BA in English. Ardent Reader. Kindle Fan. Unapologetic Introvert. Fervent Feminist. Recovering JD. Lazy Buddhist. Absent-minded Searcher. Occasional Writer. Novice Runner. Cat-owner. Life Co-Conspirator (LCC). Cordial Critic. Liberal Midwesterner. Geeky Nerd. Mind nomad.
Zetetic means "Proceeding by inquiry; investigating" and is derived from a Greek root meaning "searching" or "to seek." I'm above all a seeker of meaning in this fleeting life, so it seemed a fitting word. And it starts with a Z. Who doesn't like Zs?
This blog has a tumbling little brother, for shorter & not always bookish posts.
I’ve been back in the MidWestern Jesus-loving (but not emulating) center of the universe for over 3 years now. Back in the place that made me so uncomfortable in my own skin that I had to molt and bolt to a fast-paced, anonymous life in the capitalist intellectual center of the universe a decade ago.
It makes no sense that a quiet, naive and loyal misfit from middle America would slip into a life in Manhattan as easily as I did. (Sarcasm most likely saved me from total annihilation.) Such qualities had no choice but to erode (though not completely, of course), and yet, back where they began, the strange old dynamics return as easily as childhood-relating arises when with family. I find myself feeling the odd one out among the same people from whom I felt alienated as an awkward, geeky adolescent. Not in the crippling way of that time — adult alienation is somehow different, tinged with a stronger aura of otherness that lacks the youthful feelings of inferiority and innocence. I’m above the exclusion; I don’t care - and yet, I’m twelve again. Why are they still ‘they’ - what is their problem? It’s me: I am not like them, not superficially. It’s okay.
And as I allow myself to relax, to befriend the friends of the co-conspirator, I'm slowing growing back into my original skin. Perhaps I'm not so odd, after all.
Lives evolve on a different time table here; families were started young, and half are broken by now. Those that lagged behind are still ahead, and have begun the family starting process. I hover on the precipice of change, but I (we) don’t take the plunge. Growth feels halted, a disc or record stuck skipping at a damaged area: career choices hang suspended in limbo, life-motion choices dangle in between, motion-stopped. We’re too old to about-face our livelihood options without sacrificing the chance of biological mini-wes. We’re too young to accept without bitterness the realities we’ve already chosen.
Old friendships morph, and some decline. People with whom we once shared the barest moments of our lives now come to town without even a phone call. Harsher faces emerge where softer warmth once resided. New friendships are forged in unlikely places. Small surprises, revelations good and bad, continue.
Children are born to others, and grow like weeds, or flowers, or both.
And here we are. Now.
In a minute there is time for decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
This is not how we pictured our lives, at all.
This is not it, at all.
And yet: it is. We are here, now.
It's not so bad here, after all.