It’s ten past midnight Sunday. Tomorrow I’m resuming real life, after a two week hiatus from work and all other obligations. I spent the first part of my holiday visiting my family in Bavaria, hiking, doing yoga, eating too much vegetarian food with my aunt and my cousin. The second part was spent drinking, eating, walking busy streets, granted it involved laughter and meeting interesting people.
Yet it’s midnight on a Sunday, and here I am, with my eyes wide open and my thoughts pacing, in of course, what I could qualify of an anxious state of mind. At least I don’t think I’m dying tonight. All in all, I read the following sentence in an article a few minutes ago, and it made me feel rather nervous. It said: ‘The ability to worry about the future goes hand in hand with the ability to plan for the future – and planning for the future (along with remembering the past) is what gives rise to culture and separates us from other animals.’
That’s where MY problem lays. I stopped planning for the future, a while ago. I can’t exactly recall when or how, but I now have less and less understanding or idea about what it is I want, or what it is I should or will do. I am navigating through my life quite blindly. Sure I’m doing some things I’ve been meaning to do, but here I am, doing them. Now what? I am one of those unfortunate souls that always has the tendency to want more. Sure, I can appreciate what I have, but there comes a moment, when I realise ‘I am still unsatisfied.’ And it is not the longing for love, or stable relationships that would satisfy me, as I have a very strong social circle of people I can count on, it is literally the lack of meaning in my life.
See, for the longest time, I embraced Albert Camus or Jean-Paul Sartre’s philosophy, I navigated life through Sisyphus eyes, with conviction that there was no meaning to it, and that life is what you make out of it. Except, tonight, as I type this, I realise that I cannot make something out of nothing. All great actions come from thoughts and from intention. I have absolutely no intention. This of course without fault reminds me of Viktor Frankl’s logotherapy principles. And so, tonight, during my neurosis, I am going to honestly sit down with myself, forgive myself for times I’ve spent wanting to do everything at once, and the fact that it amounted to me doing nothing at all in the end. I am going to move forward from that, and stop trying to avoid the fact that I (and I can strictly speak for myself), the type of person that I am, require some coherence, a meaning. I’m going to make peace with the hours, days, months and years I wasted dwelling on things I have absolutely no control over, or spent stupidly staring at a computer screen, reading my facebook newsfeed. I am going to accept this neurotic being that lives inside of me, and that in the end is trying to guide me, through its guiltrips and feelings of anxiety, to make more out of this experience of being alive.
So, tonight, I suppose I’ll make a pact with myself to find acceptance in neurosis, to find calm in confusion, but to, for the first time, in a very long time, allow myself to bathe in the string of possibilities, and through past and current exploration find the meaning, and the drive that is worth getting out of bed for.