Remake my crummy life

I need to retool this goal, or at least explain it better. Everything I’ve done on 43things.com so far – everything I plan to do – is part of a larger effort to “remake my crummy life.”

So, you ask, why did I feel it necessary to include this very unspecific goal in my list of very specific things I hope to accomplish in the weeks and months ahead? Brace yourselves.

If I recall correctly I was (GASP!!!) depressed and down on me when I wrote it, my sole motive being to confess – out loud – how much I felt like a failure in that precise moment. I’m having those same feelings now. (Do you sense a pattern here?)

Why I should want to make such a public confession to an anoymous body of strangers in the first place says a LOT about me, I think. What does it say? I want your pity. I want you to focus your attention on me and say, “There, there, now, things will get better,” or soothing words to that effect.

Of course, you don’t know things are going to better anymore than I do. Things might get better; it’s equally possible they might not. No matter how much I want it, no matter how hard I try, no matter how many people are pulling for me, my life may always be, on some level, crummy.

My daughter may not improve enough to leave the hospital; I may never get another job in journalism again, or, in fact, any other reasonably well paying, satisfying job; my son may remain “lost,” a kid groping for direction while simultaneously partying himself into a stupor with his equally lost chums.

This is my life. My crummy life.

The key to happiness, according to the Buddha, is to give up on being attached to particular outcomes, to sublimate the Ego, or tame it, so it no longer strives for specific results but sees the beauty of life just as it is. I understand the theory, but do I feel it? No. I could meditate for months on end, and I doubt I’d ever feel it.

I read some lines on an old theater building the other day, above the Doric coulmns that adorn the entrance. The words are those of the theater’s namesake, a famous 18th century preacher, Horace Bushnell: “Power moves in the direction of hope.” The words touched me. I wish I had belief in something outside myself, or the self reliance, to feel hope. That virtue has always has been hard for me to muster.

If ol’ Horace Bushnell were here now, I’d have a question for him, a real puzzler. What is it that moves in the direction of self pity? It’s not good, to be sure. Something akin to angst, the bane of all self-disrepsecting existentialists like me.

I hate feeling this way – stuck, alone and hopeless. And I hate myself for my inability to feel anything else.

I’m so tired of it, but it’s almost 3 a.m. and I can’t sleep. 6 years ago

The idea of starting over has universal appeal. But how does one actually go about it? Can one, truly, start over – especially after having lived nearly half-a-century? As I approach my 49th birthday on May 22 these questions are rattling about in my feeble brain, keeping me up late into the night.

More questions: Do I start over with the pieces left from my “old” life, or is it best to find new pieces, to build an entirely new machine from the ground up?

I suppose I should explain. My ex-wife (I was married to her for almost 22 years and have known her for 26!) announced last week she’s leaving the area, perhaps for good. We’ve been divorced just over a year, though we have an amicable relationship and see each other fairly often.

On some level, I fear I will love her always, though I’ve tried like hell to drive those feelings from my brain. I’ve been bluer than blue since she announced her plans.

I want to keep her in my life in some way, but if she’s thousands of miles away is that really possible? I suspect not. At least not in the way she is in my life now. She’s helped me through some difficult times recently. And she’s really the only person in the world that truly knows me. I’m not sure I want anyone else getting that close.

I’ve tried dating again, but I feel awkward, out of place. Should I tell her how I feel; should I try to keep her around, or just let her go? Either way, it’s risky. The pain and rejection I felt when she left the first time four years ago have come roaring back.

She’s confessed to having feelings for me (She’s even used the “L” word!) but in light of all the problems we’ve had with our daughter’s mental illness (she’s bipolar) my ex-wife says she needs time away to sort things out.

I’m trying to understand her feelings, but right now I feel as though she’s running away from the family – from me – for the second time. A part of me wants to be angry with her, but I can’t. These last few years have been Hellish for the both of us. A confession: Occasionally – with a little help from the Maker’s Mark bourbon – I “get away” without phyically getting away from those who still need me—my daughter, my son and my elderly mom, whose health is deteriorating.

Reading over this post, I realize how very sad and confused I am. And how alone. 6 years ago

I had an epiphany recently, one I’m not proud of: I really like my crummy life, which is why I’ve done precious little to change it in the last five years. Confused? Let me explain. I’ve been telling myself for so long that I want to make things better, but as far as actually doing anything about it, well, I haven’t followed through.

I could blame my failure on simple apathy, or depression, but I think it’s actually more complicated than that. On one level, I like being the object of everyone’s sympathy. People are generally nicer to those that are suffering. And, frankly, being stuck is so much easier, i.e. safer, than changing: You avoid the potential for making yet another wrong turn, resulting in even more anguish.

Well, no more, for me. Everyone I know (the “ex” in particular) is moving on. It’s long past time that I did likewise.

My involvement with 43things.com is a step in the right direction, but the thought has occurred to me that I need to take bolder action if I’m truly going to remake my life. I need to surprise myself, do something out of character, perhaps. Socialize more. Be less uptight. Go with the flow. In short, be more of the person I used to be, before the shit hit the fan.

I’ll write more aboaut this down the road, after I’ve thought it through more. 6 years ago