There are probably only a handful of people who realize that this blog exists, and I intend to keep it that way. All of the people on that short list know me very well, and are likely aware that I've been through a variety of struggles since spring. Some of them deal with relationships, others are due to my priorities changing, and there was even a brief period where I slipped away from where I wanted to be financially. I've since rectified most of these problems, and removed several sources of anxiety and trouble from my life. There is one challenge, however, which I've yet to completely conquer: the feeling that there are more doors closing for me than there are opening. This is not going to be pretty when I hit "Publish". It's not going to be well-organized, and I probably won't proof read it until much later. Those who get squeamish when they witness the mutilation of the english language and rules of composition may want to consider leaving now.
Someone recently pointed out to me that we engineers have a very annoying habit of thinking that every problem has a cut-and-dry solution, and that all we need to do is gather enough information and mull it over enough in order to come up with said fix. There are some problems, however, which can't be totally solved, no matter how complete one's understanding of the situation is. I suspect that the feeling that my life is stagnant at best, and in decline at worst, is one of these scenarios in which there is no perfect solution, but I've made some progress in the right direction, after a lot of trial and error.
It began between one and two years after I graduated from college and returned to Omaha. I started to feel disengaged from the present, and dwelled instead in the past and the future. I became restless, though I was almost constantly in motion. I felt lonely, despite rarely being alone. I felt depressed, even though I essentially had life by the tail; I believe that I still do have it very good in the grand scheme of things. There was some dark little corner of my mind, from which a relentless whisper emanated, softly suggesting that something was missing. I set to the task of finding out what that absent piece of my puzzle could be.
I understand now that money can't buy happiness, and that material things matter a whole lot less than the connections we forge with one another. I think I understood it then as well, but I still performed the necessary mental gymnastics to convince myself that I had everything I needed in life on an emotional and personal level, so I began to focus on improving my material existence. I bought a truck, which I loved. It made me smile every time I started it, every time I looked at it after a day at work. It made me happy for minutes at a time, but it did nothing for my loneliness. Shortly thereafter, I decided I was tired of living in an apartment, and bought a house. It turns out that feeling incomplete in a nice house is not much better than it was in an apartment. The house has the added effect of making one feel very "rooted", which from my perspective is just a nicer way of saying "trapped". That's right, folks: I tried to eliminate restlessness and anxiety by entering into a huge financial commitment which prevents me from moving. I am not always a clever man.
Not to be perturbed, I made more changes to my life in the hope that one of them would be the right one. I adopted a dog late in 2013, because by that time I had actually become as lonely as I had felt for the past year; people's schedules had shifted, and I saw less and less of my friends and my girlfriend. Fortunately for both Titan and myself, I still consider adopting him to be a great decision among a great many hasty and destructive ones around that time in my life. With all of these changes I made in 2013, my goal was to fill a hole in my life, but that abyss was a deep one. I eventually realized that part of my issue was that I was no longer connecting in a meaningful way with my girlfriend of three years. I ended the relationship in an awful way toward the end of spring, and still have not forgiven myself for it, although I think she is beginning to.
Since then, I have tried and failed several times at making lasting relationships. The best I've managed to do so far is a fun but short-lived fling or two. My dog drained my savings account with an ill-timed foray into recreational use of albuterol from my roommate's emergency inhaler, and my roommate had a surgery on his shoulder which temporarily destroyed his finances as well. Long story short, we were both broke. Once the household recovered from these setbacks, I realized that putting money into savings and improvements to my house is much more important than having a flashy vehicle, however useful it may be. I traded the truck in, and eliminated my auto loan.
It probably seems to the reader that my life has only gotten worse since spring; I broke someone's heart, and my own for a while, I almost lost my dog, I gave up my truck, and I have consistently failed in the way of meaningful romantic relationships (I am apparently great at finding casual flings, but I'm not fond of them in the least). I won't deny that the last 7 months have not been ideal, but I've learned a lot from them, and believe it or not, I think I'm closer to happy now than I was back then.
My priorities have shifted more in the past year than they did in the 25 years prior combined. Where once I believed that having a cool vehicle would make me happy, now I understand that spending just one day with my brother and his friends brings more smiles to my face than that truck could have in a year. I used to think that a house could fix my woes, but I've come to realize that the people who share it with me and come to visit me here are what make this place a home worth living in. I once thought that being with someone was the important thing, in spite of the fact that you don't connect on a level beyond a casual friendship. Now I realize that it's better to be alone than to be with someone who makes you feel alone.
The changes I've made since spring have been difficult, and painful, and I've had plenty of doubt along the way. They have also given me back a little of what I suspect was the "missing" element all along: potential. Remember those priorities that I was talking about? I am finding that long-term commitment is a very attractive prospect, as long as I'm with someone who's right for me. Being single can be lonely, but it also means that I have the opportunity to seek that person. My car may not be as cool anymore, but the money I save every month opens up some of those doors that I accidentally closed in my ignorance. Now I can travel if I want to, I can improve my house, I can be more active, meet more people, build more connections.
I don't have some deep, well-organized conclusion for this brain dump. If I had to sum it up, I suppose I would say that the source of my discontent has been my flawed ideas of what happiness and success mean. I went through college focused on improving my mind, and constantly connecting with others in some really incredible ways. I was happy there, and until recently I thought nothing of it. In college, it's easy to connect with others and give yourself to bettering the lives of others in little ways each day. Similarly, it's easy to focus on self-improvement and self-discovery, because that's what you're there to do. In the professional world, these things can only come if one makes a conscious decision to make them a priority. Knowing this does not mean the problem is solved, but I am beginning to feel optimistic that I have the necessary tools to solve it. Happiness is not about how much you have of anything; it's about what you do with what you have, for yourself and for other people.
Kudos if you've read to the end, this really was awfully unorganized, and my phrasing and grammar leave much to be desired in places. I'm going to leave it this way, though, because the slice of life it describes is every bit as imperfect, and that's part of what makes it beautiful.
