Some days I can't help but feel that I'm an embodied existential crisis nestled within a much bigger, international existential crisis. Those who know me well know that I'm a bit of a drama queen, so I guess it makes sense that I occasionally wonder -- did I hope for this? At some level have I wished that the rest of the world might struggle alongside me? Well, maybe not quite (I do like to think of myself as a kind person who wishes the best for others). However, the world-wide COVID-19 situation does seem, figuratively at least, a little like my own internal mess writ large: An overwhelming calamity of confidence fueled by the notion that I haven't got a single thing figured out.
You may (or may not) have noticed that I disappeared from the blogosphere for a while. It's like I've been tapped out, stalled. Eight months after I started The Significance Project, and I'm still here, wondering how to find meaning, purpose, and an internal sense of importance in my life. Sometimes this feels a lot like despair, and I can only describe it with the guttural sound: ARRRRRRGH.
As an example of where I'm at, I've reached a point where it would be prudent for me to return to work. After all, I'm not keen on cashing in my retirement savings to pay for my kids' swimming lessons. I've been trolling the job sites, applying for stuff here and there, wondering if I'm really qualified to do what I'm applying for. There's not much out there that I'm really jazzed about, which, predictably, has led to limited success in the interview department.
I feel disappointed that I don't yet have more clarity about how to spend my professional time. I don't know what I expected -- maybe the sky to open up with a life-changing revelation? Maybe a subtle hint from the career gods? Maybe a call from a head hunter with a six-figure offer that would allow me to work from home and walk my dog whenever I want?
I'm sure that part of this has to do with the fact that I have nothing to hang my identity hat on. It felt good, in the past, to say I was a scholar, an academic, a professor, a teacher. Now, when asked what I do for a living, I tentatively reply... well, I walk my dog.
So, while I've done lots of reading and thinking over the past six weeks I have put off writing -- and ultimately delayed my engagement with my own self-study project. Today, I finally realized that enough is enough, that I must get back on the proverbial horse. And instead of sitting at my kitchen table trying to write while stealing furtive glances at the beautiful outdoors, I came here:
That's right, this post was written old-school, with a pen and a notebook, while sitting with my toes in the sand (cue Zac Brown Band song). There's a surprising number of aging hipsters down here at the beach, and it looks like they might be doing soul-searching stuff just like me. It's strangely comforting. Perhaps there are other people who are undergoing an existential crisis within an existential crisis. Perhaps more people than I thought are just trying to muddle through.
Anyway, as I look out at the ocean vista I remember that this is what it was all about in the first place. I remember that this version of nature, right outside my back door, slows me down and grounds me. When I look out at the ocean, this moment is all there is. Ultimately, I need to hold on to that feeling, to bring it along as my constant companion. Of course, this doesn't solve my career woes, but it does help me to feel that my center of gravity is back where it should be.
I have reached a point where I need to take stock and make some decisions. I am determined that there will be forward movement here; this will not be a stalemate. I will look back on everything I've posted throughout the project, I will look for themes, I'll search for clues that I may have missed earlier. Maybe I'll even join the aging hipsters for a game of hackey sack. Or maybe not. :)
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