The date of my last post is a lesson in the power of retrospect. It was later that day, the next morning really, that my dad suffered a major stroke and began what is now almost 2 months of hospital stay. What has happened since then has been a complete whirlwind and I am honestly still reeling from the sheer magnitude of it all.
I’ve spent much of the past two months evaluating who I am in this space in time. Some of the information I’ve discovered is revelatory, some is like so much waste; to be discarded. It has been illuminating.
The insurmountable disdain I have for my current occupation and the track it places me on has become an idea of almost daily contemplation. Rare is the day which I don’t spend hours of unproductive time ruminating on this. But it isn’t all doom and gloom…
There is no stronger catalyst than having a close family member almost die. This has a way of pushing things from the periphery to center focus. Don’t I deserve to do something I love instead of what is expected of me from the world? It’s a ridiculous question to pose out loud but it seems equally ridiculous to ponder something so selfish on the face. My father is fighting just to stay alive and I am worried about my happiness.
An old axiom immediately throws itself at me, though: If I don’t take care of myself, then how can I take care of anyone else?
There is no short answer to that question, I’ve searched.
All of this to say that what makes me happiest is to ponder upon my observations of the world. Often these observations spill out here, or onto a written page, or through my body onto a different medium. Every time they do, I spy a glimpse of who I really am. Although these moments are fleeting, they possess that which is truly elusive for me: true happiness.
Words are my calling, if only I could pick up the damn phone.