finding meaning in the mundane

 or, Am I just living the same day over and over again?

There's a part of me that just wants to quit right now.

It would be much easier if I did - I could go and wash the dishes that have been waiting all day, or finally start that event setup I was supposed to have finished 3 days ago.

But I'm here.

I pushed myself to open my editor, instead of continuing to scroll through my unread emails (because my brain loves nothing more than to procrastinate instead of work, that's how I got my marketing posters for an event this weekend done a week in advance - ignored the financial reports that I was supposed to be doing.)

Maybe it's the third day that's most difficult?

My bullet journal schedule says that today's post is supposed to be a Christmas TBR list, but, well... here we are.

Maybe next week, when I've finished the 500 jobs that will rise to the top of the to-do list after the weekend, I will feel less brain-foggy, and more inclined to stick to the topics on the list.

2024 has been a year of rather unexpected twists and turns - I turned 50 in March, and learnt at the end of April that my Dad passed away in March 2023. In June I found the pauper's grave he was buried in, and in August I received his medical records (he passed away in hospital).

As I've worked through the emotions, life has continued, day in and day out.

Kids need to be organised for school, and work, and new shoes purchased, hair cuts arranged, dishes washed every day, lawns mowed, rubbish bins emptied, financial reports completed and meetings chaired.

And at the end of it all, why do we do all these things?

Every single thing we do, from jobs to paying bills, to driving our cars and keeping money in the bank is a construct of the society we live in.

And the thing I keep coming back to over and over again, is that without hope, there is no light at the end.

Someone asked me yesterday if I was hopeful.

"Yes" I replied.

"Good," she said "because even if you're sad now, having hope means that when you get to the end, you know it will be ok"

That's what I try to remember every day now.

Discovering the loss of my Dad was especially hard, because it meant acknowledging a loss of hope, at a time when I didn't expect that to be happening.

See, there was always a hope previously that he might turn up, wander past in the shops, reach out in some way. After all, I've lived at the same address for almost twenty years, had the same mobile number for over twenty five years, and am easy to find online.

To suddenly realise that hope was gone? Well, that was scary, sad, depressing, a challenging time to work through.

About 6 months into the pandemic, which was about 8 months after he graduated school, Douglas was chatting at the dinner table with the other kids about life. He told them that life was about working, paying the bills and coming home. And he was a bit disappointed that that was all there was.

Steve and I giggled to ourselves (and remind Douglas of this conversation regularly), but as we get older, we're quietly happy to be settled into our suburban existence.

Are you settled in your piece of the suburbs?