Are taking the path of least resistance and having life goals, mutually exclusive?
I don’t know if I consider it to be a worry of mine but in my constant attempt to suffocate any of those larger questions, every once in a while I ask “Am I going to regret this all?”
For as long as I can remember, I have always had an inclination to be serious. There exists a part of me that says ‘whatever you do, make it substantial, worthwhile and of importance’ but that is a heavy burden to bear. Alternating between the bright candy lights of teen culture and the heavy handed tradition of whatever societal concerns that I took upon myself to give heed to, I felt overwhelmed. Occasionally.
Occasionally overwhelmed, isn’t that just the human condition? It really is ironic that we’ve been built to feel alone and like this problem is unique to only them when really it’s an all to common symptom. Depressive egomania.
At any rate, all of that sadness with no reprieve was ultimately too heavy and I didn’t want to be the girl who cried about war. Not specific wars, mind you, just the very concept of war in general. I wanted to be in a tampon commercial too.
So just like that (or that’s what my memory is choosing to recall), I was a happy person. I was a happy person because I made my world shallow and frivolous. This didn’t make me Paris Hilton but it did mean that we shopped at the same places.
The easiest demonstration of this is in my musical tastes. I have been known to avoid music where I can hear individual instruments playing because that “makes me feel feelings.” It’s simple really. Any music where it doesn’t sound like a computer has taken Ecstasy is bad.
In recent years though certain shallow pleasures have become less enjoyable. Romantic comedies. It’s a fantasy that you can escape into because you’ve had a taste of that same feeling. Sure the guy doesn’t look like that and he’s not as good with words and all of the actual reality sets in but there’s the seed of fantasy, of romantic hope. For me the fantasy seems almost cruel as time goes by.
With a lack of any diversions, my attention has only one real focus. Myself. How do I dress myself, thinking about what I say, what people think of me and my main focus, work.
I’ve always been a worker bee so when I started my career and had little in the way of a personal life, I really dug into my job. No hours too late, I was really happy to be busy and challenged in the slightest. To avoid a whole “It’s A Wonderful Life” thing, every once in a while, I check and make sure I generally like the track that my life is on. With this comes the equation. If my life is mostly dedicated to work but my love of said work isn’t guaranteed, what percentage of my life and energy are wasted? I do my best to keep busy or entertained, so as to keep that question at bay but ultimately it’s not something that’s going to go away.
Hopefully, with asking these questions I avoid some kind of tragic meltdown. Early detection of fatal ennui, I might say, but there is no guarantee.
For now, I go back to keeping busy. Keeping occupied. Untill the next moment where I question the meaning of my life. At least I know better than to ask what the meaning of everyone’s life is…
As always: lather, rinse, repeat.