Caleb Stine has a fine song called "I Wasn't Built For A Life Like This", off of the album of the same name. It's sad, but beautiful, and it just about hit my frame of mind tonight. It knocked me off my pins, what with the great weather and the gainful employment I have been experiencing. So it was disorienting to find myself watering the flowers on the porch, shoulders slumping, and asking myself "What's wrong with this picture?".
A puzzle, really. There was no obvious reason for melancholy. I was home from work, safe and dry, with a full belly to boot. The cool quiet evening was just the thing for a tired mind. But...
There is a hanging basket on my porch, the plant it contains is surely dead. The shriveled blossoms hang limp over the sides and looking uncomfortably like hair. It used to be a pansy. It is dead because I haven't watered it in about two weeks. I'm slightly uneasy about that, but it didn't get watered because a robin built a nest in the pot and promptly laid four eggs in it. I know that because I peeked in it once when the mother bird was absent.
Fatigue surely played a role here. Maybe it was the faint music on the air, too. I stood and watered the flowers, peering at the bird perched on her nest when something coalesced out of the air and wrapped my heart in a faint, cool hug.
Like that bird nest suddenly appearing, things in my life have this tendency to take me by surprise. And this past year, especially this past winter and now spring, feels like it has been full of surprises (some good, some bad). The net result is frequent change of course, reconsideration of options, sudden outbursts of epithets. The daily fabric of existence gets woven out of living "on the fly", and I've never been too good at living an ad hoc life.
Or maybe its all been ad hoc to this point, and I've been laboring under the misconception that there was a plan, an order to the unfolding of my life.
I'm rambling now, aren't I? Is this now ad hoc, in and of itself? Should I cease and desist on this idea of an order to everything, all the time and embrace my inner Rube Goldberg?
It makes me wonder if I was built for a life like this. If not, I need to rebuild or reconfigure. But how?