I don’t really feel like myself. It’s a funny thing to say, really, because I’ve never actually felt like myself. It’s hard to feel like you, when you don’t really know who you are.
But lately, I’ve drawn inward quite a bit. I feel reclusive, and tired, and very demoralized. I’ve been sick several times already this year.
I haven’t written like I want to. I haven’t written as much as I want to. The characters and imaginings I’ve created are so remarkably worthless to me. They don’t resonate.
The books I’ve read, while good reads, don’t inspire me. The music I’ve loved is not particularly of interest. And the truth is, I don’t even feel like hanging out with other people, if I even did have any friends in the first place.
I feel so very alone most days. I don’t really want to go anywhere, or do anything, and discipline is the only thing keeping me moderately on track.
My job, which I used to show up early for and stay late, and loved doing so, now feels like a miserable slog, that I just can’t wait to be done with. I’ve come to despise the people I’m meant to help, and especially despise some of the people I work with and for.
It’s hard for me, writing this down. I don’t like admitting to this dull, hollow feeling in my soul. I know the joy I should feel.
I am alive.
I have a good life, a good job, and a good family.
I have money, and resources, and I get to put good into the world, on some level.
None of this is without meaning, and I am grateful for it. God has blessed me.
It is arrogance to presume that even under the best circumstances, one can always be happy. Happiness is fickle, and departs from one man as quickly as it joins to another.
Gratitude, on the other hand, is chosen.
Today I chose thanks, for the good things in my life. I choose to stand fast in the face of unhappiness, and despair.
Modern Survival Arkansas 