Me and Sherlock Holmes

"My mind," he said, "rebels at stagnation. Give me problems, give me work, give me the most abstruse cryptogram or the most intricate analysis, and I am in my own proper atmosphere. I can dispense then with artificial stimulants. But I abhor the dull routine of existence. I crave for mental exaltation. That is why I have chosen my own particular profession,—or rather created it, for I am the only one in the world."

                       --Sherlock Holmes, The Sign of Four, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. 

I have been thinking about these words of the immortal and inimitable Sherlock Holmes lately.  I have come to realize that boredom is at the core of most, if not all, my psychic and spiritual unrest.  Ennui.  Tedium.  I am, in short... bored by life. 

I realize that of course life is essentially boring. We all have to go through our daily round of required, repetitive activities.  We get up, brush our teeth, make coffee, feed the dog, tidy up, go to work, buy groceries. Life is dull. But lately I've realized that my mind is spinning... looking for something to catch its attention... a thread to follow, a puzzle to decipher, a project to create. I'm not only bored when I'm inactive.  I'm depressed. 

Like Sherlock, I self-medicate.  Fortunately, I'm unable to indulge in Holmes's "seven per cent solution" of cocaine.  I hate to think what consequences that might bring... but I do drink more than is good for me, and I have come to realize that by doing so, I'm trying to quiet my mind. 

I'm like Roxy, our so-called "foster dog" who has now lived with us for three years in two states. Roxy is anxious.  She squeaks and fusses when she doesn't have something to do or enough attention. Often I am able to comfort her by rubbing her head or sitting next to her and just focusing attention on her for a few minutes. But sometimes I resort to benadryl or tramadol to just make her STOP.  My brain is like that. It's happy when it's doing something: researching, solving problems, writing or editing,  whatever. But when it's left to its own devices it begins to squeak.  And though I try tossing different activities at it as a distraction, they don't seem to last long. 

I have a host of busy-hands things I can go to:  knitting in the winter, mosaic building, and recently I've taken up basket weaving again. But I find that after a flurry of intense activity, I'm bored with those projects, as well.  It's time for something else, or I just need something more engrossing, more meaningful. 

You'd think I would write. And for awhile there, I did. But then I Finished My Book:  a momentous occasion that sort of left me feeling empty. I haven't had the inclination or focus in the past few weeks to begin properly editing the book.  Maybe I'm a little afraid it won't be any good when I read it again, or else it will need massive surgery to make it worth reading. It was such a relief to get it all out on paper, I'm afraid it will disappoint me, as so many projects do in the end. 

So I must find a way to occupy and satisfy my busy, distractable, dissatisfied Monkey Mind. Maybe it's a series of busy-hands projects, one after another, maybe I'll burst into blog-flower. But I must now begin to investigate the possibilities. I can not allow that dangerous busy mind to keep spinning in idle the way I have lately with television and wine. It's like a lively dog in a small kennel. It needs to be put to work!