Dear Muttering,
Why do you or I matter? Well, in geologic scale, we don't. It's okay to say that. No, it's actually quite good to say that. Why? As insurance against being used. I don't want, in my desire to matter, to do a heap of unnecessary emotional labor, or to go around working for The Man, our Robot Overlords, Capitalism and godknowswhat all garbage. Just exactly why would I try to 'matter' in some ill-defined way which is controlled by the human construct of 'civilization.' What, I say, might matter to a rabbit? To a beetle? A poppy? A child? A lightening strike? A puddle of mud?
Yes, yes, I know, it sounds too romantic for our world of contemporary knowledge; it's just another way for you to put your head in the sand, you say. But, I do feel that a map, a guideline, a test, is a very handy item to have as we travel through the seasons and years.
One thing I am going to use to shape my meaning and my mattering, is this mantra: I will not be told to clean things. I have a coffee table filled with magazines that tell me what to do, and most of the admonitions revolve around cleaning. Declutter, degrease, simplify. Exfoliate, shed, let go of. Organize, dust, deep clean. Store, fold, be mindful.
These actions do give a nice sense of being in charge, and they seem to need doing, so that's a nice feeling. A feeling of mattering, a feeling of having control over dust, objects, wilted leaves. But, mightn't it cause me to focus only on the dead and dying? Are you simply, in life, making a mess or cleaning a mess? That seems a bit thin, doesn't it?
Here I am at the end, again, and I still have not given a list of things that I like to think (pretend?) make me who I am. Up next, the fourth and final episode in this discussion: baking an Identity Pie.
