The Art of Ennui

en·nui   [ahn-wee, ahn-wee; Fr. ahn-nwee] noun
a feeling of utter weariness and discontent resulting from satiety or lack of interest; boredom: The endless lecture produced an unbearable ennui.
Origin:
1660–70;  < French:  boredom; Old French enui  displeasure; see annoy

Synonyms
listlessness, tedium, lassitude, languor.

I think at times that I have perfected the art of ennui. I have it again. I’ve just finished the last paper, in the last class for my second master’s degree. This one in Human Development, so now what? I’ve always believed in the beauty of relationship. It is what drives us, fulfills us and does, as simple as it sounds, make life worth living. That wonderful sense of sharing who we are with someone who cares. Someone who gets us.

This is what I now have space for, have almost given up on, which is in part, the substance of my ennui. Waiting for a chance to live life in relationship. Even when I was married, my ex toured the states and the world, literally. I closed on our home, alone, Steve was in Italy. I moved in, alone, with my then two children.

There’s a wonderful movie called A Simple Twist of Fate with Steve Martin in which he asks his daughter if she is experiencing ennui and then he engages her in a way in which her ennui dissolves, in the relationship, in the moment, in the magic. I’m longing for a moment like this today.

I’m both excited for finishing this program, and sensing such a sense of emptiness. If I fill up with achievement, then what? I’ve achieved enough. I know this. I’ve searched for the secrets of the universe, and guess what? For anyone who cares to know, I think I have most of it figured out. But this love/relationship thing, outside of my family, eludes me.

I’ve bought new music, Beth Orton and Dusty Springfield, music to ennui by. Waiting for the universe to step up and surprise me. Make ennui a thing of the past, or just little pieces of it, here and there to be a counterpoint to joy.