Today, I will probably take the day off from work and try to get some answers to questions I have about retirement. The changes that retirement implies seem vast and interconnected and confusing. The past, which was once so steady-state, is being revised, challenged, dissolved. It would be nice to get my ducks lined up, however imperfectly, and in order to do that, I have to get information I haven't got. I need to 'understand.' So today I hope to get to the unemployment-insurance office and find out what I can.
One of the tendrils of the situation is a feeling that I need help. And more, that I deserve it. And more than that, a sense of resentment that I am not getting the help I deserve. And more still than that, that there really is no one who can help me and I have to help myself. How unfair! Why is no one helping me as I think I deserve to be helped? Why, when the office is anxious to get me out the door and I have agreed to go, is there so little help available in the office. No one cares! I want to blame someone for my uncertainties and anxieties. It's their fault, some foot-stomping child protests. I deserve better than this! It's so lonely to think I have to help myself.
It all reminds me of spiritual practice. Over and over and over again, the longing for some solution, some Tooth Fairy, some beneficent Answer crops up. And over and over again, some patient and persistent and occasionally irritable voice responds, "Help yourself, nitwit! Who else is there who can find the answers you seek? Stop pissing and moaning and get to work. Stop lollygagging around looking for answers and discover the answers that are offered!"
But...but...but...but the fact is I love pissing and moaning. It convinces me I have status and personality and meaning. Who would I be without my heartfelt cries?
No but's about it.