How the hell can a person go to work in the morning
And come home in the evening and have nothing to say.
Make me an angel that flies from Montgom'ry
Make me a poster of an old rodeo
Just give me one thing that I can hold on to
To believe in this living is just a hard way to go.
-- Bonnie Raitt, "Angel From Montgomery", lyrics by John Prine
I've heard this song on two different XM channels this week, so that must make it an omen of some sort, given the depth of the play lists on each channel.
Like the anonymous old woman whose words are the viewpoint of the song, I have felt weary of life at times, wondering if my experiences serve any purpose. Do my existence and action mean anything? Am I an exercise in futility?
Many times, I have asked for some sort of divine gift of "something to hold on to." I can remember so many years ago when I thought that a woman's love and acceptance would be the "something". When I began to sense that I didn't believe my wife wanted me so much as she needed me, I interpreted this as meaning that I was inherently unlovable.
If the journey chronicled in this blog has taught me any lesson so far, it's that the only thing I can really hold onto is myself. Everything else is impermanent, including myself. I can experience loss and still live, but once I am dead, there will be no more me to hold anything.
When I can let go of all else and hold onto myself, I have the capacity to love completely. Whether this is with my wife or someone else, I am still unclear, but I will find my answers someday.
