Forced Reflection

Wednesday sundown to Thursday sundown was Yom Kippur, which means only one thing: Fasting. Okay -- it means two things: Fasting and long religious services.

Yom Kippur is the only holiday for which I truly feel anything spiritual -- and it has nothing to do with the themes of the day of repentance and forgiveness and the whole 'sealed in the book of life' whatnot. In fact, my feelings come nothing from religion. (For my mother, the end of Yom Kippur is the only service the entire year she feels anything for. I did not ask her reasoning, but we discussed why she no longer feels for the beginning -- which is, incidentally, the same reason for which I DO feel for the beginning...but that's for a post later in the week when I am still thinking about it and itching to write...you've been warned.)

What Yom Kippur does for me it does because it forces me to reflect. I mean, what else is there to do? I'm standing for what feels like 75% of the time, in a room that's always too warm, wearing four layers, usually (undershirt, collared shirt, blazer, talis), with prayers that are either chanted by the clergymen or prayers that are chanted as a congregation which I do not actually believe in and therefore drift in and out of actual participation. For one day in the year, it is merely me and my thoughts...scary.

When battling depression, nothing scared me more than my own thoughts. (I've gotten over that fear, fortunately, but it still turns out that I'm better off when I'm not thinking too much.)

When standing among the congregation, being read to about my fate and faith -- neither of which I'm sure of -- my mind wanders to dreams I've had -- past and present. I think of relationships -- romantic and otherwise -- past and present; of the friends I no longer see and the ones I hope to spend more time with. I think of the music chanted around me -- a sensibility and sound that has undoubtedly shaped the music I make. I think of the music I have made, sometimes finding myself humming a piece of my own whose emotional context is too powerful to speak of and hopefully comes through in its execution.

But most of all, I think of my problems.

It's a day about the sins of the year past, and while some find it important to apologize to those around them and all of those whom they've wronged, I find myself having issue most of all apologizing to myself. My self-deprecation and lack of self esteem has forced me into being the stereotypical self-hating Jew, the struggling musician whose art is never good enough for himself -- let alone the world around him, the bitterly single curmudgeon with no confidence to pursue the girl of his dreams and the standards too high let himself wake up from his dream-world to find the perfect girl inside reality, the man who feels guilt every time he pulls out his credit card to treat himself to a nice meal, new clothing, or even entertainment -- the only known medicine to an ailing soul.

I owe myself an apology (or therapy), and I'm too stereotypical of the stubborn man to break down and give it, even though I know I'd accept the apology willingly.

The physical effects of Yom Kippur -- this damn hunger headache -- will undoubtedly be gone by the time I wake up in the morning (hell, it's subsided to a bearable point already), but the mental ones may take a few days.

And to think: this is the one holiday I actually care about...