I woke up last night to a vomiting dog, and then found myself unable to fall back asleep. I was awake in the first hours of the day, Googling things like "life is passing me by." I almost laughed aloud when the first hit that popped up said, "When you're unhappy, you tend to be thinking a lot about life. When your job sucks, you're not engaged. You're listless and googling sh*t, and in general not enjoying what's going on." Nailed it.
After reading some articles on Milk the Pigeon, I tossed around my bed in the dark, attempting to sleep, but distracted by the realization of how scared I am. I am scared by how uninterested I am in my own life. Aside from loving my dog, I am not doing anything I enjoy or am excited about or that gives me a sense of purpose. I'm unfulfilled by my job, but I need it to pay the bills. It consumes most of my time, and I have nothing to show for it. I have no time to devote to creativity or outside interests because I am so exhausted on my days off that I end up sleeping through them.
It's terrifying to realize that you really, truly hate everything about your life, and that you feel powerless to change anything. I feel limited by my own health problems and medical conditions, and so I don't allow myself to dream too big because I don't know how far I can realistically go. I do job searches, but they generally feel futile or meaningless; I am picking a job to have a job, and none of them get me excited or arouse my interests or passions. I would love to work for myself (maybe; I say this, but I'm not sure how I would feel if I was actually doing it), but I don't know where or how to start. I need money for my monthly expenses--dog, supplements, visits to doctors, insurance, student loans, food, car, prescriptions, life--and it seems impossible to be able to start anything entrepreneurial before stopping my current job.
But, even more scary than realizing how uninterested I am in my life is realizing how long it's been since I've been excited about anything. I really think the last time I felt content in my circumstances was about six years ago, when I was still in college. I would literally have moments when I thought to myself how perfect my life was at the time. I was studying a field I was in love with, which fed into my Clifton strength of intellection. I was working for my department which gave me a sense of deeper involvement in our progressive major and closeness to my professors. I was exercising daily and eating well, and I was keeping off the weight that I had lost a few years before then. I was discipling a younger student through weekly Bible studies and mentoring. I was working on an oral history project with the local historical society. My life was full, but everything I was doing felt meaningful and I had a lot of freedom and time to myself. I was so happy with my life back then that it drove me to apply to Ph.D. programs, just so I could maintain that same life forever. But, when the reality hit that I would be moving cross-country to immerse myself in academia, my heart seemed to shrink and I didn't want that life. I basically never wanted to leave the life I was living at my university, and I eventually realized that getting a doctorate at an East Coast school would not simply be a continuation of my college experience. It wasn't so much the academia I was interested in as it was the academic lifestyle.
I wasn't terribly unhappy during the few years following graduation. I worked in a gluten-free market, where I got to talk to people about healthy eating and organize things all day. I experienced a lot of autonomy and time to contemplate, and so I was content. I continued to maintain an active lifestyle and was involved in a local church. I even had a few friends that were still in town and who I saw with regularity. However, life began to shift in 2011. It started with debilitating joint pain that sent me to physical therapy. A rheumatologist couldn't figure it out. Physical therapists couldn't figure it out. My endocrinologist eventually figured out that it was a sensitivity to almonds, which I ate constantly throughout the day in every form you can imagine. I was taking two art classes at the local community college, but outside of that I was mostly watching a lot of T.V. I did start interning that summer as a photojournalist for three local papers, but at the end of summer I broke my leg, and so once again my life became all about physical therapy.
In January of the following year, I began working for the local school district and awaited grad school acceptances. Once I decided to pursue a master's in Women's Studies, I immediately began to have misgivings about the program and whether I really wanted to study that field. I knew I wouldn't be able to recreate college, and I think that's what I was after. Additionally, I didn't feel like I fit in with the program or its students, and so I began to move in the direction of special education. I wasn't necessarily something I felt passionate about, but it gave me a sense of purpose.
I numbly floated through my interdisciplinary graduate program, eventually realizing that I didn't really want to teach special ed. I began to pursue school counseling, until I realized that I didn't want to do that either. I desperately grasped for a sense of purpose, having somewhere lost my sense of passion or even any sense of what my passions might be. I finished graduate school, and was essentially forced into the only job that wanted me, and shortly after that into the only other job that wanted me. And then I eventually found myself in survival mode, no longer even thinking about purpose or passion or my idyllic time in college. I had to turn off any sense of wants or dreams so that I could cope with the reality and limitations of illness, and get through the day-to-day grind of a meaningless job without becoming suicidal.
I try to get through five days of work so I can get to my two days of sleep. I think more about paying my bills than finding purpose. I think about my limitations more than I do my potential. I don't really know what I want anymore, except I know I don't want this. And the things I know that I do want--a cottage by the sea and a vegetable garden and a flock of schnauzers--are unrealistic without a job to finance them. And so I dream of this vague life I want, but don't know how to get there. And even though I feel stuck, I am terrified of getting unstuck because I don't want to get sick. And illness seems to follow me wherever I go.
It seems silly for a person to feel trapped in his or her own life. We think, "Go do something about it!" But the logistics of actually doing something about it are profoundly more complex, generally because they involve money. Do people with a lot of money ever feel stuck? Maybe on an emotional level, but at least they have the means to physically remove themselves from lives they hate. Or, perhaps I'm wrong. I know money doesn't solve problems, but sometimes I think it might in some small way solve some of mine.
The article I read last night told me that I should stop thinking so much and just start doing things. Anything. Create things. Learn things. Keep myself busy. And I think back to my time in college and how busy I was, and perhaps the key to my happiness was that I had so much going on and I was contributing to the world in a way that lined up with my values. And perhaps the longer I've been out of college and the more sick I've become, the less I've been able to do. And as I did less, I began to think more. Exercise and church and seeing other people were no longer important factors in my life. I blame my lack of involvement in anything on fatigue. But is it that? I don't even know anymore.
It seems there are many things I no longer know. I have accepted this as my reality, but I don't want to settle for this. This can't be it. I won't let this be it.
"For most of us, we hit that 'stuck/fu**ed' spot right when we get the first secure job. It pays us good enough so that we don’t worry, we get a good enough apartment, then a good enough spouse, then a good enough marriage. And then life is 'Eh, good enough' for the rest of our lives. F**k good enough."-Alexander Heyne
I know that my circumstances need to change. I just need to figure out what I can realistically do to change them. Please help me, God.
