What is indulgence anyways?

I wondered if the blog was self indulgent. I still haven’t made up my mind. But it got me wondering about indulgence, in general.

I wonder where the line starts and stops with doing something, enjoying something and then indulging. Hmmm… and why does that jar of Nutella in the pantry and its rapidly receding line, instantly flash before my eye?

But truly, where is that point when a relatively enjoyable activity we may be engaging in get frowned upon by us, in our own mind?

Now I am not referring to obvious ones like that jar of Nutella, or the turkey tomorrow, or that night of tequila shots… or any darker realms of addictions or substance abuse, or even over indulging our kids.  

I’m referring to indulgence from the standpoint of time and value of our actions or even the matter of doing so – for I doubt our ancestors did anything like that.

I’m simply wondering if our generation as a whole has become preoccupied with getting stuff done, with doing the right thing, with high expectations, with being oh-so-disciplined, with measuring the worth of things we do.

Has that turned us into some sort of moral and time police, evaluating, critically viewing the value of everything we do. What does time mean to our generation?

And has this made us more suspicious of indulgence in general? Have we added more stuff to the indulgence category than before? Things like simply staring out of the window and watching the rain fall, noticing red and yellow leaves swim down the sides of the road on a treacherous journey to an uncertain future.

True, you can’t do that all day. True, it wouldn’t be fun all day. But like me, have you ever chided yourself for “wasting your time” or “indulging” or tried to assign a value to an activity? And watching leaves swirl by in murky rainwater can only get a tsk…tsk... And what’s worse, is that I’m unlikely to stop doing so either… more tsk… tsk…sigh…

Perhaps, it’s time to question my attitude towards time and worth I allocate to my actions. I suppose it is easier if you have a job and have demarcated lines (of purpose or otherwise). It is easier if you’re healthy and can have demarcated lines of energy and its allocation to activities.

So does this mean we can give ourselves the permission to indulge if it seems healthy (who decides, right?) and not chide ourselves for straying from the path of the dutiful or responsible?

So does this mean we can stare at swirly leaves all day? Probably not. But a few moments here and there of nothingness and purposelessness and indulgence should be fine no matter what we do and how busy we are or aren’t.

As for that jar of Nutella, here I come... You and I are going to share a moment, for sure.

 

Self indulgence?

The blog came to a screeching halt. Unplanned, unannounced it stopped. Did I not have enough energy? Perhaps. Had it run its course and there was nothing new to say? Perhaps.

Something about the blog was bothering me. A lot. Was it all a little mad and a little random? Perhaps. Did it lack any particular sense of direction, and was so in the moment of the thought – of that particular thought, that it may not make any sense later? Perhaps.

But what made me stop writing… suddenly… quickly...almost permanently, was the following question:
Was it all just plain self indulgence? 

What was this whole exercise? What was I trying to unearth? Why in the world was I staring at myself and my thoughts? A zillion ‘more important’ things that needed to be done (for which I hardly have the energy) flashed before my eyes.

Surely, other people think thoughts and feel feelings… but they don’t sit and write them down. They just get on with their lives and (unlike me) get everything on their list done. Just why am I staring at these thoughts in the eye… some make me gape, some make me look away, some make me laugh, while some make me wonder. But is this a normal thing to do? Maybe I should try and be more normal and just get on with my life. Does that mean the blog has to go?

But again it made me a little sad. And I decided to sit down and question it. And what did I do? Of course, write a blog about it!

So is this self expression? Or is it self indulgence? Nothing seems clear. Even if I may have given up on clarity (of sorts) a long time ago, like a hopeless romantic, I still go searching for it.  
I got no answers (remember the lack of clarity bit from before?)

Had I started the blog because I felt I was turning into someone I could no longer recognize? I was plodding on, thought life and situations – hard, difficult situation, without taking the time to reflect or grieve some of the crummy things that were happening, and the crummy feelings they were leaving me with. Again, had I done that all my life?

Would I wake up a decade later and feel sorry for the way I had tried to handle things without trying to understand what was going on.

No. I have no clue why I started the blog. One day I got up and decided that is what I was going to do, and wrote out the short, brief intro.

Maybe it was my fight to be who I want to be, despite everything I can’t do and be. It was my facing the fact that even when I can’t do everything I want to do, I can still be me. And I was giving myself permission to be weak, or miserable, or strong, or scared, or brave, or happy, despite it all.

True there have been times when I’ve wondered if there has been much wallowing. And I questioned if I was doing a Baudelaire? Remember Baudelaire?

http://www.lettinggoexperiment.blogspot.com/2014/05/in-hidden-shadows-of-mind-do-there-lie.html

In the next few blogs, I decided to do the “opposite of Baudelaire” – whatever that was.  

http://www.lettinggoexperiment.blogspot.com/2014/05/letting-go-memories.html

http://www.lettinggoexperiment.blogspot.com/2014/05/want-to-be-crime-journalist-part-one.html

 

Are these blogs reflections of the moments, rantings of the moment, aspirations of the moment? Or just plain self indulgence? 

I am not going to edit this post (not to say that the others get much editing either). But this can read like a stream of consciousness, or ahem… lack of clarity… for clarity seems far far away…

One of my reasons for doing this was to get unstuck and get moving. But does reflection really do that? Or will reflection prevent me from living my life?

And will I remain in some strange nebulous area of thought - far removed from reality? Sigh…just great, right?

Or am I just plain tired physically from illness, and can only do only little. And hence want to question the relevance of everything that doesn’t seem necessary?

Or does it set me free in mind and spirit. And yet physically, I don’t feel so, and hence feel restless with this disparity of being? Frustration with the polarity of existence? And does that open up a new can of questions?

And beneath it all, lies the question:

Is this inquiry or introspection or self expression? Or is it just self indulgence?

little bubbles... big bubbles...hidden bubbles...

Once when I was a teenager (about 14 or 15), we had dinner in a revolving restaurant in Ahmedabad. I was quite enthralled by it all. There was beautiful live music playing in the background, the food was good (I think, I suppose, I assume – if I even noticed. Interesting that – for I’d rather eat in a place without frills, but which serves great food; than in a fancy place that serves mediocre food). The architecture fascinated me. The fact that we moved a little, with my every bite, fascinated me. The fact that we crossed all the bridges in the city by the time we were done with our meal, fascinated me. Everything about it fascinated me.

I was awestruck. I was also a little tongue-tied. Perhaps I felt it was all too fancy for me. Perhaps I didn’t quite know how to express what I felt. Perhaps I wasn’t quite sure even of what I felt. Perhaps the ambience was so formal, I didn’t want to seem over-excited and gauche in an elegant setting.

I was definitely taking it all in, but in a sense - on the face of it, I was brushing it all off – with poise (okay, the limited amount of poise I’ve been blessed with).

I suppose I took it all in, felt all that I had to feel, made conversation with my parents – all the while internalizing what was going on inside.

And although this is a somewhat embarrassing story, I will go ahead and say it. For I think it offers an insight into our psyche and how some of us operate when we internalize things.

When we returned to the hotel, I must have fallen asleep right away. In a few minutes (still asleep), I sat up in bed, clapped my hands and said “Oh… such great fun!! Oh… what great fun” (in Marathi – I understand a lot of sleeptalking happens in our first language/native tongue). Then, I rolled back in my sheets and disappeared into a deep sleep. 
My parents had a good laugh and I, of course, was very embarrassed the next day. And each time the story was repeated.

And although I can laugh it off now, I get it. For even today, several decades later, there are times, I still get tongue-tied. There are times and situations when I don’t know what to say. There are times when I don’t know how to react to things that are said to me. Of late, I even notice myself talking away, rather than listen, stop and show emotion. Awkwardness aside, I suspect there is some kind of internalizing going on.

Does this happen to people who are more emotional? Who have learned over time, and for whatever reason, that it is wiser to remain guarded and not express all the emotion inside – at least in certain situations? People who are not sure how much emotion will come rolling out? People who are not sure they want so much emotion to roll out. To show? Funny that, for at times, even when we try to hide it, it must show – or appear as nervous energy.

This is no Freudian analysis of any sort. Simply because I have little or no knowledge. I don’t suppose we can even tell all what we internalize. And that makes we wonder, how much of our life goes by… unsaid, unheard. Words and thoughts and feeling that get muffled when we don’t quite know how to express them.

Do we muffle them because we don’t quite know what to do with them? Or they are not clear enough for us to understand them? Or is it uncomfortable to feel them, look at them? Or do we lack courage? And so we brush them off, or try to?  

Do they then come back later as stray thoughts? Or do they melt into nothingness? I have no clue. I understand we can never express everything we feel. Thankfully!! But there may be certain things that may be small enough, but important enough that they be expressed.

Now only if someone will point those out to me, and tell me how… Sigh…