I haven’t been writing much lately; not here; not in either of the journals I keep; not in the depression management workbook I committed myself to working with every day. Largely I think this is because I feel irrelevant, small and often hopeless.
It’s true not all days are bad or even have a bad component, but despite my best efforts at concentrating on what I have (good friends, a nice place to live, people in my life who love and care about what happens to me) instead of what I don’t (a job, reasonable certainty of seeing 40 (though time will fix this one no matter how much I worry over it)), my brain chemistry betrays me and I reach a certain point in the cycle where I’m just blue, down, and I don’t see any way out.
This brain chemistry problem combined with the events of the past year – my uncle’s untimely death at 59 of fairly rare brain tumor (the second such in our family), my own continuing health problems, lack of job security, and other things – isn’t my only problem, though: I find myself without clarity about my place and purpose in the world. It’s not just, as pundits and politicians are fond of saying, that the center won’t hold but more that I’m not sure there even is a center any more (assuming there was one to begin with and it’s not just another cultural myth like American pioneer spirit and creativity).
I find myself on the high side of 35 but still not yet 40 wondering what the point to all of this is. American culture is geared toward and ultimately does nothing but service the young (24 and under). Clothes, music, movies, all of these cultural artifacts are designed to suck dollars out of the pockets of a populace with a seemingly ever increasing disposable income. And yet, teenagers are hostile, loud, obnoxious and arrogant. They strut about with virtually no responsibilities except go to school and do homework shouldering an attitude that says “I deserve…” when they have no life experience and have done nothing to earn anything they have.
Our news media seem to exist to help the government keep us in a state of fear with a constant stream of stories about terrorism, avian flu, and even e-coli in the spinach, not to mention all the problems that Bill Gates and Warren Buffett seem to be trying to solve by emulating the robber barons of the 19th century (quick note guys: being a bastard in business and then giving away your cash to charity shouldn’t make a difference in the after life).
Even more, though, popular culture, the culture of the news stand magazines that all seem to give the same message (“you are not good enough”), is put into perspective by real human sadness, the kind where perfectly decent people are minding their own business driving home and get t-boned by a drunk who shouldn’t have been behind the wheel in the first place.
Why should I waste my time wondering what Brad and Angelina are up to, or if Tom and Katie’s baby is an alien? Why am I to care of Nicole Richie has a weight problem or Britney’s knocked up again? Will these people distract me from my problems when there’s nothing for them but waiting? Will they hug me when I’m sad? Celebrate with me when I’m happy? Be glad for me when something goes right in my life? Celebrity culture takes and takes and takes and, ultimately, gives nothing back. So why waste the time and energy on it?
So if I find the global news too depressing to follow and celebrity culture hollow and pointless, how do I maintain a connection to the world? To my society? To life in general? Am I required to have some driving ambition, something that serves as my own personal engine to motivate me to keep putting one foot in front of the other or is it enough to just be; to make friends and take care of them in the best way that I can; to let those I love go to sleep each night knowing that if they did nothing else they at least touched one other person’s life and made it better? Is it enough to regard my fellow human beings, the ones whose company I must suffer on the street, in restaurants and on public transport, with benign amusement acknowledging that they are simply entertaining monkeys in pants or do I have to care about what happens to them too?
Or is it simply a matter of examining my life and determining what is absolutely not negotiable, on what points I will never yield, the things or people for whom I would kill, and more importantly, die for, and letting everything else go?
The last of those options seems to be the best. Hold on tight to what matters to you and chuck the rest….being that most of it (pop culture) is incredibly dull and herd minded you won’t be missing much.
Lots of hard questions. It’s hard to feel unsure of your place and purpose. I don’t know about the purpose of life (yours, mine, or anyone else’s). There may not be any grand, overriding purpose except for each of us to find what fulfills us. But I think our place in the world can come in large part from connection to the people we care about, the people whose lives we touch and who touch us … family and friends. They are the ones who matter … the ones who are there for us … the ones who love us … and vice versa. It’s the way I stay connected to my society … through the real people who are a part of my life. I don’t think it’s necessary to have any great ambition or try to care about every single person who passes by you on this planet. I think it’s enough to just be. To live your life, caring about those people who matter to you, finding those things that fulfill you, and knowing what is and is not important to you. Some people care about books and music, and that’s what their lives center on. Some people care about world politics or the intricate workings of the internal combustion engine, and their lives reflect that. We all have our own paths, and one is not necessarily better than another. They all have their place in the world.