Living in Ontario you have a choice between two major highways to get to other cities. One highway is called the Express and it's a toll lane. You go faster on it apparently, and there aren't any toll booths. They take pictures of licence plates along it and at the end of the month, (or whatever their system is), you get a bill in the mail. The other roads run right along side this Express line and it is used by the majority of Ontarians. You may wonder why this is so, and I'll tell you. Someone privately owns the Express highway and they get paid to have people use it. (After costs, but you get the idea).
Lately I have been wishing alot that I was one of those people who used the Express line, figurtively not literally. They can afford the luxury of getting places quicker than others, it doesn't sit in the back of their mind that they're paying for a service they can also get for free, they don't have to put up with annoying sandstills during rush hour and all of us on the regular highway wish we were them at some point. Even more than that I've been wishing I could be the person to own the Express line. You have to be pretty darn bored and wash yourself with dollar bills to think, "Today I am going to buy a road. The only road people can use and force them to pay me.". I imagine it takes a pretty big man to rate himself up there with the same priveleges of government.
What it must be like to be part of the 10%, (or whatever the miniscule number), that have that kind of guns. The people who live that comfortably. I'm not just talking about wealth but also influence, confidence, following. I imagine that to be such an utopian existence. To wake up in the morning and say to oneself- "today I am truly working because I want to". I know many people love their jobs, but to be a person who genuinely doesn't have to work and still chooses to. And to follow that statement with "Today will be a good day because I will make a difference beyond my front door.". That sure would be worth getting up for.
It feels like those of us on the regular highway pay so much more of a toll than those on the Express line. Exhaustion, tough choices daily, strained time, strained relationships, strained selves. All so we can keep plugging along like everyone else. And in all honesty I'm having one of those days, (er weeks), when I wonder if that toll is worth it.
I've been reading around that it's National Delurking Week and what a post to delurk on. Not to pump me up and tell me it is worth it, (I'm not looking for pity just the cathartic release of sharing without anyone looking at me with pity filled eyes), and not to tell me it will all be okay and one day I will begin to feel joy on a daily basis, (I mean you could say that and many of you will but I'll have to come back at that time and re-read it to believe you), but to "commune" with me in that you too wonder if it's worth getting in the car and what compels you to do so each day.
I always hesitate before posting something real. To tell the void of cyberspace that I have honestly spent the last two days on my couch crying without explaining why seems silly to even me. But for some reason if I don't get it out in this semi anonymous way it plagues me and I find that I must. I just need to let it out, the good with the bad and even the ugly. I'm sure I sound like a person to be pitied and a lot of folks read and shake their head and tune out of my blog for a bit assuming it must be that "time" and someone should really get me a regular dose of prozac. But it's not like that. And I wish I could explain. I'm not sad, I'm weary. Which is probably as good of an explanation as I can offer.
And now that I've barfed all these words out of my head and onto a screen I for some reason feel that someone is reading and for some reason my sharing of pain is helpful and I will finish the laundry and tidy up after my toddler tornado and finish cleaning the oven and enjoy watching my favorite wednesday night shows and maybe even scrapbook. I wont put on a ball gown and go make new friends, I probably wont pick up the phone either. But you'll never find me in the bathroom slitting my wrists or anything. I'm just searching for meaning in the hard times, for joy in the rain clouds and for steadiness on the journey which seem to be lacking at the time.
And perhaps if you do "commune" and you've never said hello before you'll find yourself doing so now and I'll stroll over and "commune" with you.