When I’m happy, or at the very least not flamingly depressed, I don’t fixate over the meaning of my life. It’s like how I don’t think about food every second when I’ve eaten recently, or how I feel more accommodating towards tardiness and rescheduling appointments when I have a relaxed schedule. If the question of meaning constantly comes up and doesn’t dissipate, something is deeply wrong for me.
When I’m not in a meaning deficit, I find meaning much more accessible. I remember that I like cooking and can feel content from a walk or eating a bag of chips. It’s also easier for me to take time off from my full-time job of angsting over every single aspect of my life and my future— this past week I freaked out over whether I was capable of climbing up the corporate ladder and raising kids at the same time and not going insane— when I have a part-time job of trying to chill the fuck out and enjoy my life.
Sometimes I have to remind myself that I actually like doing “normal people things”, such as eating meals with friends, no matter how annoying it may be to schedule things. It is worthwhile to expend effort into liking my life.
There were many nights in high school and college when I’d get so unbearably jealous of people I knew and the lives they seemed to live. Some had happy families, some were deeply connected to their purpose, and others had shiny lives where any resource they had was handed to them. It’s so easy to feel that I don’t have enough, and it’s even easier to feel as if I am not enough. I would’ve given up a lot to be able to live someone else’s life.
But in many ways, that sort of thinking is a copout. As much as I dislike the feeling of floating around aimlessly through my whole life, it’s my goddamn life. I don’t want to give up that easily, even if it’s hard. At the end of the day, I have a lot more agency and responsibility over my life than I’d like to admit. I am capable of affecting my own happiness and sense of fulfillment, even if I can’t see it in the moment.
I want to be happy. I want to feel alive and to enjoy smelling the fucking roses or whatever the hipsters do. Give me the bone broth. Sign me up for an aerial yoga class. Teach me to grill random shit. Hang out with me in Austin (but only on the weekends bc I’m gonna have long hours). I’ll try out things that I end up hating, because at least I’m trying something.
Choo Choo! All aboard the grownup lifestyle!
Good sleep results in life meaning by vanishing our questions about life meaning. Great post