Some days just weren’t meant to be, it seems. This one has been a big waste, for the most part. Yeah, I’m in a bit of a funk. Who am I? Why am I here? What should I do? You know, all the big questions. And the one answer that keeps getting thrown back in my face is, “Who cares?” You ever feel like this, too?
No doubt, I’m depressed and probably have been for some time. I keep checking my news feed, as if something’s gonna change. Desperately combing the stories for a glimmer of hope, some assurance that there’s still some sanity left in this world and that everything will be okay in the end. But it’s 3 o’clock in the afternoon, and there’s still no sign of that. Rather, my body hurts all over, and my brain is a blur.
Still, chances are, tomorrow will feel a lot more optimistic. It usually does. And especially if I can get a decent night sleep. I’ve found through many years of experience that if I can just make it through another day, despite and against all odds, I’ll have accomplished something. I call it the “last man standing” principle. That is, if you can simply outlast the worst the world has to throw at you, then you win. You’ve lived to fight another day.
One thing that often gets me down is that I still haven’t figured out how to be my true self to anyone outside of my wife and sons. They know all of my secrets. But even my oldest friends, classmates and business associates really only know (and accept) a particular slice of my life. The people I meet nowadays I keep at arm’s length and never discuss politics or religion. Never reveal much at all. Things are so polarized these days—why stick my neck out? And the people I work for have no idea how much different I think nowadays, how I’ve so long ago left their fold, and how much I really can’t stand continuing to put lipstick on their pig.
That’s my sorry dilemma, or conundrum, or failing, or whatever you want to call it. Even my name has been split up, re-ordered, compartmentalized and at one point made plural in order to try to accommodate my many disjointed identities. And so, I’ve given up.
I envy those who can just be themselves, without any apologies, and without any ramifications for thinking and living the way they want to. That’s the way I hope to be someday, once I figure out who I am, why I’m here and what I should do.
For the moment, it feels like I’ve redeemed myself. Because I’m taking it one day at a time.