WWED (What Would Emily Do?)

Is there such a thing as enough of a life?

Growing up, it seemed that all we did was move from one place to another. First it was just my parents trying to find their place -- from Israel to various locales in the NY metro area. Then they split up and I hopped on the microbus with my father for the ride to Tennessee, Wisconsin, and back to Israel. Then my mother pulled me back on her bus, with stops in Manhattan, Scarsdale, and Spring Valley, NY. By the time I was 10, I had lived in 10 places in three states and two countries.

Some of these moves were prompted by circumstances, or messages from God, but the last few were distinctly upwardly mobile. I was more or less equally unhappy in each place, but each dwelling was bigger, with more yard and nicer things. After moving back with my mother, when I was eight, every home we lived in had a television. Always the sad sack new kid, I spent most afternoons in front of it, stuffing my face. Saturday nights I watched Love Boat and Fantasy Island, alone, imagining all the other kids at parties, movies, hanging out...

At 16 I left for college in Massachusetts and never came back "home" except for visits. After graduation I continued to move around, from East to West and back again. I did not feel rooted anywhere, and in fact, after a couple of years, I felt so unrooted that I feared I might fly away like a balloon, never to be seen again. So to tie myself down a bit, I adopted two cats. (I only meant to get one, but that's another story.) They provided a little bit of ballast, though I still moved several more places after that. One of them, Levi, managed to keep up with me through it all. The other, Dagney, eventually found her way to more settled owners.

Now I am actually settled myself. About 16 years ago, I got married, and shortly after that, we found and bought our little place in the woods. More than a home, it is an endless project, with additions to build; firewood to cut, split, and stack; a garden to grow; rooms to clean; meals to cook; a child to cultivate and endlessly transport; and yes, two cats (though not the same ones) to feed and clean up after -- all while working a full-time, demanding job. This is no more than many others do, and probably do with more grace and skill, but it does seem like I have finally "put down roots". And yet I must not feel rooted enough, for even as branches bend and break under the weight of all this, I keep taking on more strings to tie me more securely to earth. Not more cats this time, but other things. At work, how many committees can I join; how many extra responsibilities can I take on? Teach a summer class? Why not run for school board? Write a weekly blog? My daughter is not getting enough art in school. Why not start an art club? There seem to be no reasons not to. Things need to be done. I can do them. It even feels good to do them. So why shouldn't I do them?

According to Emily Dickinson,

To be alive—is Power—
Existence—in itself—
Without a further function—
Omnipotence—Enough—

To be alive—and Will!
'Tis able as a God—
The Maker—of Ourselves—be what—
Such being Finitude!
The first stanza is easy enough. Stop kicking yourself, she says. Just being alive is doing enough. Relax.

If she had stopped there, the answer would be obvious. You don't have to do anything. The second stanza is harder, though. Yes, we are the gods of our own lives, we create ourselves. But what is that about "Finitude"? Our time is finite. We will not be gods, or even alive, forever. Out of what will we create our lives? Being human is not like being a tree. Yes, our bodies grow to full size, as a tree does, but what about our spirits, our communities, and our world? Those all require some amount of doing. But how much?

I know when I am doing too little (if I have time to watch TV on a regular basis), and I know when I am doing too much (if you find me catatonic on the floor on weekends, unable to get up and feed myself, let alone my family); but how am I supposed to know when I am doing just enough?