It seems so obvious that I'm amazed I never realized it before.
But somehow, in recent weeks, I've forgotten. Or maybe I've just always taken it for granted.
Lately the internet has felt so empty to me. There is so much potential for good within that I've started to wonder why it makes me feel this way. I go on, research what I need to, check my (usually overloaded with spam) e-mail, and then sit staring blankly at the screen. Often, I have AIM to keep me occupied and tuned into the lives of others, but for Lent I've severely restricted my Facebook time, which leaves a huge void in my internet options. Last night, my growing frustration with the internet hit an all-time low. After a long, chaotic day (classes, packing, driving home, but at least a nice dinner with the fam and bubble bath) I found myself back in that position: sitting and staring blankly at the computer screen. I felt numb and lonely, clicking absently around an empty inbox as though searching for some hidden reward.
I found nothing but an empty inbox and old messages, bittersweet words from moments long enclosed and a future vaguely outlined.
And I realized, in that dullness, that the internet is entirely meaningless without interpersonal motivation. It seems obvious enough, in retrospect. Without human relationships and the desire to communicate with others, the internet would be futile and fruitless. But the only good the internet breeds is that which aims for the positive transfer of information/knowledge/art/emotion/etc. from one person to another. That could come from an e-mail, or even an article or a picture. These transfers of information can be abused, of course, but my point is merely that we unconsciously seek to spend time on the internet not to escape from people, but to reconnect with them. Even those who develop isolatory internet-surfing patterns seem drawn towards those internet activities that connect them to other people (just look at the popularity of facebook, Xanga's, blogs, and forums).
No wonder I feel empty when I go online without sending an e-mail or receiving some message/communicable idea. There's no point to the mindless internet time wasting. No wonder a minor burst of depression settles in when I click through the empty inbox looking for something I'll never find. If there's nothing there and I don't assert myself enough to reach out and send mail, I can't ever expect to feel satisfied. Ah, there's another of those seemingly-cliche-yet-fundamental-truths-of-life: If you want mail, you gotta send it/You must give in order to receive. I need to re-route my disdain for the internet; it's not the computer's fault that the emptiness of my inbox stretches over into my mood. Rather, the emptiness stems from some form of void that I seek to fill through reconnection.
(This clearly explains the sadness I felt last night, and I understand what void I've been seeking to fill. Unfortunately, this one might take quite some time to fill up and become healed... but at least I can now recognize triggers for my moments of frustration.)
So what do you do when you feel empty, when that void you seek
can't be filled, for whatever reason? The thought is rather depressing, yet you can't shy away from reality. Sometimes your life just... is what it is, for better or for worse. There are so many different levels of the cycle that you really need the low, empty points to balance out the highs (clich-truth-of-life #2!). But when you're seeking to restore balance to a hole in your life, it's natural to search for answers as to how to fill that hole. Often, we look in all the wrong places. We're human, afterall. However, last night I rediscovered that sometimes we just need to stop looking long enough to let something else come fill the void. That was an extremely ambigious phrase... my apologies. I'll clarify with my own example.
For a person who believes in God, like myself, I mean that we need to stop searching for God's answers and just let Him come find us in his own time. He found me again last night, and he probably chuckled when he saw me. There I was, clicking away at a stupid Yahtzee game at 10:24 on a Thursday night, staring blankly (and probably miserably) at the screen, feeling as though numb nostalgia was going to consume my every breath. The night stretched before me like a wasted maze of emotion, and I sighed deeply aloud.
And then I felt a distant rumble overtake the house. I glanced outside perplexedly just in time to see a flash of lightning. The timing could not have been more perfect. Just when I had decided that my night was going to be an empty blur, God handed me something He knew would fill me with joy: the first spring thunderstorm. What better way to spend time than out on the porch, watching a spectacular performance of God's power and beauty, breathing in the cool night air, listening to the gentle rains overhead and singing softly the songs in my heart? How foolish of me to assume that any moment will be a waste... last night, God reminded me that my life is a gift of grace. He alone has control, and He alone can fill the deep valleys of pain the develop on this earth. His light shall wipe away all darkness, and His hope can fill those who are empty.
In these next few weeks, my inbox will probably be empty fairly often. Even when it's not, I'm sure that I won't always find the words that I'm hoping to hear, or answers to the millions of questions surging within me. I'll find myself staring at a blank computer screen, pondering my golden memories, fearing the ramifications of change, begging God for clarity. But in those moments, when my thoughts race towards a familiar wall of confusion, I'll embrace the enigma inside of me and the guidance of God. I'll remember the night of the first spring thunderstorm, the emptiness and the fulfillment, and I'll breathe more deeply, trusting that God is in control.
And I'll remind myself that, in spite of what I feel, God is calling me to help reconnect others to the beauty of life... to work to heal the voids of pain around me. I hope and pray that I will have the courage to trust Him.
