Metaphysics. What does that word arouse in you? Confusion? Annoyance? Fear? Ambivalence? Loneliness?
I realized that I am a devout contemplator of the metaphysical a few months ago while I was on a date. We wandered into the bookstore, as is customary on dates with myself, and in one particular section I rattled off a bunch of books I either owned, read or wanted to read. I glanced at the title of the section we were in and discovered it was the "Metaphysics" section. This is when I realized I was more than a casual peruser of metaphysics.
I've been going through a very troubling phase where I obsess and over analyze the meaning of life, my reality, death, dreams, and time until I give myself a panic attack. It's frightening and it keeps me up at night. This all started right when I came home from NYC last December around Christmastime. NYC has always been my "after" and "eventually," so when it wasn't working out, much to my dismay and reluctance, and I moved back home, I thought- "now what?" In a way, my coming back home broken, beaten and out of ideas was like a death. And ever since then I've been in a certain kind of purgatory.
To be fair, perhaps my purgatory began before NYC. Perhaps my parlay into NYC was a kind of purgatory in it's own right. It was post-college, post-losing close friends, and post-heartbreak. Like any good life that has been lived, love is at the core of my pre-NYC death . . .or perhaps more accurately, a lack thereof.
God(expression, not noun), what is life without love? There's a lyric to a song I know that goes:
"the world is a joke when out of love"
Before, I'd kind of snicker at that lyric because it seemed so ridiculous and amateurish. I thought it was utterly pathetic- there's so much more to life than having a boyfriend. I'd think this to myself while driving my car or sitting in my room listening to said song, trying to fool myself with my cute little feminist naiveté that I affect sometimes amongst friends. Lately, though, I've been coming to understand what the world being a joke when out of love really means. For me personally, it's without the promise of love that I think the world is a joke, not entirely that if you're not in love the world is a joke. Not all that profound, but for me it's a big deal. This isn't about me being in love or having been in love . . . I'm not in love right now. The point is, if it isn't going to happen, then there's no point to my life and I mean that with all my heart. Life would seem to be lonely, cruel . . .and pointless.
I love my family, I love my friends, I love the color blue, I love kids, I love beauty, I love chocolate, I love laying in bed, I love cuddling, I love reading, I love music . . .I love a lot of things, but without that ONE love, I don't know if this (life) makes any sense. I'd hate for my life to be some big lesson of loneliness. It seems unfair and cruel. What happened in my last life to warrant such a thing?
So in thinking about death, God and the meaning of life, the only consoling thought in my head is that I must find the meaning in MY life. I am trying to figure out my next step and where I'm going. I stress myself out over it. I've quit my job. This "quarter-life crisis" that John Mayer warned me about is 8439898498 times worse than I'd ever imagine it could be. I'm kind of embarrassed to really explain it to people because I don't think they'd really understand. It's way too deep to even try to articulate at all.
I still believe NYC is in my future. I don't think I will be content on my deathbed without having lived there while I was young. I also want to be in love, but interestingly, if there is no promise of love in NYC, I don't know if I wanna be there. It is a big, lonely, beautiful city and if I never find a love there, what's the point? It would be far more romantic and safe if I moved there with a love.
Maybe now I get why he wanted to move there with me so badly. With all my heart, no matter what problems or issues he might have had, I just think to myself that I'm the one who fucked it all up. It was bad timing. I wasn't prepared. I wasn't myself. To be honest, I kind of lost it on him one night due to my insane hormonal imbalances (PMDD FOR THE WIN!), which I'm kind of reluctant to admit to myself or anyone else. Nobody likes excuses.
Now I have the feeling that he has moved there with her. So yeah, I'd say I can't blame him, although it hurts terribly. It's not even HIM that makes it hurt. It's what it all symbolizes for me.
So now I find myself lonely and remorseful. What would have happened if we'd have just done it? If I'd have not freaked out or demanded my demands. Compassion is something I pride myself in, but it wears thin after a while. I have doubts about whether it would have worked out in the first place, but I'd probably be happier if we'd have tried. Or maybe I'd be worse off. Who knows. It's all a gamble.
I was so sure and it seems it was all a farce. Life is cruel sometimes, so naturally I find myself wondering about the point of it all. That's when I venture out into the bigger picture and the bigger idea. And that's when I lose myself.
But that night, I found myself in a bookstore. On a date. But we don't talk about metaphysics on our date. We do other things and I distract myself. Because metaphysics isn't the point of a date. Duh, the point of dating, essentially, is to find love. But, in my experience, you don't find love. Love finds you.
But in true Adrienne form, I found metaphysics on a date.