It really p***** me off

It seriously pisses me off when my sincere efforts to share only what I truly think and feel with as little censorship as possible is dismissed or overridden by the fact that I maintain anonymity online.

Most people, I am relieved to say, do seem able to focus on what I share and some actually do respond with an equal measure of sincerity and thought.  You'll find some of these people through the comments they have left at this and my other blogs. 

There are a few, however, who cannot seem to get past the pseudonym that I write under and consequently sum me up as 'unknown' or 'mysterious'. 

For crying out loud, I could easily have used a probable, yet fictitious, name such as Christine Kent.  Would that have made me less 'mysterious'?  More 'known'? 

I could also provide a random age, like 29.  Would that suddenly make what I share more believable? 

I know that I'm making a big deal out of a situation that involves a very small number of people but it does get my goat.  You know? 

I mean, here I am sharing my innermost thoughts and feelings, things that I would ruthlessly edit out from my conversations under my 'given' name.  (I have decided that the term 'given' is a more correct description of that name rather than 'real'). 

After all, under that name, I have a reputation to upkeep and an image to preserve!  Is that the 'me' that  these people would rather know?  The peachy version?  Is that who they assume I 'really' am? 

I'm choosing to write about this because I want to get it off my chest.  I also want to know what you, my reader, think?  Do you use a pseudonym or a plausible fictitious name? 

If so, what has your experience been, as a blogger and as someone who leaves comments and participates in online discussions?

I didn't take it personally

P enters my apartment, his opening statement hanging off the edge of his tongue:

'I had a rude awakening today'.

I checked to make sure he did mean something negative, ''Rude?  Not pleasant?"

'Yep, rude as in bad.  Well, actually, it wasn't bad,  It was just the shock of reality, really'.

P deposits his bag on my couch, sits on its arm while making a half-hearted attempt to fend off my lascivious dog.  (No, I'm serious.  She just about molests all my guests, or is that 'our' guests?  Well, they certainly don't come to see her, at least not at first).

I'm chuckling internally which results in a broad smile on my face.

'Oh, tell me all about it', I say, really eager to know.  'But hang on, let me just sort this molester out'.

I can see a mixture of emotions reflected on P's face - impatience, relief, eagerness, excitement....

Well, we were put on the phones today with real customers for the first time.  It was real.  This lady was really ticked off,

'I've been waiting four hours to get through.  /This is just not good enough. No, I'm not going to create another account.  I expect you to sort this out....blah, blah, blah'.

'I didn't take it personally', P was eager to assure me.  'They told us all about this during our training so I knew not to take it personally, but it was still a shock.  Some of the girls cried.  But it was good, good experience, continued P, nodding his head as if trying to convince himself.

'I just wished I could have actually solved some of the problems.  But I couldn't and that was not so good.  I mean, we always suggest things to them but they don't necessarily solve anything, just sort of gets them off your back, you know?  But there were some good calls.  One customer called me 'god'.'

P has recently started working for a very large and well-known IT company in customer service.  After three weeks of training, this was his first day on the phones with actual customers.

It was good to hear his experience as I warmed up the meal I'd prepared for us earlier.  It felt like I was with someone who'd just stepped out of a battlefield -slightly traumatized but mostly determined to find meaning in it, knowing he would be back for more the following day and for a while hereafter.

Bonnie had finally settled and P was heartily tucking into the osso bucco I'd pressure-cooked with carrots, celery, onions, garlic and a tiny sprinkling of dried red chilli, served with rice cooked with brown lentils.  I'd bought the meat for him as I generally don't eat meat.  I was pleased with my cooking as clearly was P.

After he'd finished, he went outside to the courtyard to drag on a cigarette.  The evening was mild enough for my t-shirt over a light cotton dress.  P shared his music with me, his favorites as well as his own compositions.  I enjoyed the soothing sounds of electronica although I didn't care for one where the tempo was 160 bpm.  The lack of variety in the sound at this tempo just makes me feel anxious, as if I'm hopelessly trapped :).  P laughed understandingly when I told him this.

He left not long after, concerned that he'd need a good night's sleep in preparation for another grueling day on the phone with real customers!  I was all for it.  I walked him to the bus stop and gave his a hug and kiss when his bus arrived.  I was glad for his company, brief as it was.

As I walked home, I finally gave the thought that had been rattling in my head some attention:

"If you hadn't taken it personally, why did you feel upset?  

Isn't it true that we always take things personally, to a greater or lesser degree and with a greater or lesser recovery rate?

What do you think?

You just don't get it

This day
blushing with sunlight
and pregnant with air
keeps itself afloat
as it chooses to
by our breath

Feeding itself to me
tenderly
through my senses
with Divinity's chosen notes
impeccably spaced
on a Spanish guitar
and the comforting , raw tanginess
of a freshly composed chocolate orange shake
along with the cold tiles faithfully beneath my feet
and the quivering bamboo fronds
doing their delicate dance of
shudders and shakes


If heaven were to appear to me,
would it be much different?
Would I recognize it,
trapped as I mostly am,
in my cleverly disguised fears
and my battle-ready defenses?

Holy sunlight washes over me
Blessings of the cosmos
Trees stretch upwards, their branches
flush with leaves
unashamedly drinking up this free nectar
and free from any doubt
that this is the perfect enactment
of their sacred purpose.
What is mine?

What is mine? I have asked
three hundred and twenty-five times
to the best of my knowledge.
I ask as if someone or something
other than myself
has the answer, mystically shrouded,
only to be revealed at some
stupendously significant moment
Hopefully, in a blinding epiphany
rather like Saul's

Wouldn't that be a story to tell!

Holy fool!
Why should any moment be
more significant than any other,
when the sunlight bathes each equally?
Why should this meaning be
worth more than another,
when all arise out of the same
cosmic mind, and you are but
one of its infinite points of reference?

Why are you so addicted
to 'specialness',
desperate to define yourself
by it?
When all of life, every miserable
sodding, orgasmic, uplifting, enchanting
scrap of it
is 'special'?
Why, in other words, do you
long  for what
already is?

There can be only one reason.

You just don't get it.

TBT

"You'd let a 63 year old lady on a disability pension spend the night in the park...?"

The lady next door knocked on mine.

"I seem to have lost my key while I've been out and although I've got a combination code for the spare key that I leave on the wall by the door, I just can't seem to remember it.  Do you have the Yellow Pages so I can call a locksmith?"

It was after six o'clock and I really didn't fancy her chances.  I was also feeling resentful about this 'intrusion' especially because I was really rather afraid of her.

I should explain.  I've had little occasion to interact with her (I somehow feel the choice has been mutually shared).  However, I'd heard from another neighbor that she's a little mentally unpredictable, to put it gently.  The fact is, I've discovered a couple of times, plastic bags with rubbish in them placed outside my door and my other neighbor, J's.

When I mentioned it to J, he told me that E was responsible for the unwelcome 'gifts' and that was mainly because she'd decided to go off her medication.  Now, I could launch into a whole discussion about my opinion about how mental health is evaluated and treated but I won't.  Suffice to say, I don't agree with much of it.  Anyhow, as a result of this and other similarly oblique encounters with E, I have been pretty happy about the fact that our paths rarely coincide.  But, here she was at my door.

I invited her in or should I say, I let her in.  She has a somewhat superior manner about her, speaks much louder than necessary and with a sharpness to an already stretched local accent.  The idea was that she'd look up the Yellow Pages and make some calls to see if she could get someone to come out.

She began her calls but the fact that she didn't have the money to pay the tradesmen in full for their 'out of hours' service although she attempted to assure them she'd pay within the next couple of weeks didn't seem to help.

Meanwhile, I went to see if I could get help from the 'head tenant',  S.  She would know who to call.  S took a while getting to the door.  I wasn't sure if she'd been asleep or making love.  She did seem to be out of breath, something greatly assisted by her heavy smoking.  She was remarkably composed though, and was quickly able to give me a number to call.  I was grateful for two main reasons.

One, I was glad that S knew what was happening.  You see, for some pathetic reason, I was afraid that E might lose it and I didn't think I'd be able to handle that too well.  The other reason was that I was really, really dreading the possibility that I might have to put E up for the night.

Yes, I know, I can be dreadfully selfish and cowardly.  And unduly pessimistic.  However, as I was returning from S's, I thought to myself that I would be calm, confident and kind.  So saying, I returned to my apartment to hear E persist in her assurances to someone on the phone that she has always paid tradesmen who've done any work for her and she was prepared to give them the name of the tradesman who'd most recently done a job for her.

There was some response from the other end and then, 

"Oh...now that's terrible.  So you really think that a 63 year old woman trying to live on a pension should have to spend the night in a park??

Her voice began to falter (and I couldn't help thinking it was put on), as she added,  " ...and with arthritis".

"I'm not having much luck", she reported to me when she put the phone down.  Tell me something I don't know, I thought.

"I've just been up to see S, " I said, "and she suggests that you call these people because they are the ones who service our units".

The long and short of it was that E did call them and they said they'd be forty minutes and they agreed to accept a part payment with the balance to be paid in two weeks.

I could have offered to lend E the money but it would have meant going to a cash machine for the cash, which in itself was hardly a bother.  But I was secretly afraid that I might not have enough myself.  I only get paid tomorrow, you see!  In fact, I've been putting off paying a few bills for just that reason.

I did make E a cup of coffee, white with no sugar.  I did invite her to sit down.  And I did chat with her.  She became very curious about me, probing to find out if I'd studied psychology (she saw a copy of Jung and the Lost Gospels on my coffee table).  She also explored my much downsized collection of books on my makeshift bookshelf and picked out Tagore to read.

She was keen to talk and tell me that she'd gone to University many years ago and had a daughter in Canada, married with two kids and who was a medical doctor as was her husband.  I did not feel obliged to say too much or even ask too much.  I felt it would be best to let her talk as she felt inclined to.

She remarked that my apartment felt very peaceful and later that I was very peaceful.  Oh yes, by this time, her voice had lowered considerably in volume.  She was very appreciative of my help.  I told her matter-of-factly that I would always try to help when I could and that when I couldn't, I wouldn't.  I think she sensed the sincerity of my words.  I think that the encounter might have given her cause to reconsider her somewhat superior attitude.  Yeah, I know, how wishful and perhaps arrogant of me:)

But, more importantly, it's given me a little more confidence.  I feel less afraid of her and sense that I'll be generally less afraid of people who seem to lose control of themselves.  It's shown me that I can somehow get past my fear to being naturally kind and accommodating, even if at first I'm convinced that I can't and that I don't want to be!

Ode to George Mackay Brown

Where are you? I ask

In flashing steel across
the cobalt river beside
the humdrum length of
stately buildings swathed
in false impressions.

So you answered,
poet I have not long
come to know, but
who knew us all
a very long time ago

when our eyes were still
held shut within
the crusted gates of sleep
and our bodies, a sorry reflection
of our unlit minds.

You sat among the crags
and upon the salted steps in Hamnavoe
Speaking silently with the elements
A pied piper poised to gather
meanings from unspoken words

spelt by glistening waves and
tides of herring
netted in the rituals of daylight by a
drop of humanity left stranded in eternity's
unflinching cycles.

Gone, though you are,
back to the unformed
your reach is even wider now
and reassuringly
deep

Usurping our chaos that stages its
daily dramas of apparent realness
when, in fact, a contusion of life
pleading for healing
though needing none.

You bless us with the
torture of unimposing truth,
mystifying echoes that
surge in grunts and groans
across our emptiness

dripping life,
such as we allow,
into thirsty lanterns
long burned out by
our blindness,

TBT

On that score, at least, we're even

My sister and I need to get back to Moorooka and we need $4 for our bus fares.  Could you give me $4?

This good-looking, well-dressed lady looks directly into my eyes, as if defying me to disbelieve her.  I am feeling terribly uncomfortable.  I don't intend to give her the money for reasons I am not entirely clear about.  At the same time, I don't wish to be disrespectful in any way.  If any thing, I feel a desperate need to assure her that her request for my money has in no way diminished my respect for her as another living creature. 

But my emotions are stirred from their convenient sleep into an unsettling, incongruent, conflicted mess.  Why am I unable to say a straightforward, respectful 'No'?  Why is my mind scrambling clumsily for another way of saying 'No'?  Why is it grasping for some euphemistic alternative disguised as a credible excuse or what I feebly try to convince myself is one?  I know that she is not going to believe it.  Just because she asks a stranger for money doesn't make her insensitive to people's motivations. 

I give her some half-baked excuse amounting to a lie that I don't have any change, hoping that she gets the hint.  Instead, she asks if I've got $5 (a note).  I vacillate between feeling slightly miffed by her cheek and still trying to find a dignifying way out.  No, I say, I don't and this time, it seems I have stopped trying to lessen the blow.  She looks at me with the same expression that she's maintained from the start of our encounter, almost dour faced.  I briefly wonder what she's thinking. But most of my thoughts are already embroiled in a post mortem.

Why do I feel so uncomfortable about being approached for money in this way?  Why don't I give it?  What am I really saying when I don't?  How can I respond in a way that leaves me feeling good and, hopefully, does something useful for the other person? 

I think that most of all, I don't give because I believe it's an inadequate, short term response that at best, would meet an immediate or short term need that's likely to do more harm than good.  It's also because there's a very strong voice inside my head telling me that the money will be spent on grog or cigs or drugs rather than getting this lady and her, thus far, not-to-be-seen sister anywhere near where she says they're hoping to go.

In short, I don't believe her story any more than she believes mine.  So, on that score, at least, we're even.  But beyond that, I'm sure I feel I'm in  a better place than she is.  If all or most of my assumptions about her are right, I am reassured by the fact that I have not acquired an addiction and worse still, one which I am unable to support financially.  Neither am I likely to ask a stranger for money or lie to them about what the money is for. 

I know, I am passing judgment on this lady.  Or am I?  I like to think that I'm making observations about a person and about myself.  If anything, I am more concerned with my response and my reasoning (or lack of) and what beliefs and values underlie them.  One by one, I hope to pick them open and examine them for I sense there is much I shall discover and learn about myself.  Things that will help me regard another human being with true respect and regard, not just for who they are but for their right to their choices in life.

I'd rather be appreciated than rewarded

I work in a retail store anywhere from one to three days a week.  It's a store that operates on the principles of fair trade and sources all its products, almost 95% of which are handmade by women, from  countries such as Thailand, Peru, Sri Lanka, Paraguay, Colombia, Kenya, the Philippines and East Timor.

The handcrafted goods, including the very popular owl shaped shoulder bags, waste paper baskets made from recycled telephone books and spider-weave table runners are each uniquely made and are an absolute delight to our customers.  Sadly, although our store is located in an expensive suburb and on the main drag, because it's not part of a big shopping complex, its clientele are mainly passers-by. Which means, we don't get as many as we need.

Yesterday, what with the rain playing cheeky on and off games with us, we had a total of twenty customers.  Hardly anything to crow about although we did have a fifty percent conversion.  The manager attributed that to me insisting that I have a way with people.  The truth is, I do enjoy engaging with them and I smile a lot and I am known to say some rather strange and unexpected things that seem to  make people smile and often explode with laughter. I don't plan any of this, of course.  It's just a natural reaction to people:)

For instance, I was serving a couple of girlfriends not long ago.  It was a day for girlfriends.  There must've been at least four pairs that day,  Anyways, I was serving this lady whose friend had come in a week or so ago on her own looking for some amethyst earrings for a friend.  Apparently, it was the friend's birthday.  Well, sadly, we didn't have any amethyst earrings although we did have amethyst necklaces which was not quite what this lady wanted to give her friend.

When this lady and a friend turned up at the store I wondered if this might be the friend she'd been wanting to buy the earrings for and when I had a chance, I quietly asked her.  I think she was chaffed by the fact that I remembered her and her thwarted intentions.  So, knowing I was in the good books, I naturally gave myself freedom of speech.

The lady's friend had decided to purchase a shoulder bag and when the two of them came to the counter to pay for it, I asked the friend if this was her first time at our store.  Yes, she replied.  To which I said with deliberately muted excitement and a hint  of gravity, "Ah, a virgin".  Well, you can imagine the uproar that caused.  The friend just could not stop laughing (and laugh she did, all the way out of the store some ten minutes later) while everyone else in the store (it's quite a small one) pricked up their ears hoping to catch more juicy tittle tattle.

Well, the stage was set.  I launched into the story of how I'd come about this particular phrase.  But perhaps I'll leave that story for another post and continue for now with how my 'personality has changed over the years - from someone who used to keep her gaze toward the ground and hope and pray that no one would notice her to someone who is just looking for an opportunity to smile at people.  If you knew me, I mean seriously knew me, you'd know that that has been a change of galactic proportions.

I've noticed that I tend to smile at bus drivers too these days.  The other day, one of them commented on it.  And the day before, on my ride back from my Monday evening Buddhist class, which incidentally is about the nature of reality (yeah, heavy stuff), I noticed a sign on the bus.  Well, actually, I'd noticed the sign several times before but only took the time to read it properly that night.  The last thing it said was: Reward the bus driver with a smile.

It made me wonder of course, as you must know by now, about several things.  Like, do I really believe in rewarding anyone?  Do bus drivers feel 'rewarded' when someone smiles at them or do they just feel nice?  Why do we buy into this concept of 'reward'?  Isn't it rather limiting?  Couldn't we just appreciate?  Couldn't we be encouraged to 'appreciate' rather than 'reward'?

In my mind, appreciation is such a natural response which is based on enjoyment rather than 'e-value-ation.  Reward, on the other hand, connotes a certain amount of evaluation and encourages us to think and respond in terms of 'degrees' of value and other such discriminating and restricting concepts.

What do you think?  I'd love to know :)

Reminiscing on a rainy day

I want to tell you about the rain that's been dripping down on us almost ceaselessly the last few days, and that, according to the weather forecasts, is likely to continue for a good few more.

I want to tell you about the rain because I do love it.  I love its tenderness and the soft sounds it makes as it falls upon leaves and fronds and earth and concrete ground and brollies and window panes and my hair and face and leaves its drops on all of them.  Yes, that sound is continuous as long as it is raining, varying only in intensity.  I love the way the palm fronds quiver and dance as raindrops land on them, so delicately.  And I love how green and nourished and satisfied the grass and trees and plants look, as if they've just had the most sumptuous and satisfying meal :)

Why is it that the rain makes us want to snuggle up in bed or on a comfortable sofa and get lost in a good book?  Is it simply because we can't go out (or should I say prefer not to go out because we don't wish to get wet?).  Or is there something more to it?  Light rain has such a comforting, constant sound/  Well, it makes that sound when it comes into contact with things of and on the earth including roof tops and drainpipes. 

When I was a teenager, I used to be too embarrassed to hold a brolly and walk in the rain.  Actually, as a teenager, I was painfully embarrassed to do a lot of things, including being me.  I'm talking about my late teens here and early twenties.  Oh, the pain!  I cannot say that I've lost all that shyness altogether but I guess you could say I'm much better at concealing it.  Actually, it would be truer to say that I've learned to focus on different things.

I remember I was at a party once and it was decided we each had to tell a story about ourselves (This was in my early twenty's).  We were all sat in a circle, about eight of us, and I spent the entire eternity of those forty or so minutes dying countless deaths inside me.  I was emotionally traumatized and my brain went into lock-down mode.  I simply couldn't think of what to say other than "I can't do this".

Oh my god, it was hell.  When it finally was my turn, I simply put my head down and shook it to indicate that I could not do it.  Of course, this brought on a cascade of encouragement from the rest of the party which only made it worse for me.  I had attracted more attention to myself (which was, for crying out loud, the exact opposite of what I wanted!).  It would have been so much easier if I'd attempted to say something but I simply couldn't.  It was truly a traumatic event.

When I was at university, just before a field trip to Wales, I found a note in my pigeon hole.  It simply said "You are the most beautiful girl I've ever seen".  A part of me felt thrilled but a much larger part of me went into panic mode and I was terrified and guilty at the same time.  Can you believe that???  Guilty???  What on earth for, you must wonder.  Because I had a boyfriend then whom I honestly didn't love but whom I'd pledged myself to (and ended up marrying and eventually divorcing some 15 years later).  Yes, believe it.

I had no business being attractive to others.  I must have believed that on some level.  Actually, I'm certain I did.  During the field trip, a guy came over to me and declared that he was totally attracted to me and wanted me to be his girlfriend.  The 'worst' part was that he was someone I'd noticed at lectures and was soooooooo attracted to as well.  He was good looking alright.  Terribly good looking - Italian and English features and gorgeous skin.  I'd naturally thought to myself that with his looks, he'd never give me a second look.  (Besides, I was this sky, awkward girl who never showed or spoke her true feelings).

For goodness sake, it wasn't as if I was ugly.  Quite the contrary.  People would often pass me compliments from which I would recoil with embarrassment and guilt.,  Yes, the guilt was always there. 

So, I never reciprocated his interest in me although god knows how badly I wanted to.  My life would have certainly turned out differently had I.  I can't say if it would have been better or worse but it would have been different.

Nothing like a bit of reminiscing on a rainy day, is there? :)

PS  In case you're wondering (I very much doubt you are but I thought I'd explain anyway), I often find the title for my post after I've written the post :)

An abstract need

I'm starting this with no idea where I'm going.  No idea where I'm beginning either except that it's here.  Perhaps you could say it's a stream of consciousness thing, but I'd hesitate to call it that, not entirely at any rate.

I'm listening to this powerful piece of music as I write this. It's Joss Stone allowing Jeff Beck to accompany her on There's no other Me. Has that girl got a voice!  The bass guitar is something awesome too.  Yeah, powerful, searing stuff.  No., not the bass but the whole composition.  I've only recently (in the last couple of years) discovered Jeff Beck and I love his style.  He can come play at my party any time :)

But really, before thinking to tell you about the music I was listening to, I wanted to tell you about this simply soft, lush canopy of green that's spread wide across my view from the window where I'm sitting and typing this.  It's the time of early evening, not long before six, when the sky is turning that dusky blue and there's just enough light to show you how green the leaves on the sprawling branches of this tree (whose name I still do not know nor seriously care to know) can be.

So you might ask why might any of this be noteworthy.  Why, furthermore, would I want to share it with you?  Well, for one thing, this is probably the most enchanting time of the day for me.  For another, the green is just so rich and fertile and promising and beguiling.  I don't know why, it just is to me.  And I am filled with this deep sense of beauty and enchantment, as if I were in a world of magic and nothing matters at all.

By the time you read this, the feelings will probably have left me and in all honesty, I rather doubt that you could even begin to get a taste of what I'm on about as I don't think I've been able to express or describe anything terribly well.  But, for some reason, I have a desire to share this and hope, in some vague way, that it might remind you of beautiful, tender moments of being lost in some kind of magic.

I've been reading a book by Neale Donald Walsh called 'Happier than God  I recommend it if you want to understand how things work and how you can be happy.  So simply put although there are profound truths which may require you to pause and read them over and reflect on them.

I went to visit my friend, L, today.  She's going to New Zealand for a holiday tomorrow, for seventeen days.  I helped her get her things together in her suitcase and carry-on bag.  She didn't really need my help.  It was more the reassurance of my being with her before she left that I think mattered.

We exchanged gifts, neither of us knowing that we were going to.  I'd got her a  sea-blue scarf with silver threads through it and a blue, glass-like bracelet to go with it.  I wanted her to have something from me on her trip.  She loved them at once.  And then, she presented me with a couple of gifts - a scarf she'd knitted ages ago and had forgotten about (actually there were four of them) and a desk lamp that I'd been eying to use by my laptop instead of the overhead l light that I currently use.  Of course I was thrilled with both.

I treasure my time with L. She's a cool cucumber. Sharp as a tack and ripe with life.

So, I took the bus home.  Two buses actually.  I no longer have a car.  It needed new brakes and it was going to cost more than I could afford and I was becoming less and less enthusiastic about using a car.  So, finally, I got the wreckers to come and collect her.  It took me several months to come to that decision.  Interesting how the inevitable plays itself out...

Gosh, I don't suppose I've said anything of much substance here.  Nothing for you to chew on, to ponder, to pick a bone with.  But it's satisfied a need in me, an abstract sort of a need.  Have you had any 'abstract' needs of late?  Care to share them?  Or at least, to share how you satisfied them?  I'm all ears. I mean, all eyes :)

If only I knew

I wonder.  Did you ever feel you knew exactly what you were meant to 'do' in this life? 

I've heard and read about people, mainly famous people, who seemed to know from a very early age what they were meant to do with their lives and got to it without wasting too much time.  Sure, there are cases where they may have encountered road blocks and were forced to make detours but that did not change the fact that they seemed to know just what they were meant to do.

I wonder if you also might have known?  I don't think I ever did.  Truth be told, I still don't think I do.  Which strikes me as rather unfortunate.  Why?  Because I feel I could have got on to it sooner and spent more of my life doing what I was meant to do rather than wondering about it.

Of course, all this presumes a number of things.  For instance, it presumes that we each have a certain 'thing' that we are predestined to do and/or be.  It could also imply that the time that we're not doing whatever it is we're meant to be doing is time wasted.  Those seem to be the most obvious implications of my line of questioning, neither of which I believe to be true.  At least, not completely.

I mean, the notion of something predestined seems to suggest that we really have no say in the matter.  I believe we always have a say in the matter.  If that weren't true, well then, we'd all be doing exactly what we're predestined to do, wouldn't we? 

I suppose you could argue that we are doing whatever it is we're predestined to be doing including all the things that we think (or I think) are not as clearly and conveniently defined as say, being a famous rock musician or a spiritual luminary or a brilliant actor or an exceptional scientist or philosopher. 

If so, I have two questions:

1.  Why isn't it as clearly defined?
2.  Why is there a sense of not feeling and knowing that 'this is it'?

As for the 'time-wasting' proposition, well, I don't really believe that anything is ever wasted although I do believe that many benefits in life often go unrecognized. 

So, do you have any thoughts on this?  I'd be most interested to know.  You see, I'd really like to know that I was getting to where I want to be, if only I knew where/what that was!