The Internet is for Existential Dilemmas

I was diving mindlessly into YouTube yesterday when I came across Bulgaria’s ball routine for the Tokyo 2020 Olympics. As I watched the quintet of young women toss around red rubber balls with incredible athleticism, precision and grace, I thought to myself, “If I were God, I’d be pretty pleased with this.” There’s something truly divine about devoting yourself to something so wholly not “productive.” It’s beautifully absurd. Imagine waking up every morning at the crack of dawn, having a healthy breakfast (maybe tea and kasha), heading to the gym and spending your waking hours practicing a rhythmics routine with your teammates. Will this routine pay the bills? No. In fact, I’m sure it will cause more bills (to pay for training, travel, outfits etc.). Will this routine lead to a full time employment? Probably not, unless every single gymnast aims to be a gymnastics coach. Will this routine lead to fame and success? They did win gold, but I bet you didn’t even know this routine existed. And where are they now? Retired early, as one of them has a back injury.

So what the hell is the point of all this hard work? To entertain God, obviously. It reminds me of some Rainer Maria Rilke quote I can’t seem to find. Something along the lines of, we exist creatively (in his case, as a poet) to cut through the smog of human civilization so that God can peak through and see that we’re not all a bunch of garbage muppets.

I’m feeling rather like a garbage muppet lately. I work 12+ hour shifts 3-4 days a week, and then I spend my time off catching up on sleep, chores, and other mundane shit that leaves me uninspired to do much else. I work. I consume. I repeat. Even my dreams are polluted with work-related anxieties. (Last night I dreamt I set something in the hallway of the hospital on fire and one of my patient’s walked over to check it out and set herself on fire.) There are moments in between that brush up against something divine— a romp in the woods, a romp in the sheets with Bryan, the revelation of something poetic— but they get pushed aside by my monkey brain who can’t stand the infinite present. I must dredge up embarrassing moments from my past, or worry about improbable future dilemmas.

I’m basically saying that I want to be more like the Bulgarian girls with the red rubber balls. But I have to find out what my red rubber balls are first. I have an inkling, but I need to be more devoted to revealing the truth of that inkling. This is a part of that, I think. Thank you for bearing with me thus far and hopefully I’ll be able to update you soon.