we welcomed the new year with an impromptu reading of mine and Rick's favorite book, Ecclesiastes. Nothing like chapter after chapter of meaninglessness and chasing after the wind to fill one with hope for the new year, yet I can't help but love Ecclesiastes, as defeated and solemn as it leaves me.

It is encouraging that detached from seeking meaning, one can still experience joy, a joy that cannot be found by seeking but obeying. Yet, there's aways the wrestling between what is, what's wished for, and what's expected. Heavy is the heart that doesn't want what others want for me, that realizes it doesn't want the things it once used to, that knows choosing one thing inevitably means giving up another. Despite age and experience, the choosing doesn't seem to necessarily get any easier. Through the years, a friend has, with impeccable timing, given sage advice providing exactly what I need to hear in the moments I need it most. He once passed along this advice:

As young Christians, discernment is largely about deciding between what is right and what is wrong. But as you mature as a Christian, the decisions we face deal more and more with choosing between what is good and what is best.

And that is where I seem to get stuck, in discerning between what's good and what's best. There has definitely been a shift in the way I approach/view/handle things over the past few months. I'm curious as to whether my increased encounters with experiencing unexpected joy are the result of choosing something better or rather, am I so infinitely off the mark that even something that's merely good strikes me as much better than it actually is.

Time and travel have a way of changing things. With the upcoming Chinese New Year holiday, I'm about to spend some time away. I realize that I'm unlikely to feel the same way about things when I return so perhaps God is simply granting me the moments of joy I need to have right now so that returning is something I'll still want to do. I don't know.