Existential Angst, and the Big Question

For the last four or five years, I have kept a diary. Sometimes there are things you can’t blog about, can’t talk about. Sometimes you just need to get the thoughts out of your head. My diary knows more about me than even my closest friends. So I sure do hope it’s not in the habit of gossiping! Anyway, I went to write in my diary tonight and nothing happened. My pen sat poised above the paper, and my hand refused to move. All the crazy, mixed up thoughts swirling around in my head, and I couldn’t seem to release any of them. Except one. And really, that one thought pretty much summed up everything.

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what the hell am I doing?’ I know I’m not the only one to have ever had that thought. I know there are billions of people in the world who have had extended bouts of existential angst, and found themselves wondering about their purpose. I know I’m not alone. So where are the solutions? Where is my answer? What the fucking hell am I doing?

As the end of the year draws closer, I realise that I am almost exactly where I was at the start of the year. I mean yeah, I moved out and have just financed a new car. But I’m still working the same job in the same town and I am no closer to achieving my goals. And the more I think about it, the more I realise I don’t even know what my goals are anymore. I have less and less faith in my writing abilities, and I’m not really good at anything else. And moreover, I don’t have a clue what I would like to do. Sure, there’s the dream of creating, but is it a really viable option? Can I have any real measure of success with the limited skills I’ve managed to develop over the last twenty three years?

So what is my solution? Spend the rest of my life working for other people and earning just enough to pay my bills and my rent and my loan, and then go home to an empty house and eat Mi Goreng while I try to coax some love out of pets that only show me any interest when I’m feeding them? I just want to create and have adventures and have a house with a room entirely dedicated to books. And I want a job that I am passionate about. I just need to figure out what it is that I’m passionate about. And that’s the trouble.

I need an oracle, or a fortune teller, or a mind reader or the bloody Sorting Hat. A sign, a surprise opportunity, a coma from which I awake having had a grand epiphany. Someone or something to point me in the right direction, and tell me what I’m supposed to be doing. I know I’m too young to be worrying about this. But most other people I know seem to have their shit together and I’m gonna be honest with you here, guys; I’m starting to panic.

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One thought on “Existential Angst, and the Big Question

  1. I can’t think of one person who has their life together the way I think they do. Everybody has their own little what the fuck am I doing moments and no matter how it appears on the outside I can guarantee at least half the people you think have their shit together don’t think the same thing.

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