It has been three months today since Mom passed. I think some feel I have moved on, but I certainly have not. I have always been a pretty faithful person and while Mom was alive (pre-pandemic anyway) I still went to church. Between my brother and I, well I was still the “practicing” Catholic. I went to church. I tried to be a good person, tried to pass on the good things about my faith to my child. The pandemic though definitely put the brakes on that. We stopped going to mass in person, except when they still had it outdoors. And then it was when they had the major feasts outdoors. We have been a couple of times since things have been strictly indoors, but I’d be lying if I said I haven’t lost my faith. Well, my faith in the religion part anyway, not in the God part. I always took the religion part as a structure I was taught and mostly enjoyed. But things got political. The pandemic got political. Religion got more political and it was and is exhausting.
Meanwhile, Mom passed. I miss her terribly but gave her the Catholic send off I believe she would have loved, with the possible exception of my right wing cousin who felt it necessary to receive communion on the tongue practically prostrate on the ground. Pissed me off. So self centered putting the priest in a compromised position when he needs to stay healthy. One of the reasons we receive by hand these days. But I digress.
Work, a small liberal arts college which is also Catholic, was a struggle. The school is under a great deal of pressure. My boss, the CFO, is now resigning at the end of September. She couched it as her decision, but I’m not really sure that is the case. I didn’t say this though as she presented it as such so… here we are. Once again another speed bump in 2022. Smaller than others but there nonetheless.
On the other side of life my husband has been prepping a wonderful couple weeks in the UK for the three of us; him, daughter, and myself. I only recently have been looking forward to it. He is still concerned about Covid particularly since daughter is off to sleep-away camp for three nights less than a week before we leave. She hasn’t been able to go for the last two years though and we really want her to enjoy so fingers are crossed.
It has been a challenging few years. I try to keep my head up, but I can tell dear hubby is frustrated with our current state of affairs, though we are all doing our best. I am going through some change myself, but don’t know what will come out the other end so it seems hard to share with anyone these days. This blog post is probably the closest I’ve come.
Life is indeed a journey. I try my best as do we all in whatever circumstance we find ourselves. It will be interesting to see the next chapter, assuming we all survive the transition.
To quote from 3 Months, “Life is indeed a journey.” I love it when the marketing guys get their hands on something like this: “Life is a journey, wear comfortable shoes.”
But there’s another school of thought here. One that says that Life is nothing like a journey. It say Life is much more like a song or a dance or a piece of music. Or like a piece of art. Something to be played. Something to be sung. Something to be experienced and enjoyed and that joy passed on to others. Some say Life is nothing like a journey because the whole point of a journey is to simply arrive at the destination. What happens along the way is inconsequential to reaching the end. And simply arriving at the end of a journey (in this case, Death) is hardly worth all the effort of getting there.
These are not my thoughts. I am simply neither that intuitive nor well educated. These are the thoughts of an English writer and self-styled “philosophical entertainer” named Alan Watts (1915-1973). I find that now that I am older I enjoy reading and listening to a lot of the things that he had to say. There is a very concise biography about him in Wikipedia. (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alan_Watts) If you’re interested, there is a short video (4 min.) where you can hear Mr. Watts explain this theory in his own words. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rBpaUICxEhk)
What I find especially intriguing are the facts that he spent over half of his life in the Bay Area. He did volunteer work for a radio station in Berkeley. He did a lot of his writing from a cottage on the slopes of Mount Tamalpias. Indeed, some of his ashes are buried near there. His body was cremated by Buddhist monks within a few hours of his death at a site on Muir Beach. This had to have been a very curious thing in 1973. He is often quoted as saying to his wife that “the secret of living is knowing when to stop”.
I offer this not for the sake of argument, not to refute any of your thoughts. I’m simply glad that you said what you did. I am pleased that you are writing again. I offer this simply as another perspective from which to look at your deeply personal situation.
Since you are about to embark on your own “journey” with your family, I’ll close by offering you these thoughts from a popular Irish musician: “Sitting on the mountain-top in my solitude, where the morning fog comes rollin’ in just might do me some good.” (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VjVWyJT03tY)
Travel safe and have a Good Time,
A Traveling Companion