There is a sense of purpose that my life has been lacking, the ability to find a desirable goal and focus on the achievement. In my 35 years, I have come to the conclusion that we spend the first 18 – 25 years with goals preset, everything from going to school to riding a bike, but after, the goals change to things like getting married and buying a house and having a family. There are nothing wrong with these goals, but…
These are not my goals. My child is amazing, and he is always top priority, but if he is my whole and only focus, well, that won’t help either one of us in the long run. Getting married is inconsequential to me. Even if I met someone who could see past all my crazy and love me, someone I found both desirable and stimulating, marriage has never been on my list. And honestly, a relationship will only complicate my life.
Sometimes, I pick a random place in the United States and look up rental homes. It’s not that I actually want to move anywhere, but there is just something so enticing about the idea of starting fresh. But that’s not a real thing, is it? You can uproot your life, move your stuff or even buy new things, but you always take you when you leave. Kind of unavoidable. And as refreshing as it sounds to pick up and leave, I’ve done this. I’ve done this many times, and nothing really changes. Every city has a library, every city has sidewalks and a diner and a coffee shop. Every city has a bar that I frequent, and faces at the local haunts that I get to know on an acquaintance basis.
And for a good six months or so, I’m in love with the change. And then the sameness sets in, the realization that I’m still just sort of floating, trying to find purpose, trying not to waste this time before it’s gone. And then the depression sets in.
I’ve thought about leaving this city so many times. Thought about going back to school, opening a coffee shop, applying to grad school. And there is always something that holds me back. I don’t know if it’s the fear of failure and the immense consequences it would have on not only my life, but my son’s life. Maybe it’s thinking about all the work that goes into making a huge change, and the overwhelming sensation that overtakes me when I contemplate big life changes, the anxiety. Ugh, the anxiety. Or maybe it’s the fear that even if I make a huge change, I’m still going to feel exactly the same as I do now, but possibly without the support system and no money. How do I leave a job where I get to listen to my punk rock, where I work with some amazing people who have become great friends, a job I’ve worked at making better and becoming better at doing, for a maybe? Am I in love with shipping out packages, placing orders, or calling FedEx? No. But I enjoy it. And it’s certainly a whole hell of a lot better than going door to door asking people for money for wind power. WORST JOB EVER. I was dropped off in random wealthy neighborhoods by Detroit where I went door to door and had to make a certain amount of money, or I was fired. I lasted two weeks before I was fired. Once, I was followed by a hoodied gentleman who was super creepy, and when I tried to tell the next house I went to some creepy douche was following they wouldn’t listen. So I got on the phone with a friend and didn’t solicit for wind power anymore than day.Wow, digression.
I had forgotten. It’s been years since using writing to work out what’s going on inside my head, to work through feelings of self doubt and insecurity and sadness. THIS is my new goal. Writing. Writing as much as possible. Writing everything. Poetry, fiction, personal blogs. Writing about music I love, movies, and books. And I wonder, how was I making it through the last six or so years? Is this recent conviction to write the reason behind these ups and downs I’ve been going through? Or are these ups and downs finally happening because I’m dealing with what’s going on in my head a little more instead of trying to avoid it?
I love this city. It’s by the water which is a must for me. It’s filled with charm and amazing local eateries and breweries. It’s filled with friends. I am happy sometimes. There can’t be happy without a comparison; I am sad sometimes, and that’s okay. It makes all those feelings of happy more potent. I think I’m always going to romanticize the nomadic lifestyle, but by no means do I think it will make my life better or give it a sense of purpose.
This is my sense of purpose.