Disclaimer: This is me thinking out loud, and may serve no purpose other than to clear my head. #KthxBye.
These thoughts have been going on for two weeks. I’m sitting at my desk, with lots of not-so-random thoughts drifting by. I was once asked what a writer is. I said you’re a writer as long as you write. Which makes me sad because I see myself as a writer before all else, and I haven’t written in months. Does that mean I’ve lost myself somehow?
In some ways, it feels like I have. I’ve sunk into the drudgery of everyday life. Wake up. Prepare the baby for school. Go to the office. Come back home. Check homework. Prepare the baby for bed. Sleep. Repeat. It’s like there’s no soul in my life anymore, like I’m drowning in the mundane.
I’ve often said I envy people who don’t think. Because what I’ve just described is everybody’s life. The difference is … not everybody considers it a national disaster. To most people, this is just life. But to the overthinkers among us, the ordinariness of existence is something to … well … THINK about. Because for us, life should be anything but ordinary. It should be full and vibrant and meaningful. It should have a purpose that is higher, broader, and deeper than commutes and sex and chores.
I’m thinking about this now because in the past few months, I’ve thrown myself into a project that brought me large amounts of joy, pain, stress, pleasure, and music. I thought it was my way out, my ticket beyond the ordinary life I had slipped into. Now that project is gone, largely because of my *principles* and I’m feeling rather lost.
I’m wondering what the point of these morals is, if they only stop me from doing something profitable. I’m wondering what the past four months were about, and what it was all for. Was it just another round of random ordinariness? And yet, without these morals that are peeving me so badly, I wouldn’t be me, and I wouldn’t have the skills and constitution to do what I did.
That’s what makes it almost a conundrum. I joined the project for the same reason I left it. Vicious circle I suppose. It’s a bit like struggling to get to the top of a mountain, then beating yourself up for having the determination to get there, because now you have to go back down and the whole trip seems pointless.
For most people, this question wouldn’t even come up, because the point of climbing a mountain is to climb a mountain, right? Or to say that you have. At the very least, you climb to enjoy the view. It reminds me of the video for ♫ Free ♫ by Rudimental. In the video, this guys spends several gruelling weeks struggling to the summit of a mountain. Then he straps on a para-wing-gliding thingie and flies down in less than an hour.
Watching that video, I first ask myself what he was smoking, and what would possess me to jump off such a mountain for kicks. Then I ask if he thought it was worth weeks of torture just for one hour of pleasure. The look on his face says it was, at least for him.
There doesn’t need to be some deep philosophcal reason for doing such crazy things, at least not for the average person. He did it because he wanted to do it, and because he could. With my project, I worked on it because I wanted it to succeed. And it did. Now it’s over and everything is crumbling. Trust, belief, friendships … and all because of money.
So I’m asking myself what the point was, why I even bothered. Logically speaking, the project succeeded, so the aftermath shouldn’t matter. The goal was achieved. I suppose the reason I’m upset is we had different ideas of success, different measures of how it should all end. So while some people are perfectly content with the result, I’m disillusioned and really, really sad.
There IS a logical side to my mind. And it’s telling me to stop being overly emotional, to look at things rationally, to stop blowing the situation out of proportion. It’s telling me I expect too much from people, and that I always think the worst of them … descriptors that seems oddly contradictory. Another part of me says the reason I am who I am is that I see people better than they see themselves, which makes me think the best and worst of them often at the exact same time.
Sometimes I think I need to get out of the real world, stop interacting with flesh and blood, and just write stories in my head. Or better yet, write these stories on paper and get paid for them. After all, my characters will never disappoint me. They will always live exactly how I want them to live. Plus, I get to play God, which is always fun. Now there’s an idea.
♫ You found me ♫ The Fray ♫