I think we're all looking for something to believe in. Deep enough that we make it through to another day - looking forward to it.
When we eagerly stare at another and are taken in by their sense of content, we aren't necessarily hating (although there are parts of us that would like to...hate), but sensing something that there is something being believed in.
Is that why chefs wake up to a tumultuous day at their restaurant and loves every minute of it? Is that why audition lines string across the street and around the corner? Could it be the reason for nine year novels in the making and lonely hours spent in space?
Why do we do the things we do?
What is it that compels us so much?
Does it matter to anyone else past a certain degree of obvious? Personally, the feeling is, it doesn't (matter to anyone past a certain degree of obvious). So what makes you or him or her do it?
What I've heard from the handful of people I've seen in this state of zen is, "I couldn't fathom doing anything else, this is what makes me happy."
Okay, but why?
"I do, what I do matters, what it does for me matters, what it does for others...I don't know, it's quite obvious to me and therefore I cannot do anything else."
Almost all of the time, I find myself almost willing that epiphany to come to life. forcing it out of incubation or thrusting my hand into a sac of nothing and groping for an a-ha.
Bursts and spurts, bursts and spurts. People and reason. Situations and places. Silence and noise. Sullen and joyous.
People. Situations. Silence. Sullen.
reason. places. noise. joyous.
Patterns out of nowhere. Faces on the bathroom tiles. Messages in condensation. Signs leading nowhere.
Scanning: pages, faces, posts, emotions, conversation, noise, colours, textures, food, liquid, pieces, juice, waves, slippers, feet, hands, fingers, ring, nails, brow, mouth, tongue, chin, neck...
I think it starts here.