Spurred on by that sensation in the gut, that persistent twist of the stomach muscles, real or imagined, that lead to an inevitable sense of sheer uncertainty. It is that feeling that courses through the body when the mind is aware that drastic change, for better or worse, is coming. It is that numbing anxiousness that took over every time I made a big sale, every time I lost a job, every time I cut ties with another person for good, every time I made a decision that led to either paramount success or a colossal blunder. Those butterflies, those sinister butterflies that take over for hours, days, weeks at a time.
The difference, however, is being virtually clueless as to why they’re there.
For the first time in my life, I can stand and proclaim with absolute certainty that I’m happy about the direction my life is taking; it’s not exactly the pipe dream that our young selves undoubtedly envision, but being financially stable and having a myriad of things to your name certainly seems like a much greater accomplishment once thrusted into the real world. In short, I’m proud of my life following a relatively successful generic path.
And yet, it seems like the subconscious disagrees. A quick rundown of the goings-on in my life reveal nothing seriously out of whack, and a sense of real stability. Degree? Check. House? Check. Car? Check. Friends? Check. Successful long-term relationship? Check and check. So what is it, exactly, wrong of the above?
Perhaps it is that stability that lends itself to dissatisfaction. We as human beings are capable of being the lowest of scum or achieving the highest grandeur; we as individuals can change the world in ways ranging from diabolical to saintly by simply applying ourselves. Is it possible that the psyche is simply frustrated at its own unapplied potential? That this anxiety is meant to spur on spontaneity? I guess if I were to take the heinously self-absorbed route, it’s possible that I’m simply frustrated that I haven’t achieved those far-off childhood dreams of easy success and quiet grandeur; that I am, in fact, a tragic figure, a victim of his own pride and laziness.
More realistically, this uncertainty is a sign that life has slowed down, and after working towards an end my entire life, having all that I really need at this point in time has led to a sudden lull; wake up, go to work, come home, relax with the girlfriend, pay the bills. It’s a life I’m really, truthfully not used to, and the part of me that’s used to precious few hours of free time is suddenly stunned and confused, as if I’m wasting time when I can be working towards a greater end.
Call it a crisis?
My apologies to the dozen or so of you that will read this and expect a conclusion, but this entry reads simply as a public soul searching; I can only imagine some of you can relate. I tell myself I’m happy, but it’s clear that change needs to be made. I’m not sure how, and to be frank it may never happen, but acknowledgment is the first step to reconciliation. Something needs to be built or something needs to be torn down…just give me time to figure out what, exactly, that something is or will be.