The Little House that (minerva) Built

I have bought for myself indefinite time of minervahood, if I want it. It cost years of sectioning space to do solitary work-play. It cost years of believing that something economically worthless might have value (it might.) I had to emancipate myself from the base dreams of adulthood, too. That cost a bit of ego. I had to wash some of my education, both formal and cultural, to see myself as what I am and to accept what I see. I had to enlist my partner in embracing this kind of life as a life-well-spent regardless of the outcome. (He bought in.) Now I’m here. I’m in. And the words won’t come. I have to coax and trick myself into doing what I wanted so much that I paid for upfront.

What do I do inside the little house I built? 

Is this question yours, too? It has been an implicit question throughout my life but I never had to answer honestly. The answer was always provided to me during my formative years. We might be spending too long a time in apprenticeship. During my prolonged stage of “preparing to live,” answers to the complicated question what am I supposed to do? were given easily and in slices: get the grades, finish the program, get the job, get the dude, get the house, get some kids… We do these things. Some of us float in the direction of these arrows, some others do them with steadfastness and great results. But even then, the answer to the complicated question ends up being a chopped banana. 

Now I get to answer it myself and I’m paralyzed-stupid with freedom. What am I supposed to do? I could reformulate this to its abridged version, what am I? I am (among other things)(and fundamentally) the invisible woman. I’m the one who flees the city to sit in silence; with you, on the best days.

Invisible woman. Is this the answer to a life? The invisible woman floats; moves softly between things. Yes, but this is all written in air! I need to make my answer to the complicated question usable, practical.

Daily life is very close to practical. And, rats. Daily life has many of the admonitions of the formative years. Eat the vegetables—do the homework—say hello to mister so-and-so is the same species as drink more water—impress the prospect—RSVP yes. These small scale aims are comforting, if a little oppressive. They, too, give away the answer to the complicated question in very thin slices. And yes, surely we have to move in the world and do a lot for the sake of other people. But are these little goals a more ‘real’ way to live?

There is everything right with taking care of our self, our work, our fellow human; but taking on these objectives intentionally (as if responding to a stern directress who only wants the very best for us) could fritter away a good decade.

The invisible woman floats; moves softly between things. She takes care of herself adequately and enjoys work and other people. But she is not intentional enough to be great at any of it. She has no awareness of being good to herself, or good at her work or good to talk to. If she is doing anything right it’s because of some overarching care or curiosity or silliness. Her life is carried along by these forces.

Being carried along by invisible forces is in some way like the concept of wu wei (oo--way) minus the enlightenment and cosmic perspective. It’s like this: who ate a healthful meal? a craving for something grassy. who kicked ass motivating the kids? a carnival-entertainer kind of wackiness. who wrote this? whoever sat here in silence and listened to the words come (is it any good though? who-cares).

It seems then, that what I have to do in the little house is not very much at all— move to the song playing inside.

Can I make a ‘real’ life like this? I’ll (let you) know in time.