Anyway, listening to these beautiful works played very well I was struck by the desire to create something of equal beauty. I don't know what that is, but the drive was almost tangible. I can't say it was encouraging, more like an unattainable obsession. The indescribable "thing" that pushes those so inclined into madness.
Then yesterday I attended part of a memorial service for an older gentleman at my church. I didn't know him well, but some of his children are friends. To hear his life accomplishments read and then to hear the stories from his family about who he was just made me a bit thoughtful. I'm nearing 50 and, having no children or close siblings to speak for me, how will I be remembered.
And then I spent 4 and 1/2 hours of my life invested in the last episodes of "Lost." I’m not sure exactly how I feel about this yet, but it certainly didn't move me out of this place I'm in. So I had to take up something a bit more escapist to distract myself for a bit. ("Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs" turned out to be a silly enough romp.)
And yet, I'm still, what. I want to call it "pensive" but that's not exactly right. It goes deeper than that. There's an expectation, a wooing, a gut-wrenching longing. And I can't exactly say what that longing is for. Bits of a song we sang in church yesterday morning keep floating through my head; I'm close to tears even as I write. I can't describe it; I can't pin it down and analyze it, make sense of it. So what do I do?