At some point you might wake up and realize that everything you’ve ever
done to get what you want in your life hasn’t worked. Sure, you’ve made strides
here and there; you’ve had small victories and counted some things in your life
as “accomplishments.” But at some point, your soul is liable to get loud enough
to drown out all the other voices in your head and make you stop and think for
a minute that, ‘Hey – this life isn’t turning out the way I wanted it to.” And
then you’re stuck with a much bigger problem than how to score a raise at your
next annual performance review or what shirt looks good with what pair of shoes
or what your neighbours might think about that shitty car you drive. Then you
have to confront those damn existential, philosophical questions about being
human that everybody hates and nobody makes the time to think about, let alone
has any definite answers for. And then you’re really in the shit.
I suppose the first time I thought
about any of this stuff was when I was approximately five years old. Walking
down a sidewalk in front of some storefronts with my mother, I suddenly felt a
bit dizzy, awkward in my steps and a bit removed from corporeality. A thought
occurred in my five-year-old brain: ‘Of all the infinite numbers of souls that could
have inhabited any of the infinite bodies in this world, why am I this particular soul inhabiting this particular body?’ Granted, I likely
didn’t formulate such a proper-sounding sentence in my head at the time, but
the question, which occurred as more of a realization, was awakened within me
nonetheless. Whether I had some intrinsic knowledge of myself being an embodied
soul in this world or I had picked it up from early conversations with my
mother, I can’t be certain. What I do know is that since that moment I’ve never
really stopped pondering this question, never stopped wondering what my purpose
in life is or why I even exist at all.
It’s been the source of a lot of
what some have coined “existential angst” for me over the years. It’s led me
down dark roads of depression, addiction, anxiety, and even brief periods of
psychosis. At other times, it’s given me a sense of purpose, made me
determined, inspired me, and possibly been responsible for some of the best
actions I’ve taken in my life. And still I can’t fully define this thing, this it, this gnawing force within me that
seldom allows me to sit still and in silence, that won’t let me settle for the
mundane or what I conceive to be a mediocre life. It calls me, it pulls me, and
sometimes, when I haven’t been paying attention to it, it screams to me and can
even knock me on my ass.
Is it my soul calling towards some
preordained, God-given purpose in this world? Is it my ego telling me I’m not
good enough, I’m not doing enough, that I need to do and be and achieve more in
my life just so I can be OK? Is it fear and insecurity dogging my every step
just to make sure I feel shitty enough to not have a normal life but not shitty
enough to end it all? Unfortunately, there are no finite tests to determine
exactly what is going on in the human psyche. There are no brain scans to date
which can disambiguate the myriad of possible reasons and sources for various
feelings, thoughts, beliefs and experiences.
So I’m left here with whatever tools are at my disposal. I have a voice
to speak with, to ask questions, to share my experiences. I have ears to listen
with and hear if others might be able to shed some light onto my confusion and
help clear the cobwebs that cloud my judgment. I’m still not a great listener
and I’m even worse at sharing what’s going on with me through conversation,
mostly because I don’t know myself what’s going on half the time. Still, I have
these hands to write with, these fingers to tap on keys and make characters,
words, and sentences appear on a screen in front of my eyes. Sad as it may seem
to some, the written word has always been my closest ally in times of darkness;
writing has been by best friend in times of complete spiritual bankruptcy and
isolation. And I haven’t seriously written anything in far too long.
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