There is a wonderful line in Star Trek I: The Motion Picture, where Spock is telling Kirk what the artificial life form VGER is thinking and asking. At one point, Spock relays a question VGER has been asking since it's creation. "Is this all I am? Is there nothing more?
Apart from showing my Geek, by quoting Star Trek, this question comes up constantly in life. Even reading some of the journal entries for Mother Theresa, in which she writes of her doubts about her life, her faith, God, and her mission, we all have periods where we look around and ask "Is this all I am?"
Recently, I entered into a deep conversation with a woman. She was seeking for the answer to this question. Her life, to all outward appearances, seemed idyllic, full of love, full of success. Yet, she made the statement that she never got to "get off the treadmill" of her life. She always felt like she had to stay in the rat race, go through the motions to provide for her family. She felt stuck. I listened and her complaints and realized that they could have come from right inside my own head. They were so familiar.
She talked about her everyday life and how when she got a moment free her mind would immediately be drawn to the next task, the next action, the next fire she felt she had to put out. From getting her children ready for school in the morning, to going to work, to coming home, cooking, cleaning, enforcing homework time with her kids, supper, dishes, schoolwork, getting ready for bed, trying to fall asleep so that the next day could begin the whole thing over.
Now, I don't have children, and I am mainly responsible only to myself, but I too feel like most of the time I am shackled by the everyday. My thoughts, my dreams, my visions are put on hold while I take care of business. Yet, the longer these dreams and thoughts are ignored, forced down, not experienced, I know a part of me starts to atrophy. This part is hope.
If we cannot picture something different that what we experience, then hope fades. With hope goes motivation. Soon, we truly feel like we are going through the motions; motions we cannot stop because we are afraid of things coming apart, or bills not paid, or children not looked after, or responsibilities not met.
I remember listening to Deepak Chopra on audiobook when he was relating a story about how most Westerners (Americans) have such a difficult time being in silence. He said that most people, in the first few days, bug out. Some get very agitated; some cry; one even starting banging his head against a wall (softly though) because the silence was getting too much to bear. Most of his students, when asked why it was so difficult, said that they thought at first that they were just wasting the time. Nothing was being done. Nothing was accomplished. Then, they found their minds reaching for something besides silence. A distraction, a problem, something to engage their mind. Finally, after some days, more days for some less for others, their mind gave up and just started experiencing peace.
Now, I know for one that I do not have the desire to go to a retreat and be silent for the days it would take to silence my mind. Perhaps it would be good for me, but I just don't have the desire. However, I have found that times of silence during the day do have the effect of recharging the imagination engines again. With imagination, there comes daydreaming, envisioning, hope. Motivation returns. The ability to look once again at my life, not in terms of running on the same treadmill, or being shackled by chains, but rather seeing new possibilities. Focusing on things I can change. Appreciating things that already bring joy to my life. The view changes. The chains are no longer so restraining.
I love retreats up at my camp in Kerrville. Not only do I love spending time with all the children that come up there, but their families as well. You have never seen so many adults, that for a weekend, are unshackled by the everyday. Smiles, hugs, laughs, practical jokes, boasting, toasting, story-telling, bragging, loving, listening, caring, understanding. They have all taken a moment and in that moment their imagination, their hope, their perception of possibilities comes back.
Now why did I go into this long monologue about "Is this all I am?" Because the start of hope begins when you answer "There is always more!"
