Wayward Wind

Restlessness

“Oh the wayward wind is a restless wind.

A restless wind that yearns to wander.

And I was born the next of kin,

the next of kin to the wayward wind.”

Herb Newman and Stan Lebowsky

Do you remember this old song? It was first recorded in 1961 by Patsy Cline. I remember hearing its mournful lyrics as a child. I woke up this morning with it playing in my head. I know what it's all about, too. I have a strong hankering to get in my car and take off for a while; I feel that unmistakable wind that says I need a change of scenery. I know it's coming when I start feeling stale, when the things that usually energize me don't cut the mustard any more. I do, in fact, get restless. Usually, I interpret it to mean it is time to leave the backward-looking state of Alabama and head north where the air feels freer and easier to breathe for a left-leaning centrist like me. Now, it seems, there's no place to go.

Thomas E. Edison said, “Restlessness is discontent and discontent is the first necessity of progress.” Carl Jung would agree; he would call that restlessness a 'signal-fire', warning that change is stirring in one's psyche; that something important is making its way up to consciousness. Such movement always feels like a trickster whirlwind, tossing things about that were once neatly categorized and cubby-holed. It feels like something you know well that is just out of reach; something remembered that can't be fully retrieved. It's maddening. I wonder whether you ever have this feeling—this itch that can't be scratched?

So, what is the solution? Movement. Get busy; go into the basement, or the backyard, or wherever you go to stoke your fire, and become your own whirlwind; move in tune with the movement that is within. Dance around the signal-fire like a wild wolf until your restlessness is spent and the irretrievable object is firmly in hand. It will reveal itself. It wants to reveal itself. It just likes to see you dance and say “pretty please”.

In the spirit,

Jane