Lost In Space

Have you ever felt that you’ve lost your way, that life isn’t what it was, that you’d dearly like to become positive, active and energetic? That you’ve lost that magical special power, drive and energy which allows you to become effective and successful in your daily life, perhaps only in a modest way, but detectable, all the same. In other words, life is flat and purposeless. You’ve lost your mojo.

In other words, depression sets in.

Dear friends of mine invited me to share Sunday lunch. While tucking into a 'roast and three' I realised that I hadn’t had that for weeks, not just the pleasant food and drink, but more importantly, an easy, animated, flowing, intelligent conversation. Words came easily, I could hardly drag myself away and probably outstayed a normal lunch invitation. I came home alive and happy to be so.

And then the darkness descended. I came home to an empty house (Millie came with me), to silence. That in itself was fine, I had had my fill of interaction for the day, possibly for several days. I know that quite often interaction with other, less interesting people, leaves me bored, impatient, and that I often prefer my own company to company for the sake of it. Occasionally, I seek the company of people whose conversation is homespun, gossipy, unchallenging. It may be comforting at the time, not a bad thing. Like those ladies’ luncheons I mentioned recently. They get me out of the house, we commiserate with each other all being newly single and we share a giggle and relate tales of solitary adventures. Two of the ladies are relentlessly positive, admirably active and keen to hold forth. Not me, but who am I to mind. I should try and follow their example.

My problem is that I literally have no purpose. No engrossing hobbies other than the solitary one of reading. No involvement in charitable organisations, no interest in sport other than the gym, which is another solitary activity. I am not artistic, I don’t do crafty things, I like writing but have more or less given up on that sine Beloved died. Lectures happen far away, and the local talks take place mainly during cold and wet winter nights. I find it really hard to motivate myself to get off my behind and leave my warm and comfortable nest to shiver in a village hall, no matter how interesting the talk.

I am not about to fling myself into Scientology or any other religious sect, won’t be taking up the Kaballah, do flower arranging, write bad poetry, see myself as a benefactress, take up long distance running, discover the only true health giving diet. None of the above and a whole host of other obsessions. But surely I ought to do something?  Learn another language? Properly learn to take pictures? Travel is not possible while Millie is alive, although that appears an attractive thought now. I expect I won’t be able to drag myself away come the opportunity.

That’s me all over, negative, always finding reasons for NOT doing something. True, I’ve done things to the house, soon the garden will need attention, I’ve taken up the gym again, reluctantly and much against my inclination and I’ve booked a ticket to go on a coach trip to Malvern to see a play, which only mildly interests me. And I’ve come back to blogging. It’s been a pleasure to see your comments and I am trying my damnedest to stick with it. Thank you for your patience.

If only I could stop being a contrary, dissatisfied crosspatch. Any advice ?