For as long as I can remember, I’ve been a heady person. A cerebral type. Left to my own, I spend so much time pondering the meaning of life (and just about everything else) that my wife has come to refer to my head space as “my apartment.” We’ve long laughed about it, but we’ve cried about it, too. Because its not simply pleasant pondering that happens in that space, its analysis and scheming. Hyper-analysis, in fact. I’m constantly thinking ahead, dreaming up better possibilities, concocting new schemes. I’ve thought this was part of being visionary—my gift! But increasingly it feels like a curse: this inability to find simple joy in the present. Instead of enjoying the ride, I’m thinking about where else I could go or what else I could drive.
All of this has taken a toll on my marriage and family and probably other areas as well. It certainly takes it toll on me. My emotional life rises and falls with my ability to see the next big thing just over the horizon. New possibilities give my heart wings. With a new-and-improved version in my gaze I my ambition soars. But when I can’t see it—down I go. Conversations are tiresome. Presence is too much pressure. Pastoring people—forget about it. This fixation on the future is especially troubling as I notice middle-age approaching. I’ve found that next big thing I’m looking for enough times to know that its not what I’m looking for. I’ve glimpsed enough of my limitations to know that I’m not destined to change the world. And…this is the big one…I’ve watched too many of my older friends recklessly sacrifice the good things in their life in pursuit of novelty. All of this leaves me wondering, is there another way? Is a mid-life crisis avoidable? Is chasing the next big thing any way to live?
I had a conversation yesterday with a friend that provoked this post. Let’s call him Rob. (Actually, that’s his real name, so let’s go with Rob.) He approached me at church after a sermon asking about the existential angst I had just confessed from the pulpit. After telling him more, I asked about how he dealt with it himself. He remarked, “I’m great…it might be cloudy out, but the Bears are playing today and its their first playoff game since my daughters have been alive…I was just asking how you were doing.” Just asking about me? As I reflect on it, Rob is always doing this. He’s one of those consistently good (and rare) souls who regularly asks ‘how I’m doing’—just because. Rob is also a sports fanatic. I don’t mean your average ‘did you catch the game last week’ type of sports fan. Rob writes for a digital sports periodical that is significant enough to have a paywall. But Rob doesn’t do it for the pay. For Rob, it’s clearly love/obsession of the game.
This may come as a shock to some of you, but I’ve never been a ’sports guy’. My wife has a fantasy football league, and I’m not allowed to join. Not that I’ve tried, I always figured it was just different strokes for different folks and I prefer Netflix to ESPN. But all of this pondering has me wondering if my hangup is deeper. I’m definitely overanalyzing it now, but here goes: enjoying a game demands living fully in the present, tying your hopes to some mundane activity that holds no great personal possibilities. No offense intended, but sports seem to me a simple pleasure, a pleasure of the present. And not one that I can simply enjoy. But then again maybe its just what I need.
Maybe I’m wrong…but I’ve got a new year’s resolution and its not a great conquest or a grand scheme. Its not going to turn any heads or make any records. I’m just hoping it will help me get my head straight. So, if you need anything, I’ll be watching the game. Most likely with my sports support group (Rob has most kindly offered to get it started). We’re coming to a tavern near you.
