The Saboteur

 

In computer parlance, it’s called an infinite loop.  An infinite loop goes like this:

 

If blah is true

Do blabbity blah

Sleep 20

Done  

 

As long as the blah remains true, the program will repeat the blabbity blah command every 20 seconds…forever, until you hit CTRL+C to manually exit. 

 

I have an infinite loop in my head, and it holds me in a paralytic twilight as it plays and plays and plays.  My biggest challenge is to find a way to hit CTRL+C.  The loop resides in a deep groove inside my head, so finding the exit keys is difficult. 

 

I retired this year, so the loop presents an array of conditions related to that adjustment:

 

• Will I be able to live on so little money?
• Will I be able to keep my home?
• Will I have to avoid all social activity to save money?
• Will anyone want to buy my jewelry?
• Will my jewelry business ever supplement my income?
• Will my 401k run out?
• Will I become too isolated?
• Will I become sick?
• Will I die soon?
• Blabbity blah blah blah…

 

Retirement is a challenge in all kinds of ways I never anticipated.  Fear of the future has encased my life in a putrid fog of self-doubt.  Sometimes, the fog lifts, and a radiant blue sky buoys  me up just enough to see outside of the groove. 

 

Extra light draws me and I am able to step out, or as John Muir would say, step in.  Only outside of the loop can I access my creative self.  I jump on it.  I write.  I design and execute many pieces of jewelry.  I read a ton of books.  I attend to life’s business, clear away wreckage.  Eventually, I’ll get too close to the edge and fall back into the groove, where the loop waits.

 

The loop is a trickster, not intending good or bad, simply performing it’s imperative.  It never stops, even when I am outside of the groove.  I’ve never been able to find the CTRL+C.  So, until I do, my job is to get out of earshot.  Slip out the back, Jack.  Make a new plan, Stan…

 

Such is the rhythm of my life.  The rhythm holds a stark reality.  I cannot immerse myself in any creative endeavor if any part of me is thinking about how I will make money from it.  Thinking along those lines is the surest way to make the creativity fairy bid me a fond fuck you.  What I want her to do, wish I could train her to do, is scream, “Stay away from that groove, you fool!”  And call me back into her bosom.