Sometimes I do find humor in my own ‘arrogant humanness.’
In fact if I couldn’t laugh at myself and how my hamster-wheel mind turns, then there would be little to laugh about in this world.
My closest group of friends, like the rest of the world around us, is undergoing their own set of personal challenges with devastating collateral consequences. So when they tell me of their latest trials and tribulations I nod or offer supportive words as a good friend would do; and then simply suggest that the collective energies are creating havoc everywhere, and certainly no one is immune from them—myself included.
But at some point I do start to wonder about this friend-group situation and the ‘advisory’ role I seem to play in it, and I think: “Who is the MORE SANE one here—you attempting to offer them solace or advice during their overwhelming challenges, or them flailing about as best they can in their own scattered fashion, staggering wildly around under their own overwhelming burdens?”
In other words: What makes me think I’m SO SANE in all of this collective mess that I can give advice to anyone?
Seriously, I mean WHO is really the sanest person in any insane asylum? Is it the incarcerated person there or the folks who must willingly in some way take care of them—cleaning up their perpetual messes?
Sometimes isn’t it simpler to just give up and play the ‘patient-role’ in the world’s deranged scenario and expect someone else to tell us that it’s all going to be okay despite what we are personally feeling about it; and then expect them to feed and house us behind barred-safety from ourselves and from the harsh world out there—all while we sit around doing jig-saw puzzles and taking our meds to block out the world around us—totally oblivious to the external world’s cruelty and indifference?
Isn’t it actually more sane to let someone other than us, deal with all the problems of the world while we numb ourselves out to our responsibilities and daily concerns? (And while some folks housed in an institution may NOT have a choice in the matter due to the severity of their disease/illness, other folks there DO.)
But then, my internal hamster-wheel starts squeaking madly and I think, ‘Well maybe it IS more sane to let others handle my own burdens—let others tackle the difficult issues around us—in our society—in our world culture—JUST LET OTHER PEOPLE DO IT—all while I distract myself in some way with trivial pursuits and domestic absurdity, pretending “everything is okay” because, hey—“IT’S ALL FINE!”—don’t you know? (Where’s my ‘frazzled cat’ T-shirt when I need it?)
Except it isn’t fine—it never really WAS fine. That’s just the mental panacea we tell ourselves daily upon awakening so we can make it through the day. Isn’t that what most of us supposedly ‘sane folks’ do to get from one day to the next?
So midst a lengthy friend conversation, when I am often tempted to “advise” my dear friends on their current personal catastrophes—like I actually know how to make it ALL better for them—I brake my noisy hamster-wheel to a dead-stop and say only, “I’m sorry for your challenges. It must be hard for you.” And try to leave it at that.
What the heck? I figure sanity is overrated anyway.