Two years ago today I spent my first night in this apartment. Two years ago today my life was very much like it is today, shockingly so in several aspects. Things are better in some ways, to be certain, and many of the ways it isn't better can be fixed, if I would ever bother to try. But it doesn't seem as if I do, all it seems is that I write about how my life needs to be different.
I'm happier today than I was two years ago. But I'm dogged by the same thing that has nagged me for several years now: a sense that my life is relatively empty and meaningless. I don't say that for pity, I don't let such thoughts ruin my ability to enjoy a good laugh or keep on keepin' on, it's merely a statement of fact, really. I am thankful for so many things I have, despite the fact that a college degree and 15-year career has provided me so little. I don't want for a lot, and I'm blessed, but my job is now a constant source of irritation and resentment, which provides me with zero financial security. I don't care that I'm not wealthy, but I'm tired of wondering if I'll ever afford the luxury of a modest house, with a garage, and not have to sweat profusely every time I need a car repair.
I have so much more than many, and the ability to change my situation, the problem is that I feel the same way I did more than two years ago. If I was told today was the last day of my life, I wouldn't see it as bad news.
I turn 40 this fall. I'm not going to reinvent myself, but I'm going to find a purpose for carrying on, or die trying.