Running on EmptyWhen life seems to have no meaningBy Sara Debbie Gutfreund | She says that she is running on empty. She says that there is vast, useless space inside of her. She looks the same on the outside. But things are subtly falling apart. She is bored literally to tears even though her schedule is full. She can’t find meaning despite the rituals and beliefs that frame her days. She doesn’t want to do anything, but she does everything anyway. She can’t figure out where she went wrong when she was playing by all the rules.Lately she has become obsessed with the Wizard of Oz. As if she can’t find her own way home. As if she would like someone to offer her a new heart, a new mind, or perhaps just the courage to change. But then she looks at me with eyes that are tired and frustrated at the same time, and she says: “But then I remember that in the end the wizard is just a tired, old man with a fake voice.” She wonders though about the glittering, red shoes that Dorothy clicks together in the end. Maybe I should buy red shoes, she ventures.And she does. She buys red shoes and shiny, black shoes. She buys new, fluffy towels and perfume so sweet it makes her choke. But the emptiness is still there. Suddenly, everywhere she goes, she feels like she doesn’t belong. She is becoming a stranger in her own skin. Restless and exhausted at the same time. At night she can’t sleep, and during the day she can hardly keep her eyes open.Maybe you are depressed, I tell her. But no, she insists, I just don’t see a purpose anymore in anything that I do. Well, that may actually be the definition of depression, I tell her. But she shakes her head. No, no. It’s different. Everything in my life is okay. It’s just that I can’t figure out if my life really has a purpose.One night we go out to dinner. I figure that maybe the change in scenery will cheer her up. It’s a cozy café in Jerusalem, bathed in the golden light that has seeped into the stones throughout the long, hot day. She stares at the smokers by the window and tells me that she wishes that she could smoke. I glance at her in shock, but I try quickly to conceal it.She, who has always been the good girl, the one who wouldn’t even cut one class when we were in high school. She, who has never wanted anything except to have children and bake chocolate chip cookies. She was the one I depended upon to never change. To stay uncomplicated and satisfied, while I spent my whole life searching for abstract goals and steep mountains to climb.But now she says that she wants a way to escape without really going anywhere. What is she trying to escape from? I ask her. She shakes her head. She doesn’t know. I tell her that she is treading on a dangerous edge. What should I do, she asks me?I want to pour all the simple answers onto the table and let them magically fix my friend’s life. Or at least give her hope. Pray. Learn. Do good deeds. I want to tell her. There may not be a wizard who can automatically give your life purpose, but you do have a King and a Father who loves you and believes in you and created you for a reason. Beg Him to tell you what your life means.But the words are stuck in my throat, because I am afraid that I will lose her right away. I don’t think that she wants to hear any of those answers. So what does she want?I remember a time in college when I felt stuck like she is now. I would stay up all night debating whether everything in life is essentially selfish. Whether life really has meaning. Whether marriage and children are worthy goals at all. But I had the luxury of time and space back then. She doesn’t have either. But she needs to go through this somehow. How will I help her, I wonder, as I watch her staring at the group of smokers outside, blowing white, wispy illusions into the star-studded sky. |