I am not deriving satisfaction from life.
Friendships come to me easily. I am approachable, likable, clear in my opinions and statements, and generally affable in my demeanor. I have met a great many amazing strangers as a result, very few of which became anything more. It is the way of this world to bring us together and rend us apart, and it need not be a reason to despair. As for more permanent relationships, they are a difficulty for me. My paranoia of old has been subsiding for some time, and yet trust is not something I shell out to anyone. I seek no one, but they seek me, and every once in a great while I encounter a person or two who are genuine in their approach to life and good to themselves (my theory is goodness to oneself begets goodness to others). These people are human. I believe this is part of the reason we become as enamored as we do with blogs and the online world. In a blog, we believe we are witness to someone’s soul, or true self. We become engaged, perhaps discuss topics not meant to be relayed in small pockets of text. Too personal, too safe, too distant. This is not to say I don’t value the friendships and communication I have with people, because I have met people who mean a great deal to me, but when the safety of distance wears off it is replaced with the most basic of human social needs—physical presence.
The girl I’m talking to doesn’t talk much anymore, and I can only wonder so many times if she’s finally cut me out of her life before I accept the hurt, get angry, harden, and move on. I do not abide casual and have learned from experience that things for me must be certain. I will not be some other man, should that be the case. But I also have found bitterness to be a waste, and do not linger in such a place. I love her, regardless of whether or not we work out or how much I simply desire to fuck her. I want her to see that she is as beautiful, intelligent, and strong as I have always known her to be, notwithstanding the idiosyncrasies and flaws of character that we must all accept. What is most difficult for me to accept in this world is that someone I want (rare as it is) does not want me. It is the way of life. In spite of how foolish, demanding, or plain needy I am, I want the best for her, as I would hope she wants for me. The conclusion I’m leading to here is: be good enough for you.
Work is becoming the same old bore again. I am becoming obstinate, far more than at any previous time in my life. I cannot stand being told what to do as if I am a subordinate, and cannot stand when someone doesn’t do as I state, even if it is in my most instructive or helpful fashion. The upside is that the work is much more manageable and therefore less stressful (a far cry from the time when I nearly descended into dementia). The sole reason to remain in this corporate world is good money. That which binds me also sustains me. It allows me to engage in travel and the luxuries of hobbies such as learning to pilot an aircraft. I do not have debt, as I abhor the feeling of “owing” anything to anyone. So this success keeps me constant and secure, but the work drains me of my desire. “In this economy…”
The uncertain future of someone who writes for a living (as vague a notion as being the President or Rock God) still calls to me. Just when this will happen I do not know, but this path is chosen and I will see it through or die in the effort.
I am volunteering at the humane society. Several years ago, I briefly adopted a lanky German Shepard named Shep. He was a handful at a time when I was barely equipped to handle myself and I felt he was better placed with someone far more adequate. Now, I see the care that goes into simply learning to walk a dog, or groom an elderly cat. I see this joy and sorrow that animals, all of us, experience on a daily basis, and it is far more than I ever expected. Getting out of one’s head is a necessary part of the human experience. For me, it is a relatively new one. I never truly cared for other beings, even in my past relationships and familial duties. I cared for myself. I am still deciding on the balance between the two.
There is no way of knowing what our ancient ancestors must have considered to be satisfaction. Food, shelter, a mate…? all common, and yet all now expanded into a world of endless decisions. Every seemingly simple choice leads to another, and another, and another. I do not fear having to tread paths and would rather stride forward than stagnate, but is this the carrot I should choose to follow?
And then I think, hell, if this was the ancient world I’d be dead by now anyway, and there’d be no questions left to ask nor words to futily pursue.