January 17: His Thoughts Aloud, Talk to Myself, Like a Prayer

Santiago talks to himself . . .

He did not remember when he had first started to talk aloud when he was by himself. He had sung when he was by himself in the old days and he had sung at night sometimes when he was alone steering on his watch in the smacks or in the turtle boats. He had probably started to talk aloud, when alone, when the boy had left. But he did not remember. When he and the boy fished together they usually spoke only when it was necessary. They talked at night or when they were storm-bound by bad weather. It was considered a virtue not to talk unnecessarily at sea and the old man had always considered it so and respected it. But now he said his thoughts aloud many times since there was no one that they could annoy.

Like Santiago, I frequently talk to myself.  It's not because I'm getting older.  Simply, I spend a lot of time on the road every day, driving to and from work.  When you live in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, you are in your car a great deal of time, because the area is vast and towns are far apart.  So, I spend a lot of this time thinking, and, when I'm dealing with something difficult, I talk aloud.  

Hearing my voice is sort of like writing my thoughts down.  It somehow makes my thoughts more real.  You can't take words back once they are made concrete, either by voice or pen.  Those words are out there, in time or on paper.  You can try to forget what you say or tear up what you write, but they still exist in a very tangible form.

I have been talking to myself a lot since my sister went into the ICU.  Having difficult conversations.  I won't go into the details, but they involved the nature of suffering, letting go, grief, quality of life versus quantity of life.  I did not come up with any definitive answers that put my mind at peace.  I simply sent my thoughts and ideas and hopes out into the universe, like prayer.

In the end, none of us really have control over what's going to happen in the next day or minute or second.  Sure, at times, we convince ourselves that we somehow outgodded God.  That we took a little power out of those divine hands.  We're lying to ourselves, but it makes us feel better.

My sister is alive at this moment.  In another moment, she may be gone.  Same goes for me.  I'm typing this blog post right now, but I may be pushing up daisies the next.  It's a matter of cherishing what you have at any given instant, knowing that it's as brief as a single snowflake in the Sahara.

Saint Marty is going to go play some gin rummy with himself now.  He's going to try not to cheat.