Belle and Sebastian on Walden Pond

“Which shit?” you may ask.

All of it. Anything that can fall into that classification. The whole heaping, steaming piles of it that are part and parcel of the road of life. Metaphorically, we’re still in the horse-and-buggy years and I would like to move to the somewhat cleaner (or less visible dirt) of the modern auto era.

Just like my work occasionally turns into a morass of paper work from which there is no escape, life (the non-career-related part) can turn into a stream of distraction. Distraction means lack of ability to focus, a fog of unimportant things laid over what it is I want from life. As I haven’t seen a life-waiter preparing a silver platter from the smörgåsbord Life Choices buffet, I need to be paying attention to the menu in front of me. (On a side note, the extended metaphor works much better for some things than others. This is not one of my best; in fact, it kind of sucks, but it’s making me laugh, so.....)

So, this summer I’ve said fuck this shit and am trying to get rid of the distractions and focus. There is a notebook involved. I have the blogging, though only a fraction of what I’m thinking goes up there. I’ve canceled the cable and hit the library. I am on an epic list-making spree. I’m cleaning out the stuff that has a tendency to accumulate in my living space. I know that I will never live in a zen-modern space because that’s not me, but I can get rid of any and all clutter that distracts and adds to the time it takes to clean up after myself.

I’m trying to pay more attention to what I want and need to do with my time, rather than doing what is expected or what I’ve done in the past. I am trying to be who I am and who I want to be, rather than who I am expected to be.

I think, for me, it is hard sometimes to separate expectations – those I have for myself, those of my family, friends, those imposed by the order of the society in which we live – from the way in which I desire to lead my life.

Apparently, the unexamined life is not worth living. The examined life led Thoreau to a pond and a book of which, despite attempts, I’ve never read much. While I love the idea of building my own cabin (a desire that was reinforced entirely too much by PBS’ Frontier House), I don’t have the time, energy, or willing help that I’d need to do so (not to mention the money and land and upper body strength). I don’t want to step outside the system or go off the grid, (even if the tree hugger in me would love to install solar panels on my 1960 ranch house). I want to be part of modern life and daily society without being its prisoner.

My version of the examined life will, by definition, have to be my own – lived by rules defined by my philosophies, my dreams, my goals, and my needs. (Can I use the phrase “architect of my own destiny?” No, I think that’s a little beyond even me. Could you please pass the wine to go with this cheese?)

And all that, from a three-word title in which one-third is profanity. Fuck this shit.