To Do or Not to Do

Hamlet was an idiot.  To be or not to be is a worthless question.  But to do or not to do?  Now that is really something.

               

 I’m a Mormon.  Maybe you are too, but likely not (if you are, then never mind, it just means I’ve failed again at this whole “connect” thing). Whatever you are, there is a well known story floating about LDS primary rooms and Sunday school chapels about the origin of our best known song, “I am a Child of God.”  The original version was changed from “teach me all that I must be” to “all that I must do.”  Why? It is not about being (I think, therefore I am, right?—but don’t tell the Buddhists I said that).  It is about doing.

 I could do a lot of things right now.  I’m in India; almost as far away as humanly possible from the place I sometimes consider home.  Some people call that America.  I call it the United States.  

 I could tell you all day about who I am being right now—that is easy. I’m being a twenty something year old, very confused child of God (since I already brought it up), lured far away from the comfort of familiarity, plopped down on this wood framed bed in Dharamsala India wondering what I should be doing right now.

See, and already we are merging into the doing.  What am I doing?  What should I be doing?

I can tell you what I thought I was doing.  I thought I was coming here to do an awesome field study project which would give me material for a honors thesis which would get me into a great masters program which would get me some job that I can’t seem to figure out which would all add up into this great awesome life experience that could never have happened if I did not follow these steps exactly. 

 Sounds great, right?  I think so too.  So remind me one more time how I get off this bed, leave this room, and manage to do something that will contribute to that? 

 Once you venture out of the big abstract words like freedom, achievement, adventure, and experience, it gets a little less triumphant sounding.  I could go to the “Movies and Momos” activity that some of my group members are going to, but that would imply a risk of disappointment.  Last time I went it was canceled.  And remember I don’t speak a lick of Tibetan.  It also means walking (and by walking I mean hiking up the Himalayas, literally) to the other side of town.  This is also a risky activity, considering the main roads are more like half a lane but manage to fit two cars, random cows, and lots of pedestrians filling in whatever gaps are left. 

 Maybe that is not so much what I am afraid of.  Maybe I just love the terrible urine smell from the bathroom next door or the playful fly running into my computer screen like the first three hundred times never happened so much that I would never think of doing anything else.  Besides, the constant pain in my intestines from some unknown source(s) is the perfect excuse for bed rest.  Who would want to leave this place?

 It’s depression or something, isn’t it?  That is so simplified.  Loneliness, but closer to lost.  Maybe it is the boyfriend.  Or that feeling I used to get when I surfed and caught a wave wrong—that terrifying feeling of being flung under a vengeful wave like the inside of an off balanced washing machine, where up is down and down is up and you have no idea which way to start swimming before you run out of breath.  Hmm, sounds like suicide, but that would give Hamlet too much credit. 

To do or not to do?  Let’s go back to the being question.  At least I know the answer. 

Virginia