MOTIVATION

Of late I’ve been a little short on motivation.  Perhaps, it’s having my head operated on and the fatigue which, though I don’t account for it, persists.  Perhaps, it’s the unsettling times.  CoronaVirus.  A dreadful president who threatens not to leave although he’s been voted out.  The uncertainty and surreal nature of our society feels like an episode out of The Twilight Zone.  If you remember that TV show from times past.  It’s hard to believe that so many can behave so badly.  But as Paul Harvey aptly expresses, these times are not unique.

As usual, I’ve turned to Merriam Webster for a definition.  “To give or be a reason for doing something” it says.  This leads me to ponder just what is pushing me to do anything at the moment and maybe even what has been my motivation throughout the course of my life.  

At sixty, closing in on sixty-one, many opportunities have gone by the wayside.  Along with being unable to run for president (I don’t meet the qualification of having been born in the US) I see figure skating, modeling and neurosurgery being crossed off the list.  There are just some things I will never do in this lifetime.  There are places I will never go.  Regret gets the best of me.  Just what WAS I doing in my twenties and thirties?  In these moments, I take a page out of my father’s morose book of life and wonder just what has it all amounted to.

But then there’s laughter.  A lighter, more creative perspective invites me to wonder and be curious instead of damning myself.  I remember that there isn’t some kind of existential record keeper giving me low marks for not going to Harvard.  In fact, I’ve never really been motivated by competition or ambition.  When I ask myself what has really mattered, for what have I fought, sacrificed, enjoyed and been most satisfied by, I come up again and again with the transcendent experience of love.  The power of love to transform, heal, forgive, reveal, and connect is like no other energy.  It is my foundation.  Laughter is one of its expressions, as are tears.  I think in recognizing this I see how in these weeks of recovery I have been the recipient of so much love and care.  It feels disorienting  to be chiefly the receiver and maybe that’s why I feel a touch inadequate.  Giving is empowering.  Receiving evokes vulnerability. It asks , can I be OK with my frailty, my need for others, my fear and anxiety, the challenge of getting back in the swing.