yearning

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Yearning is kind of interesting: If you yearn for anything, then the yearning fills you up. Something is missing and you bust your buns trying to attain it ... from a new car to a new relationship to more money to a peaceful life. Heart-felt yearning puts a fire under your butt.

But what happens to the yearning when the goal is achieved -- when you actually have the new car in which to drive from here to there? Suddenly all that focus and all that gnashing of teeth and all that sense that something was missing is gone: Things are just sort of ordinary, even boring.

And in that boredom, what happens? Doesn't some new yearning spring up ... maybe a yearning not to be bored, not to be stuck in these ordinary surroundings? It's a hamster wheel ... yearning, attainment, yearning, attainment, yearning, attainment ... around and around and around. It's no wonder people need eight hours of sleep at night: Yearning is an energetic business.

It's not a bad thing, this yearning. It does, after all, inspire action, and action is informative. But it can also leave those willing to examine the hamster wheel feeling a bit foolish ... exhausted and a bit foolish: How do I get out of this chickenshit outfit?

I think it's worth examining. Not analyzing or criticizing, just examining. What are things like when the yearning is absent? Can you yearn while you're asleep or sneezing or laughing or running or ... come to that ... breathing? Where does that all-important yearning go when it's not ruling the roost? What happens to the hamster wheel when the hamster doesn't run around in it? Is yearning a prerequisite to living or is it, more probably, just a possibility? And if it is just a possibility, does it need to be exercised or is it a choice?

Just something to examine, I would think.
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