I am in a dark place.
I’ve been focused on other people, not myself. Lest this sound selfless, fear not — it’s a compulsive habit more than thoughtfulness. And now that I have a few moments of time to myself, I’m evaluating my life and don’t love what I see.
I’ve lost my sense of purpose. Work, i.e. staring at a screen and telling other people what they’re doing wrong, isn’t fulfilling like it once was, perhaps because it goes against the impulse of what I know I need less of in my life: certainty. I know, deep down in my bones, my life is a house of cards predicated on the illusion of certainty. People will die, I will age, things will change. The more I resist, the more control I attempt to wrest, the more miserable I will become.
Right now, I feel pretty miserable. I’m not accepting inevitabilities, being terribly honest or gracious or thoughtful. I’m afraid — of what, I don’t quite know — and the fear is shaping me into someone I don’t want to be.