Post by PigsnieLite on Aug 9, 2010 22:21:26 GMT -5
In which we shall discuss Lifes Problems (our own or other strangers') so we may learn ...errr ... something. 
For instunce, today, on one of my favourite websites, I found this somewhut Whiny Letter written by Someone Paralyzed by Existential Dreadlocks. (Buy a brush, dearie.)
I'm paralyzed with existential dread
I'm accomplished and comfortable but feel an invisible weight that my life has no meaning
Dear Cary,
By most measures, I live the good life, and yet I am filled with existential dread. I've been acutely aware of this invisible weight, this hard, black hole that has inhabited my being for at least the last two years (when I abandoned a Ph.D. I was working on). It's possible, though, that I've been bothered for at least a decade by the feeling that my life has no meaning, and that when I die I will leave no legacy, no genuinely grieving circle of friends and family, no lasting contributions to the common good, and no private enterprise or real wealth to my children. I've noticed that this creeping anxiety has deepened progressively as I've ramped my career down from its high-octane heights over a decade ago.
Today, I am middle-aged, healthy, with four university degrees, some professional accomplishments behind me, married for 20 years to a decent, kind man who loves me and our children dearly, and whose own hard work has made us prosperous. Most people find me interesting to talk to, sensible, thoughtful. I live in the nicest house in the neighborhood, my kids are mostly grown and gone, I travel, I read widely and deeply. I used to be busy with work, tending to my family's needs, and volunteering, but recently, all that activity has ground to a halt. I don't work or volunteer anymore. I have a few friends, but I don't feel like I belong to any community or extended family. My own aging parents live far away, but they've never grown into deep wisdom and take more emotional sustenance from my brothers and me than they have ever given back.
I am not "depressed," at least not in any clinical sense. I get up every morning, get dressed, run a few errands, but mostly I spend my day reading the news, pondering the universe, and planning all the things I'd like to do with my life. Just not now, not today. My plans are grand, but they are within my reach, and they offer more social connection, the chance to build something socially useful, and even to make a bit of money. But day after day, week after week, month after month, I've nursed them. I've trained myself in the necessary skills and talked about them, but I do not act. I seem unable to move forward.
I've tried talking to a therapist, but honestly, I was bored and irritated with myself for such self-indulgent wallowing, and while I did gain some insights into myself, I was not startled into change. It's true, I do feel better, more optimistic, when I get daily exercise, but that's fallen off too. If I had to guess, I'd peg the problem as not so much psychological as it is philosophical or existential (so not unique or solvable). I may simply be more aware of my own loneliness and vulnerability because I am idle and overoccupied with my own inner life. More practically, I'm contending with a motivational problem.
It's not that I don't know what to do to fix my life (act on my plans), or why (because it will make me happy and useful), or when (today). It's that I am not doing it. I figure I have 30 years left on this earth, if I'm lucky, to be productive and find meaning, but this train has to leave the station soon, or the rust will make all locomotion impossible. How can I get moving?
Stuck in Neutral
Do you haf a lot of sympathy for this persoin?
For instunce, today, on one of my favourite websites, I found this somewhut Whiny Letter written by Someone Paralyzed by Existential Dreadlocks. (Buy a brush, dearie.)
I'm paralyzed with existential dread
I'm accomplished and comfortable but feel an invisible weight that my life has no meaning
Dear Cary,
By most measures, I live the good life, and yet I am filled with existential dread. I've been acutely aware of this invisible weight, this hard, black hole that has inhabited my being for at least the last two years (when I abandoned a Ph.D. I was working on). It's possible, though, that I've been bothered for at least a decade by the feeling that my life has no meaning, and that when I die I will leave no legacy, no genuinely grieving circle of friends and family, no lasting contributions to the common good, and no private enterprise or real wealth to my children. I've noticed that this creeping anxiety has deepened progressively as I've ramped my career down from its high-octane heights over a decade ago.
Today, I am middle-aged, healthy, with four university degrees, some professional accomplishments behind me, married for 20 years to a decent, kind man who loves me and our children dearly, and whose own hard work has made us prosperous. Most people find me interesting to talk to, sensible, thoughtful. I live in the nicest house in the neighborhood, my kids are mostly grown and gone, I travel, I read widely and deeply. I used to be busy with work, tending to my family's needs, and volunteering, but recently, all that activity has ground to a halt. I don't work or volunteer anymore. I have a few friends, but I don't feel like I belong to any community or extended family. My own aging parents live far away, but they've never grown into deep wisdom and take more emotional sustenance from my brothers and me than they have ever given back.
I am not "depressed," at least not in any clinical sense. I get up every morning, get dressed, run a few errands, but mostly I spend my day reading the news, pondering the universe, and planning all the things I'd like to do with my life. Just not now, not today. My plans are grand, but they are within my reach, and they offer more social connection, the chance to build something socially useful, and even to make a bit of money. But day after day, week after week, month after month, I've nursed them. I've trained myself in the necessary skills and talked about them, but I do not act. I seem unable to move forward.
I've tried talking to a therapist, but honestly, I was bored and irritated with myself for such self-indulgent wallowing, and while I did gain some insights into myself, I was not startled into change. It's true, I do feel better, more optimistic, when I get daily exercise, but that's fallen off too. If I had to guess, I'd peg the problem as not so much psychological as it is philosophical or existential (so not unique or solvable). I may simply be more aware of my own loneliness and vulnerability because I am idle and overoccupied with my own inner life. More practically, I'm contending with a motivational problem.
It's not that I don't know what to do to fix my life (act on my plans), or why (because it will make me happy and useful), or when (today). It's that I am not doing it. I figure I have 30 years left on this earth, if I'm lucky, to be productive and find meaning, but this train has to leave the station soon, or the rust will make all locomotion impossible. How can I get moving?
Stuck in Neutral
Do you haf a lot of sympathy for this persoin?
