Not up to anything much, just pondering the meaning of life

I have to blog this one out. (To those of you brave enough to read on, I do apologize. The following is most likely going to be messy. And long.)

I think I need to call someone to talk this one out, but I have no one to call. Husband is working. Have to talk with him later. Mom is working. Again, later. Friends, well, I don't have any friends to talk about this kind of stuff with.

Today I am struggling with the meaning of life. And what money has to do with it.

Last night was a party. A great party for a great friend. It was in a beautiful, upper-middle class home. The attendees, alas, were also beautiful, upper-middle class people. It was a fairly shallow gathering. Small quantities of alcohol. BBQ-style food.

I also have other friends. Friends who are lower middle class. Touching on the definition of poor. They, of course, think I am rich. (I am not. I assure you.) I cannot figure out what makes these groups so different.

Is it money? Is it mentality? Education? Religion?

What makes one person poor and another rich?

What bothers me is how uncomfortable I am in the second friends' home. Is this just a result of my mentality? My upbringing? Or is there really something inherently different?

Both groups have single moms. Both groups have children. One group owns their home, another rents an apartment. Both wear decently nice clothes. (In fact I wouldn't be surprised if they both shopped at Target at times.) Both are rude at times and then generous at others. Both are insecure. Neither are more friendly than the other.

So what makes them different? Is it just the amount in their bank accounts?

I don't think so.

So which group would I rather be in? How then would I like to live?

When I think about the upper-middle class I think of security. Not financial. Not physical. Emotional. Money isolates. I won't need anybody else and I will be in control of my own life. Think about Escalades. They are big, self-sufficient, popular and impressive. They take up two parking spaces so no one damages their exterior. The people in the driver's seat always wear sunglasses. And if eyes are windows to the soul, they keep theirs locked and hidden from view. And this is attractive. Desirable. A worthy goal.

But is it really? Is this the meaning of life? To be hidden and locked away from view? Admired externally and removed internally?

Yes, I think so.

Life is messy. Uncomfortable. Painful. Ridiculous. Impossible. Frustrating. Uncontrollable.

Unless you're driving an Escalade.

Do Escalade drivers need less help than others? No. Are their relationships better? Not necessarily. (In fact, divorce may be more common in this group than most others.) Do their children love them more and respect them better? I don't think so.

Do they watch television less? Eat better? Okay, maybe. But again, not necessarily.

So what is so undesirable about poverty?

The mess. The vulnerability.

I don't want to sound like a communist here. I fully believe in competition and success. Working hard and earning rewards. And there are many people who drive Escalades simply because of this fact.

But for me, what would be my motivation to drive the Escalade?

Fear.

I don't want to be a mess. I don't want to be vulnerable. I am deathly afraid of failing. I want a sense of control. And pride. And accomplishment. These aren't inherently evil desires. But they do distort the truth.

I am not in control. While I have complete power to get in my car and drive anywhere or work for an education in any degree I choose, the outcome is not guaranteed. I can affect change and make things happen, but this is merely cause and effect. Not control.

I don't want to be poor because when you're poor, your toilet breaks and the landlord won't come to fix it for days. The air conditioning in your car goes out and it may not get fixed before the summer. If you accidentally run into the mailbox, the dent in your car will drive around with you everywhere, to be seen by everyone. This certainly isn't superior to driving around in the shiny SUV with your soul hidden away.

So then what? How then ought I to live?

Work hard. This is good. I can control my attitude and a hard-working one will only make me feel good about myself. If it ends up making riches, I ought to recognize that it isn't because of something special about me. This is humility. Recognize that my life is still hard. Relationships are still work. A day where the money runs out is always possible.

If my hard work only results in enough money to rent an apartment, also recognize that it isn't because of something special about me. This, too, is humility. Recognizing that my life is still hard won't be hard to do, but knowing that a future of wealth may await me would be hard to believe.

Most of us know that the ability to purchase everything we want, while certainly very nice, does not bring contentment. My generation is learning this, believe it or not. The day of Louis XVI, Marie Antoinette, the Industrial Revolution, the Baby Boomers and the 80's and 90's have shown us so. Lives of celebrities today also make this painfully obvious.

But we have believed with all our heart that poverty is bad and wealth is good.

Why?

What about wealth is inherently godly and poverty insufferable? What about me feels better in the upper-middle class house than the apartment downtown? If money doesn't buy happiness, what about it is so desirable?

I can think only that it must be control--or, rather, a sense of control. And I am a control freak. Who is often ruled by fear.

I think I hear the engine of my shiny new Escalade revving outside. Where did I put those over-sized, steel-framed, UV-protected sunglasses???

Breathe deep everyone. Breathe deep.

I do yoga. Yes, I know it's nothing special anymore--you can do yoga at the corner gym these days for crying out loud--but it's been working for centuries for Hindus and it's sure working wonders on my thighs and my breathing.

My yoga teacher is set on teaching us to breathe. I didn't know I needed a lesson in it, though, until I started actually doing it her way. It's not so hard to breathe--you may be aware of this as your involuntary respiratory system forces your lungs in and out, in and out even now as you read this. But when you're in the midst of a tense yoga pose with arms stretching in pretzel-like twists and a bent leg wobbling to hold up against the pressure, my yoga teacher will command, "Breathe!" And I'll realize that I hadn't been. In fact, as soon as I try to inhale and exhale, I can't.

I hate to ruin the suspense, but I'm not dying or anything. I am breathing, just not in yogi breath. Yogi breath is deep and purposeful. It commands attention and control.

I rock yogi breath when I'm lying down or bringing my hands to heart-center. But when I'm in the midst of the pretzel twist suspiciously aware of my knee's threat to break off and run back to the good old days of watching tv from the couch, I do not breathe so easily.

I forced a deep inhale, though, the other day. It took all the strength I had, but I slowly and intently filled my lungs with oxygen and then pursed my lips and maintained a steady exhale.

You know what? My pose got stronger. My knee committed to sticking with me for a few more hours at least and my arms steadied themselves. My shoulders lifted up higher and I retained the pose. I felt yoga-ish.

Towards the end of the class, my instructor began work on my psyche. "What has master over you?" She asked. Is it greed? Sex? A desire to please others? Selfishness? She dug deeper and asked us to find what had been lording over us in place of the Lord.

I used my breath and began exploring my inner-being. I searched everywhere for the power that controlled my existence. (I would like to say that as a Christ-follower, Christ is the only ruling force in my life. That would be great, but untrue.)

So as I pondered and examined and sought after the Lord, one word finally and instantly satisfied my quest: fear. Fear is my master. I have been serving it faithfully since childhood and use every bad experience to instill its tenure further. It has been a comfort to me when I couldn't control my circumstances and an excuse when I preferred laziness.

I had hoped that it would be greed or gossip that controlled me--I can get those kinds of problems under control.

But fear isn't so neatly packaged. It's harder to recognize and almost impossible to live without. It has become, for me, like breathing.

I wonder what would happen in my life if, as in my pose, I took what strength I had and focused it on breathing correctly. Sure, I had been breathing all along as I wobbled and wiggled in my pose, but when I stepped outside my circumstances and took control of my breath, I replaced unsteady balancing with sure-footed strength. I replaced my body's mastery over me with my mastery over it.

Breathing deeply felt a little risky. I doubted I could manage it and I never even expected it would strengthen my pose and forever change my practice. In fact, I'm not sure why I even did it.

But my instructor suggested it and she's nice and kind and much better at yoga than me. So I guess I just trusted her and went with it.

"I tell you, my friends, do not be afraid of those who kill the body and after that can do no more. But I will show you whom you should fear: Fear him who, after the killing of the body, has power to throw you into hell. Yes, I tell you, fear him. Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten by God. " -Jesus