In the last few weeks of my ongoing general-non-differentiated-aimless, yet all-encompassing, discontent; I seem to be encountering persistence of the word “being”, appearing, “fraught”* with meaning.

I am seeing that I have been captured all these years in the habit of “doing”, and like all habits I didn’t see it as one. The sense of doing, or at the very least planning some doing, was habitual, in that habits are often (part of), the various cores of that ceaseless story by me, told to me, about me. Twenty-four/seven, for however many years I can manage to to tell it, hear it, and nod in agreement. I suspect that is a common human experience and we don’t notice it for the most part. After all, “that’s just Me”.

I had become a little worried that I wasn’t “doing” anything. Not in the fascist “productive member of society” formulation, but more in the continuous validation that I am “active”, and that proves some sort of worth, as if I had to keep updating a worthiness for existence. My coming into existence established my worthiness, but I had never fully begun to realize that. I thought I had to establish that to others. You know, so they would approve and I could bask.

I’m beginning to see that “being” takes just as much effort as “doing”, yet has more long range “potential” for good, because in “being” I cultivate my “human” side and that is not an accomplishment, it is real-“izing.”

So, as I become more entrenched in my Old “Cootage” (French pronunciation please), I feel less pressured to do something, anything; and just try to let things be. Including me.

Lost and found is not

A department it is

How we all are in

This here life now.

*Fraught” is not on my list of “Words I Like” which is my next topic.”Soonish.”