I’m on the cusp of another existentialist crisis. And that means depression.
It’s not because it’s a Thursday. It’s not because I’ve had a bad weekend. And no, it’s not because something “happened” to me. It is instigated by something, but I don’t want to talk about that.
I don’t think I’ll ever resolve the conflict that is the question as to the purpose of my life – do I live a balance one? do I strive to be the best I can? do I push to attain my full potential? do I languish in anonymity and mediocrity? do I find satisfaction in being? or is there happiness in living? where does love fit into all this? and if that doesn’t exist, what about relationships? and on and on it goes…
It occurred to me (and not for the first time) the other day that in my brief existence, I have, in a sense, always got what I needed, and perhaps even deserved (although that is a complicated and sticky concept). And in many ways, in the times that I did not get what I thought I wanted/needed, it has frequently turned out, in hindsight, to be for the better. Yes, I am saying that God/the forces that be/an angel up there loves me and is watching over my best interests… However, I still can’t help but feel shortchanged.
The last three years have been some of the most trying times of my life. They have been years lost in the wilderness, with scant progress, at least not in the normal sense of the word, in any area of my life. In fact, if anything, there has been regression.
I started off wanting so much, carrying with me modest ambitions, conditioned by social expectations and history. I thought of a flowering relationship; an interesting, fulfilling and progressive career; and a dynamic exciting life in a leading developing country. Alas… alas… God, the forces that be, the angel up there, they all thought otherwise. So much of what I had wanted, I have not got, despite trying again and again.
The last three years have been characterised by stagnation, stasis and monotony. Nothing much has happened. Not much has been gained. Progress and growth are foreign words in a foreign land.
Instead of change and movement, the years have been spent consolidating, learning patience, and suffering quietly. Perhaps as in other periods of my life, the lessons learnt now will be required of me in a future phase, warped as it may sound. But one has to look for hope in the tiniest of cracks when everything else is so dark. And this, after all, is optimism…
Perhaps there is a point to all this. Perhaps it has all been intended. Perhaps God, the forces that be, the angel up there know what they’re doing. Perhaps years later, I will look back in hindsight and realise (decide?) that is was all for the best