When Nothing Calls
“Pick one,” he said.
“Not that one…not that one…nah…no … not that one…”
“Come on, just pick one!”
“I can’t pick one!! Nothing calls to me!”
And there it was. That part in the Saturday when husband and wife can’t decide on their umpteenth flick during a global pandemic crisis. You’re one second short of having a pretty decent afternoon and the scroll bar of your life turns into a self-sabotage drama about EVERYTHING. Everything he’s done wrong in the past week (no, year); all the things you’ve done wrong; all the friends you thought were friends but turns out aren’t; all the things you should have done BEFORE #covid (no, before you married him!) and how maybe you probably should’ve immigrated when you had half the chance back in 1994 — when you were 15.
Somehow, six months and God knows how many days later, we find ourselves spooling through the white noise of our own Coronacoasters, hoping to catch something that’ll plug the hole — but nothing calls to us. This strange sense of void and dissatisfaction that leaves us empty, and leads to irrational debate most of the time.
We can’t seem to shake this itchiness of the soul; this craving for something, anything — but what? Sometimes I convince myself that it must be human connection I’m craving. But then, that thought quickly evaporates and I realise it’s a chocolate brownie I’m craving. After I scoff the chocolate brownie, all 480 calories in tow, I realise it’s not the brownie at all — it’s a bubble bath I need — no, not a bubble bath — a new pair of shoes — not the shoes either but actually it’s Netflix ™. No it’s not Netflix ™ it’s a burger. That’s it! A double patty, char grilled badass beef burger (with fries and extra cheese sauce please). 5 bites in and nope — not even close. Nothing calls.
What is this undone feeling? I didn’t see it explained in the ‘7 Stages of Grieving’ I was meant to read midway through lockdown. And I certainly didn’t find it amongst the online rabbit hole of “Simple and Perfect Banana Bread” recipes I searched for.
Because here’s the rub. We’ve been living The Satisfactionless Life way way way before Covid. Way before masks. Way before Netflix ™. This was “normal” for us — and now we can’t scratch it because we can’t find it because — truth bomb — the rash is etched inside us.
As a human species of the 21st Century, our default is gratification. Instant Gratification. And now, its’ not enough. Nothing’s enough. A million search options and nothing calls. ‘500 ways to store stuff in your garage’ and nothing calls. Hundreds of movies and recipes and webinars and short courses and long courses and free courses — and still, nothing calls.
Because the simple truth is, the craving is the crisis. It’s this strange undone search for the opposite of everything we shaped our lives on, our senses on, our dreams on. The search is for something more. Something we don’t have to pick, scratch or plug. Something that fully satisfies — like a deep belly breath. Something expansive, gentle, giant that satiates as it settles; something that sounds like the crackles of a fire against the broken midnight of our souls.
And when you’re finally done with the remote, and you’ve walked away in a huff, and you’re standing at the shelves of your open fridge again, just staring, and staring some more — you realise it’s not so much a fullness we’re chasing anymore.
It’s a wholeness. And it calls.
