I am convinced that eternity exists; that this experience we understand to be life is only a brief, finger-snap moment before our eternal dwelling in one of two residences–either with God or without. I consequently find myself having a very difficult time caring about the minutia of this life. My credit score, my lawn, my reputation, etc. I find myself meditating on the concept of forever, and eagerly awaiting the time and place in which all things will be made right, only then to walk outside and see my overgrown front lawn. Oh, and my inherited and unfinished flagstone project.
But I do not care! I look around at a million things that will eventually burn up or fall away. Everything will decay, my body included, and only our souls will remain in the environment God will lay upon this earth. Why then should I give a rip about this, that, or the other?
To be fair, this might all just be an excuse. I have bills, and I should pay them, and it may be that I am merely using eternal salvation as an excuse to avoid and neglect things I’d rather not do, not because I’m so overwhelmed by the revelation of the Holy Spirit, but because I’m lazy and/or disinterested. The truth of the matter may just be that I should have better considered my interest in things like home maintenance before I purchased a home, or rather committed a good chunk of my monthly income to a bill collector who owns my home much more than I do.
Just the same, I don’t care. I know that I should care–I think–but I do not. I feel enslaved to these trivial things: this lawn, these pets, the continually settling dust and animal hair that slowly seeks to carpet my home. The American Dream and my image. It all demands so much sustained attention. And the cruel thing is that there is not one thing that seems overwhelming, such that I could point at it and say, “Look, everyone, at this thing that is taking control over me!” No, that would be too convenient.
Rather, there are a million little things. Tiny pinpricks that aggravate me on a daily basis that would seem ridiculous by themself, but together form a powerful stress-inducing army. The dog I care too much for and thus cannot simply give away who’s teeth are rotting, whose breath is rank, and who pees on my floor weekly, if not daily. The floor that remains clean for a day. The house that is ever decaying. Ever requiring. The lawn that grows. Every. Freaking. Day. Thankful as I am, or try to be, that I have an area in which my two small dogs can run, it is not without cost.
I’m just tired of it. This life of mediocrity and mundane slavish servitude. I’m tired of it. I’m not suicidal. I’m just so fed up. Why does any of this BS matter?
I feel like this is the point where I’m supposed to find the answer deep within my soul. Or, let’s be honest. The answer to why I should mow my lawn is probably neither that deep nor that complex. Nonetheless, I don’t have it. At least, not today. Maybe tomorrow, but not today. Today, I don’t give a shit.
It’s a beautiful day out. My bike has a flat tire. My God is crushing my old identity, presumably to build up a new one. My dogs are walked and my grass isn’t the worst in the neighborhood. So I don’t, and I won’t care. And for someone like me who has spent far too much of his life concerned about the opinions and impressions of others, maybe today is a good day to practice not giving a damn.
I feel better now. Thank you.